Thursday, 23 July 2026

The Odyssey | review by Rafe McGregor

Faithful but flawed.


Very little is known about Homer other than that he was Greek, probably born in the eighth century BCE, and inaugurated European literary heritage with the Iliad and its sequel, the Odyssey, a pair of epic poems about the Trojan War. The war itself, which has been dated to the collapse of the Bronze Age in the twelfth century BCE, and Homer’s authorship are disputed, the latter a result of the poems being the product or an oral rather than written tradition. Like the Iliad, which I discussed in my review of Wolfgang Petersen’s Troy (2004), the Odyssey consists of twenty-four divisions (later, ‘books’ or chapters) composed in dactylic hexameter. Where the Iliad tells the story of the fall of Troy, of the Achaean (Greek) victory in the Trojan War courtesy of King Odysseus of Ithaca’s cunning ploy with the Trojan horse, the Odyssey, literally ‘the story of Odysseus’, tells the tale of Odysseus’ homecoming which, like the war itself, takes ten years. The journey turns into an odyssey due to the combination of the god Poseidon’s wrath, the recklessness of Odysseus’ men, and his own vices and while he is away his wife, Penelope, and son, Telemachus, must deal with a host of parasitical ‘suitors’ who want to instal themselves as King of Ithaca by marrying Penelope. Where the Iliad is a very different type of narrative to those with which we are now familiar, the Odyssey has many recognisable literary features, including the use of flashbacks and changes in narration. Although the gods play an important role, there is also a sense in which Odysseus is clearly the protagonist, with his agency driving the sequence of events that unfolds. Similarly, the diffusion of narrative focus among Odysseus, Telemachus, and Penelope is much more modern than the Iliad’s emphasis on heroes and kings and it is not difficult to discern a prototypical contemporary novel in the poem. This is probably why I enjoyed it so much when I first read it, unlike the Iliad, and why it is usually evaluated as superior to the Iliad by literary scholars.

The main problem with filming the Odyssey is, of course, the decade long sequence of events represented. If one counts only live action films that retain the original setting, there have been four cinematic adaptations to date. The first was The Odyssey (L’Odissea, 1911), a short, silent Italian film directed by Francesco Bertolini, Adolfo Padovan, and Giuseppe De Liguoro and released seven months after the first cinematic adaptation of the Iliad. The second, Ulysses (Ulisse, 1954), and third, Nostos: The Return (Nostos: Il ritorno, 1989) were also Italian and were directed by Mario Camerini and Franco Piavoli respectively, with Kirk Douglas playing the lead in the former. There must be something about Homer’s epics and Italy, perhaps a throwback to the popularity of the ‘sword and sandal’ genre in the country in the nineteen fifties and sixties, because the fourth is a joint Italian, Greek, and British production. The Return (2024) was directed by Uberto Pasolini and starred Ralph Fiennes and Juliette Binoche in the lead roles. I liked The Return a lot, though I was disappointed when I realised that the film was going to focus exclusively on the events following Odysseus’ arrival in Ithaca. When I heard that Christopher Nolan would be directing The Odyssey, I must admit my heart sank. Nolan is famous or, perhaps more accurately, notorious for experimenting with chronology and temporality and has produced masterpieces like Memento (2000) by tinkering with time in ingenious ways. More recently, his experimentation has either been pointless (I’m thinking of Dunkirk in 2017 and Oppenheimer in 2023, both of which are historical) or entirely over the top (whatever it was Tenet was supposed to be in 2020). The fact that Nolan would be adapting a narrative that was itself achronological did not bode well and seemed like it might be a recipe for disaster.

