The Odyssey

This time, I was hit by a blast of weirdness of another kind. It wasn't so much "let's have fun and be weird together," but rather more like "let's make questionable decisions and just go with it"-kind of weirdness.

This was weirdness in the form of a Nolan film, The Odyssey (2026).

I've seen a few Christopher Nolan films as a younger man, but that was a while ago. I seem to remember he made some Batman films at one point. At least one of those was good, I had thought at the time. Those movies in particular take me back to a time of promise and potential that has yet to be fulfilled in my life. And I'm still waiting, by the way.

These are the kinds of overall feelings I experienced watching this one, as well. I've always liked the original Greek story of The Odyssey; it's one of my favorites and, incidentally, one of the very few I've managed to roughly remember from hearing it the first time in my childhood as a primary schooler. Especially the sirens, of course. Those are the ones to remember.

And so, I was almost eagerly watching in order to see what Mr. Nolan and friends had made of these things.

In the film, we're not on Mars, but rather in the Mediterranean. We're fighting strange giants and a cyclops together with Matt Damon and his crew. We're avoiding the sirens altogether, despite knowing everybody wants to see them. We're sort of skimming along the ancient story, trying hard not to pay too much attention to any one thing in it.

I liked Matt's performance. He sold most of it, easily. But I thought Robert Pattinson was a fine villain too, a fine villain. The rest of them performances? They worked. The acting itself was probably the best part of the whole experience, because it felt really skilled generally.

The music was nuts, like a pressure chamber in your face. I felt like I was being cooked in a pot, pressure climbing, rising, driving me to the brink and staying there, just staying there. Never leaving, pressurizing, forever. Unyielding. Pressure! More pressure. Pressure. Just perpetually... continuing. Not letting up. This was the mood all the way through.

And the costume design? Equally nuts. It's like Darth Vader in your face, shiny future armor in your face, and then plastic in your face. There! "You got served some costumes!" the production seems to yell at you. "All right," you answer back.

Watching it, I wondered if they had really used the potential of the actors to the fullest, despite the solid performances. I'm not sure. It almost felt like I was participating in one of those psychological experiments where they intentionally leave an ingredient out just to see if you're fine without it. Except that I'm rather too fatigued to analyze further what was present and what was missing. This is the primary feeling I was left with, at the end. A great big fatigue. So perhaps the movie was indeed successful, because that's exactly what you'd think Odysseus would have felt. Except the movie arrived at this by a rather strange route: by making me feel as though the director's own fatigue was being projected onto me; like an introjection or a transference – a psychoanalytic mangle cooked in hell, just for you.

Another perspective into the film is this overall air of meaninglessness. I'm seriously wondering whether I'd be overrating or over-intellectualizing the film inasmuch as I presumed it was actually a figurative statement as to the meaninglessness of certain behaviors in life. Possibly, but the problem with that interpretation is you could say the same thing about almost anything.

From a narrative perspective, the movie felt like skimming, no matter what it was aiming at, or how subtly. Unless that in itself was somehow a statement, and perhaps it was.

Who was Calypso? I don't know. Who was the guy who was supposed to go to war in the other guy's place but didn't? I don't know, the bad guy probably. What was the monster on the cliffside? Don't know. What about the silvery armor dudes? Don't know. I don't know anything, I don't know anything. I don't know anything.

And in the end, all that is left is just stupid. Stupid and alone. Nothing!

And so it is for Odysseus too, as he prepares for his final voyage before the next life, forever in pursuit of the setting sun. But at least he's got his old wife with him now, because that's proper. No need to man-whore around the Mediterranean all the time. Better put a nail in that coffin too. Party time's over. Ten years on this fucking beach. Let's go home. It's like I know, Matt, I fuckin' know.

Yes, the primary impression I was left with was that this movie was not about Odysseus or The Odyssey at all. This was someone's feelings, cooked and served on a shiny, out-of-place silver armor platter. Although something resonated with me almost to an eerie degree, other things were really just strange choices. The costume design was such I wouldn't have been surprised to see a Reebok shoe out there.

This was not the kind of film I see myself watching again any time soon, and if it turns out to be a box-office smash, I kinda would rather not know about it. No offense! Just don't tell me about it. I'll be much happier either way.

Verdict: 6/10. Go eat a lotus flower.