O sing ye muse of a face a fleet a war a man a thought a trick a trick to break the walls of Troy and burn it screaming to the ground because the hand of victory shrouds the bard’s legends and makes blind beggars of us all

Now that it has finally washed up on our shores The Odyssey (2026, Christopher Nolan) it turns out was left there as a gift to be prized as the greatest movie of all time. Because it remembered what a hero is supposed to be unlike us still eating the lotus. In Odysseus we find a tragedy that doesn’t end with its protagonist paying for his redemption through being sacrificed or punished but by learning truth that cost him his entire life on a journey to find it. An odyssey if you will.

 

It’s pretty cool Nolan got a cast release date and budget this prestigious lavish to make a film that isn’t meant for complete idiots. Also I have my own personal rules about talking movies. Even though I believe everyone is entitled to an opinion for my own tastes preferences in the context of this post one is I don’t give a shit about your comparison between the book and movie.
     Somewhere at the top of what I consider the most effective powerful favorite tools of cinema or literary devices in general is when a character somehow is positioned amongst a cautionary atrocious pitiful deplorable element established as other only for said character through a twist embodies this very same accursed plight. Because the thought of that in real life is so powerful. What if I became something I hated? Something I feared? That defies logic heart and spirit. And in The Odyssey it’s The People of the Sea. I can’t believe Nolan wrote this screenplay himself. And by the way this is the first Nolan movie I felt genuine emotion. And a lot. Like full on sobbing. But tears of joy tears of beauty tears of pain. And by the way this is the first Nolan movie I think he matched maybe surpassed what Kubrick was capable of not that it makes any sense to compare the two.
     The structure of The Odyssey builds little by little. Constantly foreshadowing forging and reconfiguring our conception of the narrative’s events. And the way Nolan wrings every drop of drama and emotion out of every beat is by the heavy consequences for all of Odysseus’s actions along with their equally severe stakes whereby he atones for them. More than Penelope’s anxiety over the Suitors she tells Telemachus Ithaca needs a king because the people are fearful in a state of unrest because of talk about The People from the Sea. Like weaving a loom when the narrative is ready the way all of these events fit together is too staggering to believe it was made by hand. It’s as fine as they come. 
     Same thing with character motivation. Precision. Odysseus is introduced as fair in the scene that shows how he plucks his bow when hunting. So why does he go to fight at Troy? Because Agamemnon would kill his son if he didn’t. Yet when Eurylochus bemoans the question Couldn’t you have shown some mercy? it approaches potential moral ambiguity as to whether or if or how far we can sympathize with Odysseus’s actions ever so slightly making this question more and more difficult until it becomes unbearable.
     The final act has a monologue by Odysseus that shows the other side of the sacking of Troy. Twist. Reveal. There’s this line. What if when he fell down from the belly of the horse he saw ten years of rage pour into that city in one night? that at once drives straight into your soul and forces you to confront the reality of war and horrific violence murder of innocents. Making you never want to cheer at spectacle ever again. That is until he finishes the speech and you jump right back into fake movie world bloodlust insatiably thirsting for Odysseus Sword of Doom House of Blue Leaves Oldboy massacre of every single last Suitor. This is sophisticated. This is nuance. These conditions are complex but navigable.

     Yet as if if not more painful is what Odysseus says about the sirens’ wail It's everything you want most and most of all you want is what you’ve already had and lost and can never get back It’s every promise I made to my men that I couldn’t keep. These are the consequences of our desires our ambitions our hopes and dreams.

     Multipurpose motifs dramatic elements or character traits. Varied perspectives. Ambivalence. With stakes this high for a great warrior general with the gods demanding so much from him as to provoke him to defy them what better fractured narrative to evoke this than what is said about Sinon? What is it something like 1. Antinous tells Telemachus that he drew the lot to go to Troy but Odysseus chose Sinon instead so Antinous could stay and take care of his family 2. Sinon says he wanted to go to Troy so bad and Antinous family paid him to take their son’s place 3. Polybus says Sinon was Antinous’s shepherd’s son who wanted Antinous to take his place. Which of these is true? There’s no way to tell really. But I know which one feels true to me.
 
The tone is supernatural perilous. The lives of these characters at the fate of the gods. A time of apparent magic. And speaking of fate the gods consequences foreshadowing the dual meaning subtext of Odysseus's line I’ve followed Agamemnon long enough takes the cake. The Odyssey is a puzzle of dueling perspectives. Similarly Agamemnon’s advice to Odysseus in Hades Don't go in the front door expecting a homecoming of garlands and praise sneak through the back Assess.

     Nolan is the guy who made still the only other of his films I enjoy Tenet (2020, Christopher Nolan) he is a cinematic physicist. At the end of his monologue when Odysseus says They will only be able to sing songs of his exploits until all of his mistakes are forgotten this kinetic energy stays in motion reserved looked at as many different things. As in we can overlook his war crimes beyond which wisdom about leadership can be learned or we can ignore the mass murder of innocents coursing through from Troy to every military campaign ethnic cleansing guerrilla black ops terrorist dictator coup genocide that is a constant throughout all human history only to continually repeat it which we no doubt will. Maybe Circe was right about disguises? Assess.

