Wooster & Jeeves on ‘The Odyssey’: A modern satirical dialogue

“Jeeves.”

“Sir?”

“There was considerable discussion at the Drones yesterday about a chap called Nolan.”

“Mr. Christopher Nolan, sir?”

“That's the fellow. Makes films. Complicated films, apparently.”

“Mr. Nolan's work has occasionally been described as intellectually demanding.”

“Catsmeat said confusing.”

“Mr. Potter-Pirbright's formulation is perhaps the more economical, sir.”

“Apparently he made one which starts at the end and works backwards.”

“Memento, sir. The central character is unable to form new memories, so the story is structured in a manner that repeatedly takes the audience backwards.”

“So the fellow can't remember where he's been, and Nolan keeps taking him back there?”

“In essence, sir.”

“Seems a little hard on the chap.”

“That is one way of putting it, sir.”

“Then another where the chap goes into space, comes back, and finds that everyone else has turned into octogenarians.”

“Interstellar, sir. The phenomenon is known as relativistic time dilation.”

“Of course. That was easy to understand. And another where some chaps are going forwards through time while others are going backwards.”

“Tenet, sir.”

“Does Nolan have something against time proceeding in the normal direction?”

“I don't believe so, sir.”

“Because there does seem to be a reverse-gear theme running through the fellow's work.”

“Mr. Nolan has a considerable interest in the nature of time, sir.”

“Well, I could have told him something about it. Sixty seconds to the minute, sixty minutes to the hour, twenty-four hours to the day. Perfectly good system. I don't see why the man can't leave it alone.”

“A point of view, sir.”

“And when he finally does leave time alone, he makes something where folks are sleeping and dreaming inside other folks' dreams.”

“Inception, sir.”

“That's the one. Chap goes to sleep, somebody else goes to sleep inside his sleep, and before anybody knows where he is there are four or five dreams going on.”

“A somewhat compressed account, sir.”

“At the Drones, if a chap falls asleep in an armchair, somebody generally throws a bread roll at him.”

“A less ambitious narrative structure, sir.”

“Did anyone understand these plots?”

“Opinions vary, sir.”

“What I don't understand is why Nolan makes everything so dashed complicated.”

“It is perhaps part of his artistic vision, sir.”

“Well, I've devised a few plots myself. Plans for extricating myself, Bingo, Gussie and assorted Drones from extremely sticky situations. Straightforward, simple and effective. No backwards time. No dreams inside dreams.”

“Your recollection of their effectiveness is perhaps more generous than mine, sir.”

“Details! The point is that I could have taught Nolan a trick or two.”

“It is conceivable, sir.”

“Gussie, though, kept comparing him with you.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“Said Nolan had a brain about the size of yours.”

“Most flattering, sir.”

“Gussie even wondered whether he eats a lot of fish.”

“I fear I have no information regarding Mr. Nolan's dietary habits, sir.”

“Well, if the two of you ever meet, you can compare notes.”

“I shall look forward to the opportunity, sir.”

“Anyway, Nolan has now made The Odyssey. And according to Tuppy, he hasn't left time alone here either. Keeps jumping between past and present.”

“There appear to be two parallel narrative strands, sir.”

“Of course there are. Wouldn't be Nolan otherwise. Large-scale affair, though, was the general view at the Drones. Ships, swords, Mediterranean scenery, people looking grimly at the horizon. I thought I might take it in myself and participate more meaningfully in future discussions.”

“An excellent idea, sir.”

“Precisely. The difficulty is that I thought I ought to know what an Odyssey was before attending an Odyssey.”

“A prudent precaution, sir.”

“That's where you come in. Start at the beginning.”

“That may prove difficult, sir. Greek mythology has several beginnings.”

“Let us simplify matters. Who is Odysseus?”

“King of Ithaca, sir. A Greek hero renowned for intelligence, cunning and persuasion.”

“Ah. One of the brainier ones. Double-dummy bridge caliber.”

“Very much so, sir.”

“And the film is about him trying to get home?”

“Broadly, sir. Odysseus has been away fighting a long war and is attempting to sail back to Ithaca, where his wife Penelope and son Telemachus await him.”

“Straightforward.”

“The journey home takes ten years.”

