Bill Irwin – Movie Musings

Nolan’s epic takes deep, thoughtful bites out of Homer, looks amazing but maybe tries to do too much

Director: Christopher Nolan

Cast: Matt Damon (Odysseus), Tom Holland (Telemachus), Anne Hathaway (Penelope), Robert Pattinson (Antinous), Lupita Nyong’o (Helen of Troy/Clytemnestra), Samantha Morton (Circe), John Leguizamo (Eumaeus), Zendaya (Athena), Charlize Theron (Calypso), John Bernthal (Menelaus), Himesh Patel (Eurylochus), Bill Irwin (Polyphemus), Elliot Page (Sinon), Benny Safdie (Agamemnon), Mia Goth (Melantho), Corey Hawkins (Polybus), Logan Marshall-Green (Melanthius)

I think pretty much everyone knows the story: Odysseus (Matt Damon), after ten years fighting the Trojan War, has the longest, most hellish commute ever. Will he see his Kingdom of Ithaca again, or wife Penelope (Anne Hathaway) and now-grown son Telemachus (Tom Holland) again? And, even if he does, what will he do about the fact his home is awash with hostile suitors, led by the bullying Antinous (Robert Pattinson) who want to take his throne and wife for themselves?

Nolan’s adaptation of Homer is epic as few other films are. Shot it seems with the whole Mediterranean (and Iceland for good measure) as a soundstage, its visual imagery is almost impossible to beat, shot with immense skill for IMAX without letting the scale flood the story. It’s a surprisingly faithful retelling of the legend, with Homer’s non-linear style catnip for an architect storyteller like Nolan, who promptly opens the film in the final year of the timeline and spools backwards and forwards from there.

The film is set in “a time of apparent magic”, an oblique idea in a world of Cyclopes and trips to Hades (a stunningly, bleakly unsettling vast black landmass, with bodies crawling forward to sip goats blood and share terrible prophecies), but where the presence of the Gods is open to interpretation. Zeus cracks thunder and Poseidon rolls waves, but maybe it’s just superstition. Is Odysseus right to be a sceptic? The only God present is Athena, played with warm distance by Zendaya, who may or may not be a figment of Odysseus guilty conscience.

Despite its length, it frequently zips along, with a marvellously staged sequence from Homer cropping up every few minutes. Sequences like the Fitzcarraldo-like laborious dragging of a wooden horse (half buried in the sand) that looks like a grim bronze statue of a bucking horse, over many miles by the luckless Trojans are brilliantly done. It’s hard to fault almost anything about its production. But it’s not perfect.

Perhaps the major thing missing from Nolan’s film is a sense of personal hubris (as opposed to the imperial hubris of Agamemnon). Nolan has a very interesting interpretative idea of the fall of Troy being effectively the fall of man, the deception and brutality being a Bronze age Hiroshima. But a more interesting film would have seen Odysseus initially proud of his role in this orgy of war-ending killing, only to realise during the disastrous journey home he is in fact the villain. That he broke his own sacred code, of twanging the bow to warn the prey. Instead, Odysseus is plainly aware of his crimes from the start, and his shame perversely gives the character little room to develop, beyond Nolan’s implication his journey is self-inflicted.

Strangely then, it’s hard to get a sense of the journey changing Odysseus. Nolan is far more successful as seeing the whole film as a self-inflicted punishment. Odysseus doesn’t believe he deserves to go home. Instead, as the destroyer of peace and order, part of him embraces his journey (he even leaves Troy on a self-imposed longer route, over his crew’s protests). While his long exile with Calypso is largely pushed into montage, the film implies Odysseus willingly eats the lotus to forget his guilt.

Nolan attempts to fill the gap by having Odysseus strain to save his crew’s lives. But, while Odysseus is weighed down with guilt, his crew emphatically isn’t; this borderline mutinous bunch merrily ransacking and burning a farming village. When Circe denounces this bunch as rapists in waiting, neither the film (or Odysseus) can really argue otherwise. The Odyssey can never quite decide what it feels about these characters, and their resentment at Odysseus for their numbers being whittled down tends to get outweighed by the film’s empathy for Odysseus’ guilt and shame.

There are similarly confused emotional lines in Odysseus relationship with young warrior Sinon. The Odyssey wants to establish Odysseus’ double betrayal of this man – first allowing Antonius to bully him into taking his place in the army, then using him as a pawn to get the Trojans to drag the horse into the city – as a foundational crime. But there isn’t time to establish a surrogate father-son bond between them, meaning Odysseus betrayal of Sinon feels muddily motivated. Again, the film wants to keep Odysseus sympathetic so avoids stating the conclusion he must have made: Sinon’s life is an acceptable sacrifice to end the war. The Odyssey leans heavily on Elliot Page’s sensitive, traumatised performance to make us fill in this blank.

