While my family and I waited to buy tickets for Christopher Nolan’s massive adaptation of Homer’s great epic, “The Odyssey,” I had an interesting marketing idea.  Wouldn’t it have been great if the studio had given discounted or even free admission to all the English teachers and literature professors around the world who have devoted almost as much time to teaching Homer as Nolan did making the movie? 

Over 35 years as a professor, I have probably taught “The Odyssey” at least 50 times. The work is a cornerstone of Western Civilization; a key part of the so-called Great Code that understands the Hellenic and Hebraic narratives of creation and human nature as the foundation of public and personal endeavor we honor and emulate today. 

When my abbreviated summer session of World Literature began in June, I shortened the class reading of “The Odyssey.” While I thought that most of the students had already been exposed to the work in high school, I also knew that Nolan’s film was imminent. I trusted the class to see the movie, and many of them did. Their reviews were mixed, as is mine—Christopher Nolan’s “The Odyssey” is a great film, but not always a great adaptation. My students who saw the film did not have the context I expected. Their general response seemed to be, “It was pretty good.” 

The Odyssey has been interpreted many times. Any lover of English poetry knows Keats’ “On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer.” While Tennyson’s poem “Ulysses” is my favorite consideration of the epic, I still think that Robert Fagles’ poetic translation is the best modern translation we have. Emily Wilson—the first woman to translate the poem, and whose work Nolan referenced for his movie—recently wrote that she would be embarrassed to have contributed anything to the film. 

Worse than those who perhaps unfairly criticize the film or those who are already praising it as the greatest movie of the 21st century, are those who announce that they won’t see it at all. This is the audience that most concerns me. This is the audience that wants nothing to do at all with the classical past. They are missing a lot. 

I am continually surprised that most of my general education world literature students know very little about the Hebrew Scriptures of Genesis and Exodus. They know even less about the New Testament, whether the Gospels or the Epistles. When I introduce these texts to them in class, many of them are horrified: “We’re reading The Bible? In school?” 

Yes, we are. And we’re also reading Homer, Virgil and Ovid. And we’re considering Islam, Hinduism and Zen Buddhism. If you propose to teach a semester course in world literature, you must reckon with the great narrative and religious traditions of both West and East. 

Doing so means that you must abridge and adapt. You must capture the essence of the text and tradition, even though you cannot express it fully and literally. And you cannot simplify the text to suit the expectations of the audience. 

Does Nolan’s Odyssey accomplish this? In some ways, yes. Yet there are many compressed moments in the movie that detract from the story’s subtle and nuanced understanding of human nature. When I was not in awe of the film’s visual allure, I occasionally tired of the violence. To be fair, spectacle is a highlight of both the poem and the film; Homer’s vibrancy can be as disgusting as it is amazing. Nolan’s graphic depictions are equally stunning. Yet Nolan misses that some of the best moments in “The Odyssey” aren’t violent. Rather, they are quiet and introspective and reveal a complexity of character. 

Matt Damon portrays Odysseus in a scene from the movie “The Odyssey.” The OSV News classification is A-III—adults. The Motion Picture Association rating is R—restricted. Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian. OSV News photo/Melinda Sue Gordon, Universal

Consider one of the best-known sequences of the epic, the encounter with the one-eyed giant Cyclops, Polyphemus. In the poem, Polyphemus is a drunken clod, a brute who devours many of Odysseus’ crew, thus horribly violating the code of hospitality that is so central to the Law of Zeus. Yet Homer also shows us another side of Polyphemus, a tender concern for his sheep that links him to the classical pastoral ideal while also showing him as a fully rounded character. Nolan’s interpretation misses this empathy and depicts only the cruel vulgarity of the Cyclops, who he links not to the pastoral but to the Goya painting of “Saturn Devouring His Son.” 

Further, the Cyclops episode in the poem reveals the great cunning of Odysseus, who uses his clever intellect to fool Polyphemus so that the crew can escape. The “Nobody” or “No-Man” deception is brilliant because it showcases the hero’s talent even as it ironically foreshadows his literal disappearance from his home and family and his entrapment by Calypso.  

Nolan’s rendition is visually captivating, but by dismissing the complexities of both characters, the viewer misses both Homer’s insight and a delightful narrative twist. 

As I watched the film, I became aware that I was having a quiet conversation with it, either affirming its moments of greatness or wanting to cry out in protest. While Nolan retains much of what makes the epic fascinating beyond violence—the visit to the underworld and the prophecy of Tiresias are good examples—there are historical details such as armor and ships that have upset purists. And while Nolan remains true to the fidelity of Penelope, he takes interesting liberties with the portrayals of other female figures such as Circe, Calypso and Athena. Anyone who has read the poem anticipated what Nolan might do with the Sirens, Charybdis and Scylla, and I won’t spoil that for you. I won’t spoil the depiction of the Laestrygonians either, except to say that I loved the framing of that scene. 

Understanding ourselves and our place 

So why should a Christian, and especially a Catholic Christian, care so much about an ancient poem nearly 3,000 years old that predates the Gospel by 800 years? 

Because we can’t truly understand ourselves and our place in the world without it. 

The Homeric epics “The Iliad” and “The Odyssey,” along with Virgil’s “The Aeneid” and Ovid’s “Metamorphoses,” are as foundational as Hebraic Scripture. They illuminate who we are, what it means to be human and what it means to have an innate awareness of a Creator. The profound difference between the Hebraic and Hellenic conceptions of God must be understood if we are to fully know the narrative of Salvation History, Christianity and the development of theology. 

When St. Paul confronts the Greeks with the Gospel, their response is like that of many of my students when presented with classical and ancient texts: some scoff, some understand, and some muse that they would like to hear more about it another time.  

Like many teachers have expressed after seeing Nolan’s film, I am thrilled that the movie has captured the interest of a young audience that now wants to read the epic for themselves. I look forward to teaching it anew this fall semester to an audience who I know will be more engaged by the material than usual. 

I am also excited about the two forthcoming Mel Gibson films “The Resurrection of the Christ.” Part One is due to be released on May 6 —Ascension Day—next year, and Part Two is scheduled for May of 2028. The film will feature vivid portrayals of the Harrowing of Hell, which will spark even more dialogue among both believers and non-believers than “The Odyssey” has. 

When J.R.R. Tolkien was trying to convince C.S. Lewis to convert to Christianity, he came at the matter from the vantage of foundational and classical myth. Lewis protested that myths are “lies,” and Tolkien’s reply was adamant: “No, they are not lies.” Tolkien knew that myth is a doorway to truth, and truth an invitation to faith. Whether you’re headed back to high school or college this fall, or investigating the Homeric epics further on your own, take comfort that in a rapidly changing world, myth is not only relevant, but it endures.