The Odyssey (2026)
Say what you will about Christopher Nolan, but he knows how to direct a damn action sequence. There were several moments in The Odyssey that had me gasping and flinching like I was one of those early filmgoers, jumping out of the way of the train coming at the screen. It’s in stringing those scenes together where Nolan fumbles.
We start with great energy and excitement: a bard banging his staff rhythmically as he begins to re-tell the story of the Trojan horse to a captive audience. Firelight flickers against the walls. But this framing device is quickly abandoned for a much more subdued one: Charlize Theron lying on the beach, cooing at Matt Damon “what do you remember? What else? What then?,” thus prompting the next chapter of the tale. Though the story itself is appropriately thrilling and epic, this new framing device just sucks the energy out of the story each time we cut back to it. The beginning of the film especially suffers from these starts and stops as we jump from timeline to timeline, storyteller to storyteller, and it takes at least a good hour to fall into a recognizable rhythm.
It’s in this way that the film seems to hold its audience at arms length, more in love with its Russian nesting doll plot structure than with its (especially female) characters. Maybe it had been a mistake to rewatch Troy so soon before The Odyssey. Undoubtedly The Odyssey is a superior film in almost every regard. However, I did find myself missing the blatant melodrama of Troy, where all its characters were stripped down to their barest, basest, emotions and turned up to eleven. It might be a little ridiculous to watch Paris and Helen whine about how much they love each other as their city burns because of it, but then again – who hasn’t made a destructive decision because of love? Melodrama works because you can’t help but relate to the big feelingness of it all. Love, horror, cowardice, delusions of grandeur: these Greek myths reach across centuries to modern audiences by tapping into these simple, pure urges that unite us.
By the end The Odyssey’s true emotional journey begins to crystalize and it becomes clear that Nolan does know how to evoke big feelings and catharsis, he just needs about two and a half hours of runtime to work himself up to it. Perhaps there’s value in delayed gratification and waiting to eat the second marshmallow. I’m sure for some people that is their preferred, more sophisticated mode. Not me though! This is a grand, epic film with cool as shit fight sequences and big scary monsters that’s indulgent enough to design a historically inaccurate helmet with a spinal cord coming out its back. So why not let its hero join the rest of the movie on this operatic scale? Odysseus is meant to be in denial, his true reluctance to return to Ithaca kept obscure until the climax, but his stoicism means the audience is denied an emotional thread to trace through the film’s various plotlines. When our hero is this shut off, it's hard to feel truly a part of his world.
As someone who wears her heart on her sleeve, I want my films to do the same. The Odyssey is more comfortable admitting its feelings when it comes to the physical action it depicts: it’s over-the-top, firing on all cylinders, music blasting, lights flashing, high-octane drama. But then when it needs a (especially male) character to cry a little bit, it pulls its punches. The maybe obvious secret is that a fully expressed, rich, emotional world makes the physical conflict and mortal danger feel all that more real and exciting. Without both sides developed, I ended up being more in awe of The Odyssey than I ended up liking it.
Each month I highlight an organization that’s important to me. I encourage people to check out the cool work they do, and also to find causes within their community to support as well.
Today I’m highlighting the Ridgewood Food Co-Op, which recently lost almost 4K due to mail theft.