 
7/17/2026 AMC Madison Yards 8
7/18/2026 AMC Madison Yards 8
Atlanta, GA
 

Barbenheimer

Barbie (2023, Greta Gerwig) is the best film of the year. It’s an astounding work of genius. I didn’t know what to expect going in. The only thing that drew me to it initially was its plastic pink pastel dreamy commitment to an entirely artifice based aesthetic, which I’d only previously encountered in The Cat in the Hat (2003, Bo Welch). (But that time it was a lavender and green palette, and didn’t offer much else beyond that.)

     But it’s foremost a sympathetic and modern approach to gender politics, feminism, and finding one’s self, sense of purpose, and place in life. It’s also fun. And hilarious. Gorgeous. And works as a dazzlingly choreographed musical. Sure, its audience is little girls. Yet it speaks to youth culture in general, in fact ultimately with a Generation X sensibility.

     The midpoint, where BARBIE hopelessly wallows in the defeat of her existential crisis, 7 hours of looking at the pics of all of her friends engagements on Instagram, eating a whole family sized bag of Starburst, and watching the BBC Pride and Prejudice evokes a relatable truth. And America Ferrara’s monologue in the second act is an indelible feminist tract that rallies us to see the truth about the hypocrisies, perceptions, roles, expectations, and hardships placed on women in a way that’s not preachy or accusatory but insightful and progressively empathetic.

     And the ending is powerful. The whole act structure of Barbie is really well done actually. But the conclusion had me, entirely won over by its existential philosophical dialogues. When Barbie says she wants to be the thing that imagines, and not the thing that is imagined, isn’t that straight out of Schopenhauer? His refinement of the Cartesian? The subject that cognizes the object?  And its resolution: she’s the idea not a person—the idea, isn’t that what Plato means by the imperishable forms that, multiplied by way of space and time, are made partially visible in countless individual perishable things? Barbie as Cinema as the thing in itself.

 

Oppenheimer (2023, Christopher Nolan) succeeds in telling a narratively complex story about a complex historical figure. It took me a little while, but my conclusion is that the black and white scenes are from the perspective of STRAUSS (who wants to bet Robert Downey Jr. wins an Oscar for best supporting actor?) and the color stuff is from OPPENHEIMER’S.

     Seeing Barbie with its perfect trad three act structure, then going to Oppenheimer is jarring. Oppenheimer right away reminds you oh yeah no credits, no set up, no inciting incident—this movie doesn’t wait for you to catch up. Oppenheimer jumps around all over its timeline. It's a mosaic of vignettes. And it’s got a relentless energy that’s punctuated with loud explosive sound cues and wall to wall epic score accompaniment. Nolan’s movies sound like if you went to see godheadSilo live. He’s the loudest rock band of cinema. Another funny thing is if you see Barbie first, there’s an attack on the patriarchy and this running joke about how the manliest thing is to ride horses; and Oppenheimer is excessively patriarchal and yeah Oppy rides a horse in many a scene. 

     While the bulk of Oppenheimer feels like litigation, science, politics, and espionage, all told through a bunch of white guys talking, it’s a question of how cinematic are all of these facts? How does it all come together as a movie and does it work? I think so. It’s grand, and it’s grand because it’s about the biggest thing ever to happen in the history of mankind, and happened such a relatively short time ago. And maybe I’m too selfish self-centered for even asking this but all the talk about how the nuclear bomb is the end of the world, am I the only one thinking uhh I’m still here watching this right now so…? 

     I know no one wants spoilers, but worth mentioning the subjective cinematic interludes are truly inspired effective. And yeah the nuclear stuff, but also the sex stuff with Florence Pugh, especially. You know, from the point of view of Oppenheimer’s wife, I won’t say anymore.

A Fresh Faced Protagonist

Tenet (2020, Christopher Nolan) is an action movie expressive of a personal style of filmmaking that never gets in the way of its commitment of being an action movie.

 

   You don’t have to think to enjoy action movies. Bunjeeing up a building of high-rise condos, high-speed car chases, or the inversion of time are the kinds of things that make Tenet a great action movie. So are the set pieces. Most great action movies have a standout set piece. Tenet is crowded with set pieces done so well that they hold their own against each other and make it hard to rank any one better than the others—although that’s not entirely true because it’s the freeway chase. And that’s not entirely accurate because which freeway chase? The one moving forward, or the inverted one?

   Along with spectacular feats of adrenaline inducing death-defying thrills, action movies have a battle of good vs. evil. Tenet’s hero, the PROTAGONIST, is pitted against villain ANDREI SATOR. And as action movies go, these two, along with what’s at stake should either defeat the other, fit all expectations.

 

   Allow me to now separate Tenet into two layers. Take the characters. The hero and villain each provide a distinct contrast to one another. To begin with, we have the protagonist. It’s as if he somehow represents the future. He’s cool—young, black and American. He’s got no name, no backstory, no family, no friends. He and his partner NEIL are professionals, and they work well together. The protagonist isn’t wealthy or powerful. But he has fun. He’s also so proficient no one ever makes him sweat.