“Ten years. Was he rowing with a spoon?”

“No, sir. He had oarsmen, as well as a sail.”

“I don't wish to criticize one of the towering pillars of Western civilization, but his route planning seems to have been handled by an idiot.”

“There were severe mitigating circumstances, sir.”

“Such as?”

“Gods, monsters, enchantresses, storms, shipwrecks and several other impediments, sir.”

“Sounds like a poorly organized package tour.”

“One might describe it so, sir.”

“But before we get to all that, let us do a Nolan and go back in time. Why had Odysseus been away from home in the first place?”

“He had been fighting in the Trojan War, sir.”

“And what started that?”

“Helen of Sparta, sir, later Helen of Troy. Celebrated in literature as possessing "the face that launched a thousand ships."”

“Must have been an impressive mug.”

“She was considered the most beautiful woman in the world, sir.”

“A thousand ships just for a beautiful woman?”

“There was rather more to it, sir. It began at the wedding of Peleus and Thetis. All the gods were invited except Eris, the goddess of discord.”

“Sensible.”

“In principle, sir. Eris arrived anyway and threw among the guests a golden apple inscribed 'To the fairest.' Hera, Athena and Aphrodite each claimed it.”

“Three goddesses fighting over who was the prettiest? And nobody thought of ordering three apples?”

“The Greeks tended towards drama rather than practical conflict resolution, sir.”

“Who was made to pick the winner of the beauty pageant?”

“Paris, Prince of Troy, sir.”

“You mean Troy, Prince of Paris?”

“No, sir. Paris is the gentleman. Troy is the city.”

“They might have made more of an effort with the naming conventions.”

“Ancient nomenclature can occasionally challenge the modern reader, sir.”

“So Paris has to choose the most beautiful of three goddesses.”

“Each goddess attempted to influence him.”

“Tampering with the judge? In those days too? I've witnessed attempts of that sort at the Drones.”

“Inducements, perhaps, sir. Hera offered power, Athena wisdom and victory, and Aphrodite the love of the world's most beautiful woman.”

“Ah. What did Paris go for?”

“Aphrodite.”

“He turned down power and wisdom?”

“Yes, sir.”

“For a girl?”

“For the prospect of Helen, sir.”

“This Paris fellow would have fitted in splendidly at the Drones.”

“There are certain temperamental similarities, sir.”

“And Helen was available?”

“That presented the principal difficulty, sir. She was already married to Menelaus, King of Sparta.”

“Happily?”

“The myths are silent on the domestic arrangements, sir.”

“And Paris takes her to Troy?”

“The traditions differ, sir. In some she elopes; in others she is taken against her will. It would be injudicious to blame the lady.”

“Quite right. She has already had a thousand ships blamed on her. No need for us to pile on.”

“A generous view, sir.”

“It is the Code of the Woosters. Never bandy a lady’s name.”

“A most honourable principle, sir.”

“So a goddess isn't invited to a wedding, throws in an apple, three goddesses hold a beauty contest, Paris chooses the one promising another man's wife, takes the wife home, and Europe goes to war.”

“Greece and Troy, sir, but the broad sequence is correct.”

“How long does the war last?”

“Ten years.”

“And Odysseus then spends another ten years trying to get home?”

“Correct.”

“Twenty years away from his wife because another fellow attended a beauty contest.”

“When expressed in those terms, sir—”

“I have occasionally wondered whether remaining unmarried represented a failure of nerve on my part.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“I withdraw the thought. It was foresight.”

“Your encounters with Miss Bassett, Miss Craye and others might support the proposition, sir.”

“Exactly. One broken engagement here, an Aunt Agatha there, and before a chap knows where he is somebody has launched a thousand ships.”

“A risk you have thus far successfully avoided, sir.”

“And I intend to keep it that way. Now, Achilles. I know this fellow.”

“Indeed, sir.”

“Something wrong with his foot.”

“His heel, sir.”

“Tennis injury?”

“Not altogether, sir.”

“Enlighten me.”

“According to a famous later tradition, his mother Thetis dipped the infant Achilles into the River Styx, making him invulnerable.”

“Sensible parenting.”

“With one qualification. She held him by the heel, which did not touch the water.”