This is a sign of Nolan’s film covering a lot of complex meat, without always finding room to digest it fully. Alongside this, he wants a more conventional, crowd-pleasing tale of a hero coming home to a loving wife. As part of this, many of the female characters of The Odyssey are stripped of some of their richness. Most egregiously, Charlize Theron’s Calypso and Zendaya’s Athena are little more than sounding boards for Odysseus. But even Penelope, despite an emotionally intense performance from Anne Hathaway, is more of a traditional faithful wife. Nolan is trying to show the vulnerability of her position in a masculine world – but you long for more sign of the shrewd resentful figure of either The Return or Margaret Atwood’s The Penelopiad.

Perhaps because this is because Nolan is grimly realistic in suggesting women are often trapped in victim roles in this male world. Lupita Nyong’o’s Helen of Troy may be critical of the Greeks but is also an abused wife (her face disfigured by Jon Bernthal’s brutish Menelaus), plagued with shame about how her name was used to justify so much death. Even Circe, the most complex and engaging female role, dreads becoming a victim. That doesn’t take away from the barn-storming cameo of resentment and paranoia by Samantha Morton. The creepy Cronenbergesque body-horror of Circe using her hands to craft the sailor’s faces into pigs – including shoving her hand down one man’s throat – is perhaps the film’s most unsettling moment.

What a lot of this comes back to is Nolan’s admittedly fascinating idea that Odysseus has opened a Pandora’s Box that unleashed destruction on the world. His burning of Troy, broke Zeus’s Law of treating guests as you yourself would wish to be treated. In echoes of Oppenheimer, Odysseus believes he has laid the groundwork for the end of the world, by creating one where hospitality can be betrayed and people’s word is no longer their bond (exactly the world the suitors are exploiting in Ithica).

This keys into Nolan’s most interesting concept. Throughout this subtly fracturing world – where the Gods may be falling silent and the world is shorn of rules – there are reports of ‘men of the sea’ roaming the coasts taking anything they want. Is this another cause for the Greeks to fight? Perhaps not: like nuclear weapons, violence become self-perpetuating. The actions of Odysseus crew should clue us in that these men are in fact the Greeks themselves, their humanity gone, continuing a cycle of destruction and death started by Odysseus who has “become death, destroyer of worlds”.

There are many, many good ideas in The Odyssey, which I’ve mulled over for several weeks after seeing the film. Fundamentally, I feel some of it doesn’t always land from the casting of Odysseus. Would Matt Damon have been my choice? Probably not: there is a boyish decency about Damon, not a tortured cunning. He’s probably not helped by recent memories of Ralph Fiennes (almost born to play the role), but Damon can’t bring out the depths of conflict, guilt, regret and misplaced pride in the way (say) Cillian Murphy did in Oppenheimer. Damon is a little too similar to the optimistic, earnest energy Tom Holland very successfully gives Telemachus. The Odyssey tries to follow The Return in making Odysseus keen to ensure Telemachus does follow him into a life of violence – but can’t resist giving Holland one last sword fight to flex his muscles.

I feel conflicted about The Odyssey and I need to see it again. It is so close to everything I wanted. Its practical effects and epic scenes with Polyphemus, the sirens and Sicilia and Charybdis have a wonderful Jason and the Argonauts feel to them that I loved. But it also feels quite damning that the sack of Troy is less shocking here than it was in Troy (especially as the brutality is at the heart of what the film is trying to do) and its final third covers similar ground to The Return, but (for me) with less clear-eyed honesty, awkwardly balancing action set-pieces and its thematically ‘happy’ ending.

But there are so many delights to appreciate, not least Ludwig Göransson’s imposing score, the stunning imagery and costume design (Ellen Mironijck’s imaginative use of a range of inspirations reaches an apotheosis in Agamemnon reimagined as a mix of Darth Vader and Batman). There are wonderful performances in smaller roles, not least Morton, Bernthal, Himesh Patel and most of all John Leguizamo as the loyal Eumaeus and Robert Pattinson as the despicable. But while it tackles an array of brilliant idea, it can’t always balance these all successfully. It’s almost the first Nolan film where his reach overextends his grasp – but when you have a reach like this, does it matter?

Solid biopic tells an inspiring story in a straightforward way with a Domingo star turn

Director: George C Wolfe

Cast: Colman Domingo (Bayard Rustin), Aml Ameen (Martin Luther King Jnr), Glynn Turman (A Philip Randolph), Chris Rock (Roy Wilkins), Gus Halper (Tom Kahn), Johnny Ramey (Elias Taylor), CCH Pounder (Dr Anna Hedgeman), Michael Potts (Cleve Robinson), Audra McDonald (Ella Baker), Jeffrey Wright (Adam Clayton Powell Jnr), Lilli Kay (Rachell), Jordan-Amanda Hall (Charlene), Bill Irwin (AJ Muste)

Bayard Rustin was on of crucial the civil rights activists in conceiving, planning and organising the 1963 March on Washington. A proponent of nonviolence and equal rights for all, regardless of race, gender or sexuality, he was a close friend and colleague of Martin Luther King and a key figure in innumerable campaigns. Rustin partly exists to bring his life more to public notice, focusing on the build-up to the March on Washington and exploring Rustin’s struggles as both a Black man and a gay man.

