The Odyssey Review: Christopher Nolan’s Expedition of Constant, Exhausting Wonder

      One might argue that Christopher Nolan's true obstacle to being regarded as a Great Director stems from his earlier films. Regardless of their individual merit, these works inspire admiration as a unique collection of small-scale, structurally inventive crime dramas fueled by a young filmmaker's overwhelming determination. It's possible that your memories of Insomnia, featuring Al Pacino and Martin Donovan amidst a polished 2002 aesthetic, may undermine its worth. A shift toward grandiosity began with The Dark Knight—albeit no one would consider that a poor career choice—and has only progressed since, with each subsequent film expanding in scale (The Dark Knight Rises), scope (Interstellar), or length (Oppenheimer).

      Wherever peculiarities exist (Tenet might seem entirely defined by them), the adherence to a nine-figure budget persists. Zero feels as abrasive as Carrie-Anne Moss’s tirade in Memento, while few moments resonate with the fascinating imperfections of the debut effort Following. The announcement that he (wielding more executive authority than nearly any filmmaker ever) would adapt The Odyssey (which I won't summarize here) was baffling. However, let’s assume Christopher Nolan has a more astute plan than I do. What is the origin for innovation, uniqueness, the one-of-a-kind? His final output often entertains, seldom poses a significant challenge in its 172 minutes, and doesn’t entirely settle the question.

      Yet again, structure appears to be a driving force. In The Prestige—Nolan's most exceptional work, where his blend of the practical and the fantastical is most effectively executed and his tendency to obscure is most crucial—there's a striking, sometimes astonishing coherence in his rapid transitions between multiple timelines. While Odysseus’ seven-year stint on Calypso’s island barely registers, a sharp cut from day to night or a change in camera setup can effortlessly shift the perception of time; characters and speeches laden with historical significance could be overlooked in favor of elliptical edits recalling memories from deceased individuals.

      The A-list cast of The Odyssey generally portrays their roles with a somber consistency—stoic expression, teary eyes, low whispers. Only certain unconventional attributes hint at deeper revelations. Robert Pattinson’s portrayal of the antagonistic Antinous comes across as a chaotic figure, phrased in contemporary terms as a wild white youth, his alleged inspiration (James Woods in Casino) neither felt in the moment nor shocking upon reflection. The energy infused by a single splash of wine or a slight smile raises queries about his sidelining compared to Spider-Man, though that question ultimately harkens back to Homer, and he cannot be consulted.

      An episodic, wandering structure allows for surprising moments—perhaps the revelation that “Samantha Morton is in this” is the foremost. As she whispers deceitfully, her portrayal of Circe embodies mythical elements in a tangible form. A preceding scene featuring Bill Irwin’s Cyclops—well-executed with makeup and scale to the extent that the character seems more creature than human—or a subsequent visit to Hades filled with restless spirits subjects us to a level of horror that has only slightly surfaced in Nolan’s previous works. In parts where the epic plays out thoroughly, the body-transformative effects rival those seen in Cronenberg’s films or An American Werewolf in London, leaving noticeable marks.

      However, if everything is remarkable, then nothing stands out; and if everything exhibits the splendor of IMAX 70mm, then little remains distinct. Those who appreciate Nolan’s large-format cinematography—its ability to present vivid and lifelike imagery above much else in contemporary visual capture—might find themselves questioning if something crucial has been omitted. Ideally, a widescreen image bursting into full frame during pivotal scenes—a spaceship launch, a Batmobile chase, an atomic explosion—creates a climactic thrill; yet, The Odyssey remains expanded from the very beginning, always punctuating itself. Nolan has asserted that he and Hoyte van Hoytema’s pure-IMAX approach maintains adaptability with primary lens choices (50 and 80) tailored to their subjects. This intriguing theory, however, fails to deliver results. When close-ups and landscapes are presented equally, a visual fatigue seems to settle into The Odyssey’s three hours—neither a Trojan Horse for film exhibition but rather a 1.43:1 tribute to itself.

      Still, there is a notable connection to the natural world. Acknowledging that nothing here instills the sheer wonder that Franco Piavoli conjured in his Odyssey adaptation Nostos: The Return—a film whose subtitle-free Greek is preferable to the over-analyzed "LET’S GO" or actors delivering lines that feel overly modern, such as “surely you’ve heard about us?”—it’s not as if I’ve turned to stone. An ocean-view image from a ship’s deck or a stark Icelandic landscape representing Hades is clearly appreciable; they offer more than most of The Odyssey’s intricate attempts to showcase Homer’s