Christopher Nolan is fascinated by time and identity. These themes, elusive and grandiose in scope, appear in every film he has made, and probably will ever make. The Odyssey, based on Homer's grand epic, is Nolan's magnum opus, an incredible achievement that is the perfect marriage between his thematic obsessions and cascading storytelling.
It is a breathtaking masterpiece unlike anything we've seen in decades.
The story is timeless and familiar to even those who've never read a translation of Homer's grand epic. After the fall of Troy, Odysseus (Matt Damon) sets out on his long journey home. It has been a decade since he saw Ithaca, his wife Penelope (Anne Hathaway), and son Telemachus (Tom Holland). The voyage will take months, if all goes well.
Ten years later, Odysseus is missing, and the kingdom suffers at the hands of opportunistic suitors, led by the conniving Antinous (Robert Pattinson). Penelope and Telemachus continue to resist the usurpers, but it's clear that any hope of the rightful king ever returning has faded.
Meanwhile, somewhere out in the wilds, Odysseus gathers pieces of debris on an abandoned beach, where Calypso (Charlize Theron) watches over him. With no memory of his past exploits, he is a man lost to time and trauma, even as fleeting visions of Athena (Zendaya) plague his waking hours.
The most incredible aspect of Nolan's adaptation is how timely and relevant it feels. Homer's classic tale isn't just old; it has been retold, rewritten, and reinterpreted thousands of times throughout the centuries. It is a foundational work of storytelling. A lesser filmmaker would settle for a mere re-enactment.
In Nolan's hands, The Odyssey turns into both a deeply faithful recreation of the original text and a conversation between storytellers unbound by time and space. The script, written by Nolan, effortlessly weaves together aspects of both Homer's works and Bronze Age history into an allegory of trauma, legacy, and the stories we tell of ourselves to make sense of the world.
Like Oppenheimer, it investigates the myth of the Great Man and the wreckage their hubris leaves behind. It isn't a strict historic epic, nor is it pure fantasy. Instead, it feels mythic in scope and genre, as if part of an oral tradition that is truer for every fabrication.
For example, watch how little Nolan explains of his world of gods and monsters. On his journey, Odysseus encounters things and beings that are both unbelievable yet entirely explainable depending on your perspective. As with all great legends, parts are true, others are metaphor. In one spectacular sequence, Nolan brings together the great ending of an age as seen through the eyes of someone who believes themselves to be beyond mortal constraints. Perhaps, the film suggests, the great curse of adventurers is knowing when the voyage has come to an end.
By eschewing traditional Hollywood romanticism and embracing a directness and modernity unseen in other adaptations, Nolan's film feels more immediate and true. Once you get over the initial shock of naturalistic dialogue without the artifice of faux-British "historic" accents, The Odyssey becomes a tale of ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances. It is emotionally resonant without the need for embellishment.
This also allows Nolan's cast, who are tremendous throughout, to focus on the present instead of the performative. Hathaway, a remarkable talent who can do much with very little, spends much of the film hidden away as an object of desire for the power-hungry suitors. Yet watch how she seethes with resentment and pain, waiting for an absolution of death or love, neither of which is on the horizon.
Holland, still boyish in his early thirties, wonderfully carries his half of the picture as a son looking for a father he knows only through stories. Like Hathaway's performance, Holland is in a constant state of expectation. A person trapped in a reactive role, yearning to make the first move.
The supporting cast is equally impressive, ranging from Robert Pattinson (deliciously weasely) to Samantha Morton (subdued, menacing, and brilliant), with blink-and-you'll-miss-it performances from Will Yun Lee, Mia Goth, and James Remar. Elliot Page, a Nolan veteran, returns to the screen with a wonderful performance as Sinon, a soldier under Odysseus' care, who provides the moral backbone of the story. Page isn't on screen long, but he makes every scene intensely memorable.
Yet it's Matt Damon as Odysseus who carries the film, and it is an incredible performance in a career full of great ones. This is not the happy-go-lucky trickster seen in other adaptations. Instead, this Odysseus has seen too much war and knows too well what his wits have brought upon this world. He leads because he feels beholden to his men, as if he, like a god, could control the wills of the world and ensure everyone returns home safely.
When Nolan introduces the idea that perhaps The Odyssey is the story of a man lost to himself, Homer's grand epic takes on another level entirely. Like every great story about long journeys, The Odyssey is most compelling when it is about the internal voyage we must make to know ourselves, and Damon sells the conflict perfectly.
Which isn't to say this is some dour, po-faced drama with no sense of grandeur – far from it. This is Nolan operating on a level so vast that it dazzles the senses from start to finish. From the gorgeous handcrafted sets to the astonishing power of natural forces, The Odyssey feels epic because of its naturalism. We recognize this world even when it is covered in gods and giants, and it makes everything seem bigger.
The result is a spellbinding, timeless adventure story that defies expectation. An epic masterpiece that reminds us why we go to the movies.