“So the whole chap became indestructible except for the bit his mother was holding?”

“That is the traditional account, sir.”

“Elementary childcare error. She should have changed hands halfway through.”

“The thought has presumably occurred to others, sir.”

“And somebody shoots him there?”

“Paris, according to the later tradition, with an arrow.”

“Paris the chap? Why the fellow wasn't wearing shoes on the battlefield is difficult to imagine, but continue.”

“An understandable observation, sir. The war, however, remains unresolved until Odysseus devises the stratagem of the wooden horse.”

“Ah! The Trojan Horse. The Greeks build a giant wooden horse, stuff it full of armed chaps, and pretend to sail away. The Trojans, thinking it's a present, drag it inside. Night falls, out pop the chaps, gates opened, game over.”

“A remarkably precise summary, sir.”

“And the Trojans simply wheel this enormous, uninspected timber mammal straight into the town square? No security clearance? No chap with a clipboard saying, "Before we park the forty-foot wooden pony next to the Town Hall, perhaps we ought to look inside"?”

“There were individual objections, sir. A priest named Laocoön warned against it.”

“Good man.”

“He was promptly devoured by two giant sea serpents, sir, which rather stifled further debate.”

“Sounds remarkably like a Drones Club committee meeting when Gussie Fink-Nottle tries to amend the rulebook.”

“There are structural parallels, sir.”

“It’s all a matter of dramatic presence. When I was seven, my rendition of "The Charge of the Light Brigade" brought Aunt Agatha's drawing room to a standstill. Mother said I had the true dramatic fire.”

“I believe Mrs. Gregson described the performance as 'singularly unforgettable,' sir.”

“Exactly! So if this Nolan chap needs someone to play a brooding Greek warrior looking grimly at the horizon—”

“The role of the silent horizon-gazer would perhaps suit your particular talents best, sir.”

“I shall take that as a compliment. Now: Troy falls. Odysseus gets into his boat. Home for tea.”

“That was presumably the intention, sir. But he incurred the wrath of Poseidon, sir, who placed a curse upon him.”

“Who is Poseidon?”

“God of the sea, earthquakes and horses, sir.”

“Sea, earthquakes and horses? Rather a mixed portfolio.”

“Divine portfolios were not allocated on modern administrative principles, sir.”

“And why does Poseidon dislike Odysseus?”

“Odysseus blinds his son, Polyphemus the Cyclops.”

“Why does he do that?”

“To escape, sir. Polyphemus traps Odysseus and his men in his cave and begins eating them.”

“Spare me the details! Though I must say, classical literature is much of a muchness. You are addressing a man who won the Scripture Knowledge Prize at Rev. Aubrey Upjohn’s prep school in the Easter term of ’14.”

“A triumph that resounds through the ages, sir.”

“Precisely. If Homer had included a comprehensive list of the Kings of Judah and Israel, I should have felt entirely at home.”

“A regrettable oversight on Homer's part, sir.”

“Quite. So how does Odysseus deal with the giant?”

“Odysseus plies him with wine, claims his name is "Nobody," and eventually blinds him with a well-aimed thrust. When Polyphemus screams that "Nobody" is hurting him, his neighbors ignore his cries.”

“Good man. Reminds me of the year I won the darts championship at the Drones.”

“The circumstances were perhaps somewhat different, sir.”

“Only in scale. Accuracy under pressure is accuracy under pressure.”

“Quite, sir. Poseidon, however, took a less sporting view. Upon escaping, Odysseus boasted his real name back to the shore, enabling Poseidon to make his journey home exceedingly difficult.”

“Ah. That would explain the ten years.”

“To a considerable extent, sir. Odysseus encounters a succession of hazards: Circe, an enchantress who turns some of his men into pigs; Calypso, who detains him on her island for seven years; the Sirens, whose song lures sailors to their deaths; and Scylla and Charybdis—a multi-headed monster and a deadly whirlpool.”

“Good Lord. Anything else?”

“A number of storms, shipwrecks and lesser inconveniences, sir.”

“Lesser?”

“Comparatively speaking.”

“Sounds less like a journey home and more like a badly managed package tour.”

“An unconventional itinerary, certainly, sir.”