   On the other hand, Andrei’s stuck in the past. He’s old, white and Russian. We get his life story. He’s got a wife and kid. He and his wife KAT can’t stand each other, and they’re constantly fighting. Andrei is a billionaire, powerful and connected. But he’s miserable. He’s also so stressed he’s constantly checking his pulse on a wrist monitor. The protagonist makes work look fun, whereas Andrei makes being rich look like life sucks.

   Where these two layers merge is what makes Tenet meaningful. The protagonist’s pure action genre along with Andrei’s human drama baggage culminate in something greater than either could be on their own. Cinema needs to look at the past and towards the future at the same time.

 

   Aesthetically, Tenet is as proficient in its pacing, sound, and framing as the protagonist is as field agent. Nolan’s style is sophisticated—invisible cinema. The least subtle aspect of Tenet is the score (and sound design). And that’s a good thing because its music cues are kinetic while traditional in the sense of classic Hollywood underscoring.

   With this much style to enjoy, it’s a treat looking forward to returning to Tenet in search of filling in some gaps that left me scratching my head.

9/06/2020 Plaza Theatre

Atlanta, GA

70mm print

The Horrors Heroes and Youngandinnocentocide of WWII

I don't recommend movies. With the exception of The Spanish Prisoner (1997, David Mamet). For the last 20 years that's the one movie I recommend. Why? Maybe because first of all I don't expect most people to have heard of it. Secondly, it's a David Mamet sleeper plot about tech jargon that features the casting of Steve Martin in a dark, straight role. And third, the rest is better left without description.

For a while, when it first came out on home video, I recommended Memento (2000, Christopher Nolan) often, but its novelty has worn off long ago. I've wanted to but have yet come to appreciate any of Christopher Nolan's work. His movies are tedious and boring.



90s filmmakers are my contemporaries. For me the modern era of cinema is 1990--. That's my main focus. The 90s are my main passion. The Thin Red Line (1998, Terrence Malick), Che (2008, Steven Soderbergh), The Hurt Locker (2008, Kathryn Bigelow), and Zero Dark Thirty (2012, Bigelow) spoiled me. As of this writing, since 1990 no other movie has come close to qualifying as a great war movie. But I'm still looking. Inglourious Basterds (2009, Quentin Tarantino) is amazing, but really it's such silly fun I kind of have to set it aside. Saving Private Ryan (1998, Steven Spielberg), Black Hawk Down (2001, Ridley Scott), Flags of Our Fathers (2006, Clint Eastwood), and Letters from Iwo Jima (2006, Eastwood) are cool. Miracle at St. Anna (2008, Spike Lee) sucks.

Dunkirk (2017, Nolan) in 70mm is a documentary realism World War II drama streamlined to 100 minutes of Hans Zimmer-scored first person any-minute-this-could-be-the-end patriotic nailbiter. Probably the best thing going for Dunkirk is its breathtaking technical craft using David Lean formalism by way of subjective POVs that place us right in the middle of imminent danger with the sense of scale and space uncomfortably close. I mean like that scene on the beach when the British troops hit the ground for cover and we see the plumes erupting spewing wet sand telling us that as this gets closer and closer it ends in death; yet, wait it comes closer than it normally would. And there is the death. Everywhere.

But my favorite thing about Dunkirk is its proficiency at telling a story through silence. And when I say silence I obviously mean every sound but dialogue. This is so uncommon nowadays. Also another thing nifty and great about Dunkirk is the illustrated key that tells us in the film's opening that 1. THE MOLE 1 Week, 2. THE SEA 1 Day, and 3. THE AIR 1 Hour sequences elapse at different lengths of time. So cool.

And well I am a total sucker for how cool the Tom Hardy dogfight Spitfire sequences are, or really even just anytime he and the other two Spitfire pilots are doing any kind of maneuvers--I used to love drawing fighter planes and playing with jet toys so much when I was a kid. And the shots from the cockpit benefit from a constricted POV that has the same limited field of vision as the pilots do.

Returning to the evocative depictions of horrific death: the climax of the attack on the Heinkel, the submerged destroyer, and the fuel engulfed waters burning and trapping the young soldiers in between burning or drowning, the surrounding perils in Dunkirk continuously shape together cohesively towards the final minutes. And at the end Hardy, Kenneth Branagh as a British Naval Commander, and Mark Rylance as a civilian with his own boat, combine to give this genre piece some pretty worthwhile performances. Yet at the end I also near my fill of British gentlemen at war high culture. It's so obnoxious. Evident most when the son of the Rylance character saves the British troop greeting him with: "Good Afternoon," in that stupid ha ha isn't it ironic that I'm being civilized at such a moment? kind of way.

So Dunkirk might be a great war movie. It certainly is one of the best pure cinema exercises in genre filmmaking. Cold? Sure. But that is another of its characteristics that fit it well.