I confess that, when I was approached to share my thoughts on Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey, drawing on my research expertise, I was a bit hesitant at first. Does the world really need another Classicist’s take on what must, by now, be one of the most discussed and commented upon media sensations in recent years?
And yet it is this very point itself, which has perhaps not seen the commentary it deserves. What excites me is this: that at the end of the first quarter of the 21st century, big movie theatres the world over are selling out fast with crowds lining up everywhere to see one of the oldest stories that has come down to us.
We have just been told that the humanities in general, and Classical studies in particular, are in decline. In Australia (as in the UK, and elsewhere), the possibility of further cuts and job losses are always on the horizon – and the minds of those who work in higher education.
And now this?
Copies of recent translations of Homer—including Emily Wilson’s landmark Odyssey—are seeing significant spikes in sales. Classicists the world over suddenly find themselves in high demand, with requests for public comment on Nolan’s take outstripping even the wildest imagination of those who have always tried to draw attention to all things ancient. Social media are abuzz with controversies relating to the movie with people agreeing and disagreeing on whether the adaptation is (or should be) truthful to Homer and whether it is permissible, or indeed, morally opportune to cast a diverse set of actors for it.
How are we meant to reconcile these two realities? What does it show—about Greece and Rome, about our relationship with the past, and about ourselves—that a film set in the ancient world and based on an old story can still attract this level of attention, interest, and publicity?
Of course, one might dismiss the hype around Nolan’s film as having little to do with these questions and everything to do with the irresistible allure of an increasingly commercialised entertainment industry. There is certainly some truth in that. Yet this tells only part of the story.
A quick look at the front tables of bookstores the world over confirms that even before Nolan’s masterpiece, all things classical were already in high demand: Stephen Fry’s Mythos (2017) and Troy (2020) topped the international bestseller lists for fiction long before we learnt from Nolan what it was like inside the Trojan Horse (spoiler: not great!) and before Matt Damon cast his trusty sword towards the suitors in 70mm format. Nor are books the only form this public interest takes. By all standards classically themed podcasts, documentaries, even stand-up comedies (Natalie Haynes) and public-facing lectures by academics (Mary Beard anyone?) are more popular than ever.
The academic humanities may be in crisis. The public interest in what they have to offer is clearly not. It is thriving.
The solution to this riddle is obvious: members of the public are clearly still hungry for stories that are not only visually compelling and entertaining but that help them make sense of the human condition. And they continue to find them in the literature, history, philosophy, and cultures of the ancient world.
The problem, then, is not, that that knowledge about Greece and Rome is slowly but steadily becoming irrelevant. Quite the opposite. The ancient world still has the capacity to inspire reflection on questions that remain as urgent today as they were nearly three millennia ago. Featuring prominently among them are those of exile, return, identity, power, trauma violence, loyalty, justice, and, finally, the question of what makes us human itself. In my view, Nolan has done an excellent job translating them into the genre of the modern blockbuster movie. In doing so, he extends a powerful ancient tradition: As a fictional narrative, the story of Odysseus’ homecoming has always been retold and adapted to different kinds of audiences (including in its ‘original’ ancient Greek contexts). As far as myth is concerned, concerns around historicity, authenticity, and anachronism are thus missing the point. It is the very essence of myth to be retold.
And yet, I find the controversies surrounding Nolan’s The Odyssey revealing rather than irritating. Race and gender, identity and belonging, as well as the boundaries between reality and fiction, are among the defining issues of our time. So, too, are debates about ‘wokeness’ and the truthfulness of narratives, historical and otherwise. As unsettling as it can be to encounter opinions that may seem ill-informed or fundamentally at odds with our own, moments such as this remind us of the importance of public spaces in which ideas can be tested and contested, challenged, and reconsidered.
The ancient Greeks themselves certainly did not shy away from controversy and debate. Instead, they embedded them deeply into the institutions and processes of the democratic city.
What I take away from the Odyssey phenomenon, then, is not simply, or even primarily, that the ancient world still matters, that it continues to speak to us today. That is already clear. Rather, it is a reminder of why the humanities matter. They provide the knowledge and critical tools that allow us to engage meaningfully with the stories, ideas, and cultural traditions (both real and imagined) that shape our world. They offer frameworks for asking better, more pointed questions, for understanding why certain narratives endure (and others don’t), and for navigating the difficult debates that inevitably arise around them.
If Nolan’s film inspires more people to return to the Homeric story itself, it will have done us a great service. It has already succeeded in creating a moment of shared attention around ideas about which many of us feel deeply passionate. The challenge now is to for us to build on this momentum—and for the institutions that house us, to give us the space and means to do so.
