Christopher Nolan’s 'The Odyssey' — Is It Any Good?

Does the ending of Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey fulfill its promise, or negate it?

While the political shadow overrides every cultural debate today, in this case Christopher Nolan’s reinterpretation of The Odyssey, and everything associated, from dismissing reviews and critiques as too liberal or too conservative to who he had to cast, and even to the “meaning” of the story. But it is precisely all this political overshadowing that makes it difficult to tackle the more pressing question, like is the film any good? Or does Nolan succeed with the point he is making with the film?

By any measure of cinematic quality, the film is good. I mean, have you seen it? It is quite impressive. It is wildly ambitious filmmaking, and perhaps one of the most visually stunning films since—I don’t know—Lawrence of Arabia, another film that for its time was incredibly ambitious with wide shots and a color palette so rich that even if you couldn’t stand Peter O’Toole or the movie's length, you would still be captivated. Switch details, and that’s exactly what you have with Nolan’s The Odyssey and Matt Damon. The difference: Lawrence of Arabia was a better story.

This leads to my primary critique of Nolan’s The Odyssey. It’s just not written well.

Aristotle warned us eons ago: spectacle is the least important aspect of good drama. Plot, he said, is the most important, and characters are defined by what they do. Actions make character; actions drive the plot. Nolan violates these principles, not totally but in important moments certainly, like its central storyline and possibly proving along the way that modern audiences don’t care or, simply put: our brains have been hijacked by spectacle. So who cares. We are, after all, a product of the now-now-now, boom-crackle-pop social media era. But for all the film’s beauty and commercial success, Nolan does not convince us of the thematic point he is aiming for. And this has to do with the writing.

(If you have not seen the film and do not want spoilers, then do not continue reading.)

Nolan turns The Odyssey from a complicated, courageous hero’s journey home to restore order—a storyline that doesn’t trend well with modern culture right now—into a more easily understood, or at least more socially acceptable, soldier who is haunted by his role in the Trojan War returning home to reconcile his past actions. Thematically, it strikes eerily similar territory to Nolan’s previous and better overall film, Oppenheimer, asking the philosophical question: what is our role in destroying humanity? A perfectly valid and interesting standpoint and debate, and by now we clearly understand Nolan’s view—and I wouldn’t necessarily argue with him. But do I like that he did this with this story? Not really, I would much prefer fidelity to Homer’s version, but I accept it as a reinterpretation; this is Nolan’s right as filmmaker and artist. I support artistic ambition and free speech above all. Even if he completely butchered the facts, that is common practice in Hollywood. Again, who cares. Story rules the roost.

Herein lies the bigger problem: the story doesn’t work on its own merits.

For the story to work, Odysseus cannot commit the same flawed action and still “win the day,” or perhaps more accurately, “sail off into the sunset.” If our protagonist has remorse and regret, causing moral reckoning for his actions in the Trojan War (triggering the slide of humanity)—the point of Nolan’s film as I see it—specifically, for his violating Zeus’ Law, a host must offer food, shelter, and accept a visitor into their home, then how in the film’s pivotal scene does Odysseus violate Zeus’ Law (again) to gain access to his own home and defeat the suitors? Sure, I buy that he is haunted and even that he might be justified (this time), but his actions prove he is not remorseful, nor has he learned a “new” way from his journey, and most importantly, that he is the cunning, all-too-proud hero Homer originally devised. His actions tell us who he is. In short, good people think shitty things all the time, but they do not commit shitty actions. They make mistakes, of course, but they do not premeditate those mistakes in the pivotal moments of their life for their own gain. Maybe they do, but I would call those people cunning, not sincere. (Ahem, politicians.)

If the film had been better written, I could have bought Nolan’s reinterpretation. But honestly, that flaw was one of many I spotted in its three-hour runtime, consisting mostly of Odysseus stumbling upon another foreign land with his men only to run back to their boat, again. I lost count of how many times this happens; it happens repeatedly, and I get it—I do—Nolan is trying to invoke journey, struggle, challenge, strife, but fundamentally the repetition feels too compressed to invoke its point. This is the challenge of a film versus a novel, or in this case, an epic poem. Something that, if you listened to my podcast, you know I don’t always default to the book being better than the movie. In this case, Homer’s version sees Odysseus in these lands for longer timeframes. So the effect is vastly different.

And then there’s the dialogue. Oh, the dialogue.

At its best it’s memorable, at its worst it’s memorable. Instead of skewering the latter, let’s look at one powerful line that could go either way. When Matt Damon’s Odysseus says, “Dying men tell the truth. I needed you to believe.” That’s a powerhouse line, and delivered in a convincing exchange, it could be iconic. Heck, it still might be—this is the power of the written word. But if you juxtapose that line against, let’s say, Mel Gibson’s classic William Wallace line: “Every man dies, not every man really lives.” It doesn’t even come close to holding the same weight. Sadly, this is another point that will probably not land well for some readers due to the political overshadowing tainting even great performances like Gibson’s in Braveheart. But again, this is not about politics; it is about art.

I respect the hell out of Matt Damon—Rounders changed me, so did Good Will Hunting, and he has always seemed like a genuinely good guy—and quite honestly, the physical change he endured to become Odysseus is nothing short of remarkable. The problem: he still felt like Matt Damon. Whereas, in Braveheart, William Wallace said that line, not Mel Gibson. The star performance versus the transformative performance has long been debated in cinema, mostly since Brando changed the game in the 50s. It’s why a character like James Bond has always been so carefully selected; the star can drown the character. Yes, both styles are necessary in the right film, but I will admit that I did not find one of the latter in The Odyssey.

In a film of this magnitude, I can usually pick one performance that truly excels. As in, one that makes me believe I am not watching that actor, and instead, I am watching the character. Not here, not with this one. I don’t blame the actors, though; it’s not their medium. Not really. And especially not with this film. I blame Nolan. I blame the script. He chose spectacle over everything, and it showed, in all its miraculous, jaw-dropping glory. It showed.

Douglas Vigliotti, 2026

*For more on timeless storytelling principles, check out Aristotle for Novelists.