Food for the Soul: The Odyssey
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Food for the Soul: The Odyssey
By Nina Heyn
Director Christopher Nolan does not let his audiences down. Every few years, he makes that one “must-see” film of the year: The Dark Knight in 2008, Inception in 2010, Interstellar in 2014, Dunkirk in 2017, Oppenheimer in 2023. This year, his movie The Odyssey is such a film. Tickets to IMAX shows have been presold for a year, and theater seats are filled to the brim with viewers who vary in age, gender, ethnicity, and cultural tastes—this being a rarity in itself in the age of preferences individualized to the max. Nolan’s reputation, the studio’s marketing, and awareness of the title (even if few people actually have read the classic tale) have all driven people to theaters en masse.
All of this hype would have fizzled out after the first weekend if Nolan had not delivered… but of course he has, in spades. The movie will soon reach and then surpass Nolan’s record of $1 billion in box office grosses for some of his previous releases.
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Yes, this one really did turn out to be a great film. I’ve seen it twice now and likef it even more the 2nd time.
Liked*
Are you really hyping a movie that profiles Ellen Paige? Very surprising.
I’m with Jeanmarie on this one.
We pay Nina to write what she pleases – she has extraordinary knowledge of movies and the movie industry. She votes on the Academy Awards each year – so gets sent hundreds of the movies that come out. She liked the movie. It is a review, not a hype.
I loved the book/poem. It is one of the great classics – a great story that every one of us can relate to and be inspired by. My favorite lines come when Ulysseys tells Penelope about the bed he built for them. Beautiful! https://www.theoi.com/Text/HomerOdyssey23.html
And then of course there is Tennyson https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45392/ulysses
Ulysses
BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match’d with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy’d
Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour’d of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho’ to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro’ soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil’d, and wrought, and thought with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
‘T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
PS. Who is Ellen Paige?