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When, a couple of decades ago, Simon Rattle performed Arnold Schoenberg’s Gurrelieder in Berlin, he was asked how he could bring together Gurrelieder (whose performance demands a gigantic orchestra with an additional 400 chorus members) with Schoenberg’s well-known acerbic remark that in civilized Europe everything one needs to render the desired effect in a music performance is six, maximum seven players—we need orchestras only for the primitive Americans… Rattle provided a precise reply: Gurrelieder is simply a piece of chamber music that needs 600 players to be properly performed… I think this paradox renders perfectly the greatness of Christopher Nolan’s Odyssey.
My first reaction to Odyssey was a big surprise: after reading numerous reviews enthralled by gigantic spectacular scenes and the raw authenticity of fighting, the movie itself appeared to me almost the opposite of these descriptions—a rather modest, almost chamber drama which occasionally reminded me of B productions. We never see the beach in front of Troy with thousands of Greek soldiers and hundreds of boats in the water behind them; there is no mass battle with hundreds of soldiers fighting. The Greeks on the beach are mostly a small group of a couple dozen individuals lost in bad weather on the desolate beach sand. Troy itself is also not shown as a mega-city but more as a group of buildings with narrow, twisted streets between them. Plus, Nolan avoided directly showing excessive cruelty—just recall the passage of Odysseus’ ship between Scylla and Charybdis. Charybdis is not a gigantic whirlpool (easy to render with special effects) but a very modest circle of water posing no terrifying threat… These remarks are not meant as criticism: they point out what makes the film great.
Commentators noted long ago that, while the Iliad focuses on male exploits and struggles with women reduced to background tokens, the Odyssey also brings forward women’s inner lives. The Iliad begins with the rage of Achilles: he is furious because Agamemnon took the slave Briseis from him—however, Achilles is not hurt because of any emotional attachment to Briseis; what matters is simply that his pride was hurt. The Odyssey changes the perspective entirely, and Nolan takes an even more crucial and ingenious step further: the well-known beautiful stars who play women (Anne Hathaway, Charlize Theron…) are not made beautiful—the way they are shot, sometimes almost embarrassingly, displays their age fully. They are mostly desexualized (although Calypso kept Odysseus as her lover for years, there is no erotic tension in their relationship). This desexualization reaches its climax in the figure of Circe, superbly played by Samantha Morton. In the poem, Circe is a seductress: she turns men who reject her advances into pigs and keeps Odysseus as her lover for a year, while in the movie she is simply disgusted by male gluttony and turns them into pigs when they cannot stop eating. It is the highest male figure, Agamemnon, who is not really personalized: we mostly don’t see his face, which is hidden behind a gigantic helmet, and the same holds for the Trojan soldiers—they are anonymous and depersonalized, so that although the movie depicts Greek crimes and cheating, it does not do so by opposing them to more honest and sympathetic Trojans.
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