This Circe seems cruel and crazed. In Homer’s telling, Odysseus becomes so enamored of her that she becomes a kind of substitute wife. In the story, when Odysseus goes to Circe’s home to save his men, he uses an antidote given to him by the gods, threatens her with his sword and then sleeps with her. When she changes Odysseus’ soldiers back, Homer notes that they’re even more handsome than before, and are bathed in oil and dressed in nice clothes. Odysseus and his men spend a year living happily with Circe and her nymph servant girls, as Wilson writes in her translation: “Then every day / for a whole year we feasted there on meat / and sweet strong wine.” In fact, after that year of leisure it’s Odysseus’ men who bring up that they should probably get back on the road to Ithaca; only then does it seem to occur to Odysseus that they should leave their cozy vacation spot and now welcoming host.
Of course every adaptation offers its own twist on her. This has been true dating back millenniums, to early classics writers like Ovid and Hesiod. In some versions, Circe bears Odysseus’ children; in others she is an obsessive, vengeful predator. Contemporary authors like Madeline Miller reclaim the character as more than a brief detour in Odysseus’ journey and offer a more sympathetic, well-rounded version of her.
Over the years Circe’s transformations of Odysseus’ men have been read in various ways depending on the cultural context and sexual politics of the time: as a commentary on etiquette and social behavior, as a philosophical critique on the inherently beastly nature of men, as a misogynist cautionary tale against a sexually liberated woman. One can often determine the politics and perspectives of an “Odyssey” adaptation by how Circe is depicted.
So what does that say about Nolan’s dark, succinct telling? In this film of majesty and scope, of star power and visual appeal, Circe helps show how Nolan’s “Odyssey” ultimately takes the epic at face value, reducing it to terms the director is most comfortable with: Odysseus is a man burdened by the weight of his brilliance. Circe is an obstacle he must overcome, just like the other women in the film have very specific ways to round out the hero’s tale of triumph. Calypso’s role is to trap Odysseus. Athena’s to act as his (mostly silent) conscience. Helen and Clytemnestra are simply disloyal women at the periphery of Odysseus’ journey. And Odysseus’ faithful wife, Penelope, isn’t shown doing much of anything, but gets an adamant speech about her queenly autonomy to telegraph her as a more modern, empowered hero-wife. None are fulfilling, but none feel as dismissive as the evil witch treatment of Circe.
At the end of the day, this is a man’s story of greatness. Even in Odysseus’ questionable moments, there’s never any question that he is still the noble warrior, the honorable leader. As for the women — the lovers, the betrayers, the goddess and, of course, the witch — they’re no more than the trimmings on our hero’s armor.
