Christopher Nolan has created another notable film. “The Odyssey” takes a traditional approach, focusing on the downfall of civilization rather than modern reinterpretations of Homer’s work or discussions on contemporary issues like race or politics. The core question isn’t just whether Odysseus reaches home, but if a civilization rooted in pagan beliefs can truly mend the harm it has caused. If the West fears its own decline, it won’t find hope in pagan Greece but must turn to Christ for guidance.
Visually, “The Odyssey” delivers what audiences expect from Nolan: stunning cinematography, grand scale, complex narratives, and somewhat dry dialogue. It revisits his familiar manipulation of time but, similar to “Interstellar,” raises significant questions about humanity’s future.
I watched this movie in an overcrowded IMAX theater in Phoenix, where, just my luck, the air conditioning broke down. I wasn’t in a good mindset for a political lecture on such a hot day. Yet, the film quickly justified the discomfort.
It defies simplistic political classification. Nolan doesn’t preach about DEI or create a straightforward allegory for current affairs. Some may seek a Christ-like figure in the film, much like Aragorn from “Lord of the Rings,” but Nolan offers deeper insights.
A central theme revolves around what the characters term the “Laws of Zeus.” These laws dictate hospitality and generosity towards strangers. The suitors who deplete Penelope’s resources reference this principle to rationalize their actions. In essence, it’s about treating others how you’d wish to be treated if you were on the receiving end. After all, that stranger could very well be God.
The modern implications are evident. The endless call for hospitality mirrors today’s discussions around immigration and mental health. However, Nolan’s insights reach deeper philosophical territory rather than venturing into partisan debates.
What happens when a civilization’s noble ideals become tools for injustice?
Everyone references the laws of Zeus, yet civilization continues its descent. The very teachings meant to safeguard others turn into weapons for villains to exploit.
The dilemma seems rooted in the nature of the gods themselves. Odysseus often admits human comprehension is limited. At one point, he questions Athena about why the divine don’t communicate clearly with mankind. Her response centers on the natural world, hinting that those forces already exist among us.
Nolan reminds audiences that the gods—Zeus, Poseidon, and Athena—aren’t creators. They’re entangled within nature, constrained by the same flaws as humans: greed, jealousy, and conflict. Their quarrels lead to tragedy, like the Trojan War itself, where Poseidon demands Agamemnon sacrifice his daughter for favorable winds.
The laws of Zeus exist, yet malevolent figures manipulate them. The gods remain aloof and unpredictable. Odysseus can’t rely on divine fairness or mercy; he can’t pray for forgiveness or ask for aid. He only has his craftiness to navigate his way through.
Despite being a famous trickster, Odysseus is willing to mislead others, occasionally causing harm. This deception leads Dante to place him in Hell among the fraudulent.
As Nolan moves through memories, present actions, and future consequences, Odysseus becomes increasingly aware of his past actions during the Trojan War. Humans were greedy and violent, reflecting the worst traits of the gods.
Two powerful moments highlight this: Circe reveals she transformed Odysseus’ men into pigs, stating they were already pigs inside, before returning them to their human forms. In another scene, during a necromancy ritual, Odysseus learns that the souls of the wronged persist in their anguish, craving justice despite the passage into death. He realizes how many he’s sent to the underworld, with no chance to undo those wrongs.
Together, these scenes expose the grave consequences of malevolence. Guilt isn’t just a fleeting regret; it has lasting impacts that shatter lives and families.
This leads us to the film’s emotional peak. Odysseus, disguised as a beggar, confesses to Penelope about his and the Greeks’ actions in Troy, echoing a confessional moment. Yet, Nolan subtly probes issues that today’s therapeutic culture often avoids. While Odysseus can confess, those he harmed still bear the scars of his actions. The families he shattered remain broken, and the deceased cannot return.
Confession may alleviate the guilt of the wrongdoer, but it offers no comfort to the widows, orphans, and the slain. True justice demands restorative action. Yet, Odysseus doesn’t seek to compensate. Maybe it’s because he realizes there’s little he can truly do to amend his wrongs.
Cunning cannot resolve guilt rooted in sin. Greek religion fails to provide redemption; its gods are only part of the fabric of nature. Greek philosophy, whether through Plato or Aristotle, also falls short.
The film critiques not just paganism but also modern therapeutic beliefs—confessing without a means for atonement is spiritually unfulfilling. The gods are too busy with their petty disputes to mend what sin has broken.
Ultimately, Odysseus embarks on a journey westward to reconcile by burying his forsaken dead, yet it’s clear to the audience that this act can’t undo the past.
Nothing can restore the lives lost. Troy’s destruction stands irreparable. The age of pagan civilizations is, essentially, over.
The conclusion is heart-wrenching; polytheism’s darkness looms large. As Odysseus and Penelope set sail westward, she observes the unraveling of civilization around them. He counters her despair with, “Songs will remember those who could write.”
This sentiment resonates across the political spectrum. With the specter of civilization’s decline looming as hospitality is extended to those facing their own demons and past injustices echo, we reflect on history. The Greeks may have destroyed Troy, but Troy instigated the war. Today, as we acknowledge historical wrongs, we often overlook the conflicts that preceded our own histories.
In the words of Tennyson, the saga of humanity is encapsulated within “Odyssey.” Memory alone cannot save civilization, nor can we extend genuine hospitality in its deepest sense.
In this light, Nolan’s film transcends its narrative.
Two millennia after Christ’s life, we find ourselves in the wake of the apostle Paul’s proclamation to the philosophers of Athens about the unknown God, the Creator of all. This very God, once overlooking ignorance, now calls for a reckoning.
In “The Odyssey,” we stand witness to echoes of Paul’s encounters in Athens, surrounded by diverse cultures and philosophies, with humanity’s profound questions still unresolved.
Civilizations have collapsed before; those built on similar foundations are at risk again. If the West is worried about its decline, turning to ancient Greece won’t provide the answers—it must look to Christ instead.
