The Return’s Bare-Bones Retelling of The Odyssey Rediscovers the Humanity in a Classic
Photo: Bleeker Street
The basic beats of Homer’s epic poem The Odyssey are familiar to millions thanks to high school English classes the world over, but the things you probably remember about its story, which follows the hero Odysseus’s decade-long journey home from the Trojan War, are the most fantastical. A saga of angry gods and vindictive goddesses, larger-than-life monsters and powerful sorceresses, The Odyssey sees its hero face off with everything from a six-headed dragon and a giant sentient whirlpool to cyclopes, man-eating giants, and Sirens. At various points in the story, he is kidnapped by a sea nymph, his men are turned into pigs, and he spends considerable time on an island whose inhabitants essentially do drugs all day.
Director Uberto Pasolini’s bleakly lush The Return isn’t interested in any of that. This Odyssey retelling is restricted to the poem’s more overtly human final third, in which Odysseus finally returns home to his kingdom of Ithaca. The film chooses to excise almost all of the original’s supernatural elements, opting instead to tell a gritty tale about war and trauma that manages to feel surprisingly modern for all its spears and loincloths. Without the handy excuse that the gods (or a witch or a random monster) made Odysseus do it, this stripped-down version of the story forces its hero to confront the trauma that becoming a legend has made of him and the loss he subsequently left in his wake.
The Return begins with Odysseus (Ralph Fiennes) washing up on the shore of Ithaca. Naked and unconscious, he’s rescued by the swineherd Eumaeus (Claudio Santamaria) who bundles him home without recognizing him. He fills his new guest in on the situation on the island: Ithaca’s king went away to war decades ago, but his Queen Penelope (Juliette Binoche) and their son Telemachus (Charlie Plummer) still live in the castle. The island has been overrun with a bevy of rude and ill-tempered suitors, all determined to force Penelope to admit her husband is dead and choose a new spouse—and therefore, a new king. Attempting to keep the horde of men who wish to claim her throne at bay, the queen spends her days dutifully weaving a funeral shroud for her husband’s mad father and insisting she’ll make a decision about her future once it’s complete. She secretly unravels her work each night, furiously pulling threads free in an act of rebellion and purpose she can allow no one else to see.
Odysseus, for his part, is scarred in ways that go beyond the merely physical. A sinewy husk of a man whose quiet, insecure demeanor is at odds with the stories told of his legendary deeds, he clearly fears that the wife and son he left behind will never be able to accept or welcome the man he has become, after a decade of war and a subsequent ten-year voyage during which all his crew was killed. That no one seems to recognize him—save for his loyal hunting dog, who can die peacefully upon the realization his master has at long last returned—is an unexpected twist that, at first, seems like nothing so much as a blessing.