Where does the odyssey lead?

Kim Myung-hwa

The author is a playwright and director.

I first encountered Greek and Roman mythology through children’s books with orange hard covers. The first two volumes of a 50-volume world literature collection for young readers were devoted to those myths. The gods were immortal yet possessed human desires and emotions, while mortals, though destined to die, challenged the limits of humanity. Their stories fascinated me as an elementary school student. I remember repeatedly pronouncing their names so I would not forget them.

Surely I was not alone. Most of us have probably experienced a similar fascination. Some stories disappear as time filters them out. Others continue to captivate humanity, surviving precisely because each era recreates them in its own way.

Christopher Nolan’s “The Odyssey” has made this summer even hotter. Nolan, already a celebrity of our age via his Batman films dubbed "The Dark Knight Trilogy" (2005-2012) and “Inception” (2010), has drawn worldwide attention by taking on a story far older and greater than his own fame: Homer’s “Odyssey,” composed around the eighth century B.C.

Reworking stories everyone already knows goes back to the beginnings of drama. Most ancient Greek tragedies drew their material from myth. In some cases, several playwrights treated the same subject, as with the house of Agamemnon. The playwright’s task, then, did not begin with inventing an entirely new story. It began with recreating a familiar one from a distinct point of view.

Audiences, too, must have begun as active participants: revisiting stories they already knew, comparing what had changed and commenting on those changes.

Why, then, has Nolan’s “The Odyssey” generated so much commentary? Partly because it is skillfully made, but also because it offers a new variation on a story we all know and love.

In Nolan’s version, Odysseus does not settle permanently in Ithaca after returning home. He leaves again, sailing west with Penelope while Telemachus takes the throne. The ending departs sharply from Homer, where order is ultimately restored in Ithaca.

What does that change mean? Is this departure fitting for an age once again rushing toward the madness of war? Does it remain convincing when measured against the original?

One question leads to another. The story continues to be discussed, interpretations accumulate and comparisons with the ancient text multiply. Through this continuing conversation, an ancient tale acquires new meanings for a different age. That is how an old story remains alive. And perhaps that is how a new myth is made.