I’m pleased to say that my fears were entirely unfounded, with Nolan creating a largely faithful adaptation of Homer’s original that includes most of all twenty-four parts in roughly the same order. The only major characters missing, as far as I can tell on a single viewing, are Nestor, Nausicaa, and Laertes, none of whose absence detracts from the storytelling. On the note of character, while the casting is not as good as Troy’s, it works much better than I anticipated, although the best acting is by Samantha Morton (playing Circe) and Charlize Theron (playing Calypso) rather than any of the three leads. My only quibble in this regard is the retention of American accents and contemporary American vernacular. Telemachus (played by Tom Holland) calling Odysseus (played by Matt Damon) ‘dad’ did not assist my suspension of disbelief and made me feel like I was watching a sitcom rather than one of the oldest stories ever. Remaining faithful to the original brings challenges of its own, however, the first and most obvious being running time and the film is just under three hours long. No one left the theatre nor did I get the feeling that the audience was restless by the end so Nolan appears to have succeeded here, combatting decreasing attention spans with compelling cinematic art in which both cinematography and sound reward viewing on the big screen. Second, the number of books included means that some scenes are very compressed and the following suffer for it: the Laestrygonians, the Sirens, Scylla and Charybdis, and the cattle of Helios. Two other scenes are badly handled without screen time being the issue. The first, near the beginning, is the strangely sexless Cyclops (played by Bill Irwin), who is more funny than frightening, and the second and most disappointing, the slaughter of the suitors in the hall, which is represented with considerably less skill than in The Return (and is, unfortunately, the climax of the narrative for both Homer and Nolan).

Such is The Odyssey for those who are familiar with the original. How, then, has Nolan made it his own? While he doesn’t play with Homer’s chronology (at least to any significant extent), he does include one of his trademark twists in the tale, albeit indirectly related to time in this instance. The repeated mention of raiders from the sea is a leitmotif that feeds very nicely into the theme of this adaptation. Where one might regard Homer’s poem as being primarily about homecoming and family, Nolan’s film is about a great warrior who comes to realise the folly of war and regret the role he has played in destroying a city, a civilisation, and a culture (there are repeated flashbacks to the fall of Troy). Odysseus’ odyssey is as much psychological as physical, the recognition that he does not want to return to Penelope (played by Anne Hathaway) as the same man who left her. With this in mind, Nolan’s new conclusion to the story works particularly well, providing a very satisfying narrative closure following the disappointing struggle with the suitors. Can Nolan’s The Odyssey be watched as a sequel to Petersen’s Troy? Yes, I think so. Nolan makes various nods to Petersen in his adaptation and while The Odyssey is a tale with more gods, more grit, and less glamour than Troy, the originals are themselves very different and the films provide a complementary contrast to one another as the respective stories of Achilles and Odysseus, of setting out for martial glory and coming back to live with its consequences.***

 

Friday, 17 July 2026

Carnacki, the Ghost-Finder IV: The Whistling Room | review by Rafe McGregor

The Casebook of Carnacki the Ghost-Finder by William Hope Hodgson

Wordsworth Editions, paperback, £4.99, July 2006, ISBN 9781840225297


Carnacki’s third case takes him back to the West of Ireland, to the fictional Iastrae Castle, near Galway. This time, the stately home has been purchased by a wealthy American named Sid K. Tassoc, who is engaged to a local lass, and one of the rooms in its East Wing is beleaguered by a demonic whistling (as indicated by the title). There is a slight variation on what is by now a familiar formula in that there are two dinners at 472 Cheyne Walk and two tales by Carnacki. When he tells the first, he has failed to solve the mystery despite spending many weeks at the scene and making use of his full repertoire of methods and equipment. The second dinner is much shorter and includes the most substantial q&a session thus far, with Carnacki’s guests putting him to the test, as well as a detailed explanation of the manifestation, which draws on Celtic legend and lore. What I liked about this instalment were the false clues set up early on, the hints that the local lads were trying to scare the rich foreigner off so that one of them could marry his fiancĂ©e. Hodgson makes good use of the series order, too, having just shown that the rural Irish are precisely the sort of folk capable of procuring supernatural shenanigans when it suits them in ‘The House Among the Laurels’. There is also the first suggestion that ab-human creatures hail from some distance away with “Outer Monstrosities”. My sole complaint is perhaps idiosyncratic: there are too many references to other investigations, at least six. Carnacki mentions the “Buzzing”, “Grey Dog”, “Yellow Finger”, “Silent Garden”, “Grunting Man”, and “Nodding Door” cases. Sometimes less is more.

Tuesday, 7 July 2026

Nefarious | review by Douglas J. Ogurek

Possessed, mentally ill, or deceiving? Strong acting propels new twist on serial killer mind games horror/thriller.