“And he survives all this?”

“With considerable difficulty. Eventually Athena, who has long favoured Odysseus, intervenes to assist his return to Ithaca.”

“Ah. Finally, someone useful. Who is Athena? I heard Spider-Man's girlfriend is playing her.”

“Miss Zendaya, sir. Athena is the daughter of Zeus, goddess of wisdom and warfare, and Odysseus's principal divine protector.”

“Wisdom and warfare. Another mixed portfolio.”

“Not entirely unrelated disciplines, sir.”

“Fair point. Who was her mother?”

“Metis, sir. A goddess of wisdom and cunning. Zeus swallowed her while she was pregnant.”

“He did what? The whole woman?”

“That is the myth. He had been warned her child might threaten his supremacy.”

“So he ate the mother?”

“Swallowed her, sir.”

“I don't see that the distinction helps. And Athena?”

“Later Zeus developed an excruciating headache. His head was split open and Athena emerged, fully grown and armed.”

“...”

“Sir?”

“From his head? Fully grown? Wearing armour? Are you absolutely certain you've got the right Greeks?”

“Quite certain, sir.”

“And this is the goddess of wisdom? One would imagine a childhood like that would leave scars.”

“The classical sources do not dwell on the psychological consequences, sir.”

“This Zeus fellow seems to crop up rather often.”

“He does, sir. King of the gods.”

“Happily married?”

“Married, sir. To Hera.”

“And faithful?”

“No, sir. It would perhaps be more economical to identify the occasions on which Zeus was not pursuing someone.”

“Good Lord. And Hera tolerates this?”

“"Tolerates" may be inaccurate, sir. Her displeasure frequently falls on Zeus's lovers and their offspring, rather than Zeus.”

“Greek mythology does not invariably conform to modern ideas of equitable accountability.”

“I am gratified by your discernment, sir.”

“What about Odysseus's son—Telemachus?”

“He was an infant when Odysseus left, sir. By the time his father returns, he is a young man, and Athena has been assisting him against the suitors occupying the family home.”

“And Odysseus finally gets back?”

“He does, sir. Athena disguises him as an elderly beggar. Penelope, pressured to make a decision, arranges a contest: she will marry whichever suitor can string Odysseus's great bow and shoot an arrow through twelve axe heads.”

“None of the suitors can do it, I take it?”

“Not one, sir. Odysseus, still disguised, requests a turn, strings the weapon effortlessly, and shoots through the targets. He then reveals himself, joins forces with Telemachus and two loyal servants, and disposes of the suitors.”

“Disposes?”

“Permanently, sir.”

“Understandable. Twenty years of strangers drinking one's cellar dry would test any man's hospitality.”

“Homer appears to have taken a broadly similar view, sir.”

“Let me see if I've got this straight.”

“By all means, sir.”

“A goddess isn't invited to a wedding, throws an apple into the proceedings, three other goddesses hold a beauty contest, a Trojan prince called Paris—who is not a city—turns down power and wisdom in favour of another man's wife, and everybody goes to war for ten years. Achilles becomes indestructible except for the one bit of him that isn't indestructible. Odysseus hides inside a wooden horse, wins the war, blinds a one-eyed giant who consequently becomes a no-eyed giant, annoys the god of the sea, loses his way home for another ten years, encounters a woman who turns his crew into pigs, another woman who keeps him on an island for seven years, listens voluntarily to creatures trying to kill him, sails between a multi-headed monster and a whirlpool, receives assistance from a goddess who was born fully armed from her father's skull, and eventually gets home disguised as an elderly beggar, strings a massive bow, and shoots everybody who has been courting his wife and swilling his champagne.”

“That is a somewhat compressed account, sir, but not fundamentally inaccurate.”

“And Christopher Nolan is putting all this into one film?”

“One assumes a degree of selectivity will be exercised, sir.”

“How long is the film?”

“I do not believe the final running time need concern us at present, sir.”

“The original journey took ten years.”

“A fair point, sir.”

“Pack sandwiches.”

“Very good, sir.”

“And sit next to me. Because if Zendaya hatches out of anyone's forehead mid-film, I shall require immediate moral support.”

“I shall be at your elbow throughout, sir.”