I’ve always loved the old Greek stories, the heroes and the gods, the powerful, complicated women and the powerful complicated men, fighting long battles and then ultimately yearning to be back home.
Christopher Nolan’s ‘The Odyssey’ has been controversial; the controversy fed by right wing commentators who have suddenly become classicists, who wish for historical accuracy in tales of gods and monsters. Ultimately it seems to me their view of the ancient world (blonde and blue-eyed) seems to be founded on a combination of racism and misogyny.
In a film of stand out performances; that’s you Matt Damon, Ann Hathaway, Himesh Patel among many others Samantha Morton’s Circe is as terrifying as anything I’ve seen in the last ten years of film watching and certainly ( all fifteen minutes of it) worthy of a supporting actor Oscar.
A few years back we went to Kefalonia for a holiday, taking a day out to get the ferry to Ithaca. I was buzzing with excitement. Ithaca the home and kingdom of Odysseus. There was a statue of him in the little harbour and I imagined him returning and clambering up the beach, heart full and wondering what he might find.
I remember the poignant meeting with his dog Argos, who had waited hopefully to see his master again for twenty years. This was beautifully handled in the film; it reminded me of the sonnet I had written after our visit {sonnet 56 in my collection ‘Notes of Your Music’ (2025)}
Argos
This was the way he, wily, travel-stained,
Came limping to where fishing boats were tied,
Looking around for what had still remained,
Tired eyes where hope and joy had almost died.
In disguise through villages of his youth
Recognised by no one but going home
What would be left, just the bitter truth
That, after twenty years, not much the same.
But then the corner of his house was near
A joyful rustle from a bed of rags and straw –
Argos had waited through each long year,
He wagged his tail, whined a last welcome now.
Then the sweet sadness of his bursting heart
As his swallow soul could at last depart.