Even before Edward Norton’s Oscar-nominated and career-defining performance in Primal Fear (1997), the character suffering (or pretending to suffer) from multiple personality disorder (now called dissociative identity disorder, or DID) has been a means for actors to showcase their versatility. One only has so much capacity for this type of character, and I’m close to being filled up on it. In Nefarious (2023), Sean Patrick Flanery gives it a go as convicted serial killer Edward Wayne Brady and another identity who claims to be a demon. 

A few minutes into the film, directed by Chuck Konzelman and Cary Solomon, I was sceptical. Beyond the DID strategy, here was yet another horror movie whose singular adjective title is a synonym for “bad” or “evil”. Additionally, our protagonist – this time it’s hotshot psychiatrist Dr James Martin (Jordan Belfi) – is about to interview a supposedly brilliant convict. Haven’t we seen this before? 

Martin must determine whether Brady is sane and therefore eligible for execution (at 11 p.m. that night). Otherwise, the serial killer goes back into the system. The warden warns Dr Martin that his interviewee is a master manipulator; could that be why the convict’s previous psychiatrist died?

I assumed that Martin would confront a smooth and eloquent Hannibal Lecter type – I was wrong. Instead, Flanery portrays a stuttering and twitching, albeit sharp inmate claiming to be a demon named Nefarious. Despite the oversaturation in the DID subgenre, Flanery plays the character well. He shifts from the wily provocateur toying with Martin and commenting on the world’s problems to the weepy, helpless victim unable to control the demon.

Thus, Nefarious offers a cocktail of uncertainty: not only do we question whether the self-injurious Brady is truly afflicted with DID, but we also wonder if he is possessed. How and why, for instance, does the demon know certain personal things about Martin? It’s a technique often used in possession stories.

To further draw the viewer into the film’s outcome, the demon tells Martin early on that by the time he leaves that day, the psychiatrist will have killed three people. Belfi is convincing as Martin, though one might question whether a top-tier psychiatrist would so easily lose his composure and allow the demon/convict to get into his head. 

The film also has a classic religious undertone, with the demon frequently mentioning his master and “the enemy”. Moreover, the supposed demon has some discouraging things to say about mankind. In one scene, for example, Martin argues that humanity has evolved and keeps getting more morally advanced. To this the demon laughs and spews back dismaying statistics. 

Although the film’s conclusion, which brings in right-wing political commentator Glenn Beck, feels a little preachy and silly, Nefarious is worth a watch. When the two main characters are in the interview room (the majority of the film) it’s hard not to be entranced by Flanery’s performance. Douglas J. Ogurek ****

Monday, 6 July 2026

Carnacki, the Ghost-Finder III: The House Among the Laurels | review by Rafe McGregor

The Casebook of Carnacki the Ghost-Finder by William Hope Hodgson

Wordsworth Editions, paperback, £4.99, July 2006, ISBN 9781840225297


This is a somewhat disappointing second case and not because it is the first to have a natural rather than supernatural dĂ©nouement. The apparent haunting is of the hall of Gannington Manor, which is near the fictional village of Korunton, in the West of Ireland, and Hodgson’s attempts to reproduce the local dialect are amateurish, falling flat. There is also a slight variation in Carnacki’s yarn-spinning in that the first part describes the investigations of his friend, Wentworth, on inheriting the manor house so that what one reads is Dodgson’s report of Carnacki’s report of the sequence of events that happened to Wentworth, who seems very far-removed indeed. There have been two deaths in the hall in seven years and Wentworth does what Carnacki usually does, spends the night in the chamber, albeit with a host of locals and a big bull mastiff. When blood drips from the ceiling and the dog is killed (animal companions seem to have a tough time of it in Carnacki’s adventures), all forty-odd men flee the scene and Wentworth calls for Carnacki’s expertise. The ‘ab-human’ is used for the second time and the distinction between human and ab-human will form the foundation of the worldview embedded in the Carnacki oeuvre. Manuscripts, signs, and rituals are deployed, but, as always, Carnacki comes equipped with his revolver, camera, and flashlight. Two more dogs fare no better than the first and the case is solved by means of the camera, which exposes the device being used to create the haunting. There is a reference to another of Carnacki’s investigations, the “Steeple Monster case”.