We’ve all been there: you want to experience the fundamental
pillar of Western literature, but you only have three hours to spare. And so
yes, maybe the two best options are a
modernist poem translated from a 16th-century Latin cheat-sheet, or Christopher
Nolan's blockbuster film 'Odyssey'.
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I've just seen Christopher Nolan's movie which is doing the rounds just as I am revisiting Ezra Pound's Cantos. I have just read
through Canto 1 for the umpteenth time, with reference material to hand to
untangle the narrative, the structure, the complexities. Meantime Christopher
Nolan's movie does not disappoint when it comes to time-slicing the narrative,
but having a handle on the tale means there are no real challenges to following
what's in front of us.
I think I’d speak for most, that Nolan's Memento, Inception,
Oppenheimer timelines, and his recent Rose of Nevada, are tricky. But these
pale when reading Pound’s Cantos. And from the start, Canto I ,
the poem I am focussing on at the moment, is a translation of a Renaissance
Latin text by a guy named Andreas Divus. It masquerades as a medieval Viking poem, describing an
ancient Greek myth. It is a literary nesting doll that probably needs three
university degrees and a map to navigate. And it starts with Book 11 of the
Odyssey.
Ironically, Nolan’s treatment is actually the
straightforward option here, even though he also starts somewhere down the
track of the story’s timeline. He doesn’t include the complete complex Pantheon
of interfering Olympian gods, doesn’t for example, include the story of Princess Nausicaa, but presents a pacy, slick
survival movie. Sure, he completely rewrites Homer’s ending so Odysseus and
Penelope can sail off into a sunset, but at least nobody has to look up
what "In officina Wecheli" means in the footnotes.
The opening 45 minutes were compromised by often mumbled
dialogue and yes, of course, the accents - these, apart from the somewhat dry
exposition to set the scene, made for a slow start. It took a while for the
move to find its stride.
The visual effects are stunning for sure, but I have to say
I felt mildly sorry for poor old Polyphemus / Cyclops. He seemed to be minding
his own business with his sheep and was being gate-crashed by this band of
ne'er do wells!
Nolan, on the other hand, gives us Matt Damon as a deeply
traumatised, frowning war veteran. Rather than outwitting the Cyclops with
classic literary dialogue – in Homer there is a strange ambiguity about the encounter. Homer’s
Odysseus outwits Polyphemus by telling
the giant his own name is ‘Nobody’ but Damon’s Odysseus skips the banter entirely and
just shoots Polyphemus as a quid-pro-quo against Polyphemus’ devouring of
several of his companions . Because nothing says 'ancient mythic cleverness'
like a $250 million production budget and tactical archery.
There is currently a much larger argument going on about
whether Nolan has understood Homer at all. Emily Wilson, whose translation
apparently influenced Nolan, has been extremely critical of the film's
psychological, emotional and ethical depth. [ https://www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v48/n14/emily-wilson/an-uncomplicated-man
] Maybe it’s true that Nolan turns Odysseus
into a conventional tortured protagonist and diminishes some of the qualities —
cunning, charm, complexity — that make Homer's Odysseus distinctive. But this, after all, is an epic movie built to
entertain and surprise: most folk know what to expect of the standard epic-movie-format.
So in that format, to find an authentic emotional centre can
be tricky. I guess my sympathy for Polyphemus was unexpected, but there is something
almost unbearably economical about the scene where the dog Argos recognises Odysseus
on his return. Nobody else recognises him. His wife Penelope does not; his son
Telemachus does not; the household is full of suitors who certainly don't. Argos has simply waited all these years, and
his purpose is fulfilled. The dog is lying neglected on a heap of dung, old,
dirty and covered with ticks. He has been abandoned since his master went away.
We are told he has outlived his dog-years in this waiting. Odysseus sees him but must conceal his
identity, so he cannot embrace him or even openly acknowledge him. And then
Argos lifts his head. He knows. That tiny act of recognition is all that is
needed. Odysseus is finally home, and someone — the creature who has been
waiting longest and has nothing to gain from his return — knows him
immediately. And so we have that moment: a little movement of Argos’ head, no
music required. Argos dies as soon as he has seen his master again.
( So, no Emily Wilson, I do not salute your chattering class hardness of spirit: 'My eyes stayed dry, even for Argos the dog – whose adorableness as a puppy is predictably amped up to suit our animal-loving times.')
So, back to Ezra Pound: If you prefer your classics served
up as epic modernist poetry with heavy Anglo-Saxon alliteration and a side of
16th-century publishing history, Pound is your man. But if you want to see a
grim, hyper-realistic Matt Damon battle mayhem and monsters on the largest screen imaginable,
stick to Nolan.
Either way, Homer gets a
co-screenwriting credit—though his estate probably hasn't seen many New
Directions royalty cheques and isn't seeing as much as a penny of
that billion-dollar box-office return.