The Odyssey leaves a trace of disappointment when one goes in with the expectation of being stung by a poison whose effects will last longer. It is the work of a master who knows his medium — an intellectual mastery of storytelling that keeps you engaged, shifts tempo deftly, and ties witty loose ends together for key plot points. It is a film that won’t leave the engaged, curious viewer without deserved fun. And yet, the departure from the original plot, and the burden of making a commentary on civilizational fall, mean that what we get is not a lasting kick to our worlds of thought. The choice of putting Xenia, or Zeus’ law, as the central plank on which the story stands does not come off convincingly. It makes the ending of an otherwise good story fall away from the crescendo it had built so well. Odysseus’ lament about his acts in the war is a typically modern, individualistic, analytical perspective — a defining feature of modern literature, a point of departure from the clas...
A shadow of loss hangs over the city, Even when it is December, The time when we should dip the year of losses in Illusion of good times. But the cold nights and warm days, Stand so apart from each others, Like strangers sharing the same room. And, one wonders where is the winter that we all know. Where are the days of kind light? Where are the days of aimless strolls? Where are the roads wide enough for our dreams? Like an incomplete conversation that promised so much and Melted in adieu, The chill in the air disperses and lurks the summer Of blinding premonitions. When we die under the unbearable sun, dear, Will you remember the poems which we left back in the last winter?