At its heart is Colman Domingo, who delivers a sensational performance as Rustin, bursting with energy and emotional compassion. Domingo brilliantly captures Rustin’s loud-and-proud nature, his overwhelming commitment to being who he is, and his passionate commitment to social justice. This is a force-of-nature turn dominating the movie, breathing passion and fire into Rustin’s compulsive desire to speak out.

Domingo matches this with a neat sense of comic timing (Rustin is frequently very funny) and a raw emotion. The emotional impact nearly all comes from Domingo. He’s genuinely moving when he misjudges the level of loyalty to him in the film’s opening act and has an offer of resignation accepted by the NAACP (after press reports suggesting he has seduced King). Even more so later in his emotional outpouring when the same NAACP members finally back him up. More focus on Rustin gaining full, unquestioning, acceptance from his colleagues could have offered a beating heart to the film.

Domingo’s performance elevates an otherwise, to be honest, fairly middle-of-the-road biopic that frequently wears its research heavily. It has an air of competent professionalism, with George C Wolfe’s direction lacking emotional or visual spark. Much of the dialogue – given a brush by Dustin Lance Black – frequently (and rather painfully) has the actors fill in historical context or clumsily shoehorns in real dialogue. There is very little spark to Rustin, as it dutifully ticks off events, building towards sign-posted emotional payoffs (and, admittedly, there are fewer payoffs more inspiring than a quarter of a million people gathering in Washington to cry for freedom).

This is not to say there aren’t fine moments and its recreation of the Washington March (some tight angles, well-chosen archive footage and subtle effects) works very well. There are some fine actors giving their all. Glynn Turman is a stand-out as the inspiring Randolph, savvy enough to play the game in a way Rustin isn’t. Aml Ameen’s capturing of King’s voice and mannerisms is perfect. Pounder, Rock, McDonald and others compellingly bring to life leading activists while Jeffrey Wright sportingly plays the closest thing to a heel as jealous congressman Clayton Powell.

However skilful reconstructions only take us so far. Often personal stakes are presented vaguely. The film avoids depicting Rustin encountering much personal homophobia – no member of the movement expresses negative views, with white pacifist campaigner AJ Muste (Bill Irwin) the only person to express openly homophobic opinions. The threat of someone discovering his past arrest (for a 1953 encounter with two men in Pasadena) is played as a core fear for Rustin, but the film is vague about the likely impact this revelation would have (since it seems to already be widely know). It’s astonishing that Rustin was so open when being so was a crime, but the film (aside from a brief moment when he considers a casual pick-up) risks underplaying the era’s prejudice and dangers.

To cover issues on homophobia and self-loathing guilt, the film invents a closeted reverend, well played with a tortured sense of shame and self-loathing by Johnny Ramey, who initiates a secretive relationship with Rustin. This fictional character absorbs all the fear and self-denial that many gay people felt at the time, allowing Rustin to show us what life was like for the many, many people who, for whatever reason, were not as outspoken as Rustin. But it does feel like somewhat of a compromise, and a character who feels a little too convenient, drifting to and from the story whenever it’s themes need a bit more of a personal touch.

It’s hard not to think the film could have gained more interest from exploring Rustin’s relationship with Tom Kahn (Gus Halper) – or even being clearer on the very nature of this relationship. An initial familiar intimacy indicates an established romantic relationship, but later scenes suggest instead a more casual flatmates-with-benefits set-up. Then we suddenly hit the inevitable moment when Kahn walks in on Rustin and Elias kissing and reacts like a betrayed partner. It finally decides Kahn is in love with Rustin, but Rustin hasn’t time for a relationship with so much work to be done. Despite this thought, the film wants to also say Rustin and Elias are profoundly in love, tragically only kept apart by social pressures. It’s trying to have its cake and eat it too. The cost to your personal life of being fully committed to a cause, or the awful pressures of loving someone in the face of prejudice, are both powerful stories. Settling on one and exploring it fully would have been more emotionally rewarding.

Rustin is a solid, well-handled, decent biopic. Bringing the life of a lesser-known civil rights activist to a bigger audience is a worthy aim, and Black and queer audiences (historically underserved) deserve to see films that centre their stories. It’s also refreshing to see a film zero in on the importance of logistics for major events (what other film has a scene where the fillings of thousands of sandwiches to be kept in the warm sunshine becomes a heated debate?) and its focus on the work recruiting attendees, buses and resources for the March is great.

But the real success in this sometimes workmanlike film is Domingo, who lifts the entire thing with an emotionally committed performance that is perhaps better than it deserves.