By JuliAnne Rach, Graduate Student in Classics
Perhaps one of the most suggestive parts of Nolan’s Odyssey for me, is his depiction of the witch Circe. Nolan’s Circe lives alone in a hut, with only her wild animals for company. She is easily spooked and immediately assumes the worst of Odysseus’ men, all too quickly (and grotesquely) transforming them into pigs. Chaste and somewhat skittish, she is a far cry from the goddess of Homer’s tale (Emily Wilson, in her now famous review of Nolan’s movie, calls her “Baba Yaga in a Hansel and Gretel cottage”).
In Book 10 of the Odyssey, Odysseus’ men are first drawn to Circe’s abode by her “lovely singing” and find her weaving on a loom. Circe feeds them a potion of barley, cheese, honey, wine, and magical drugs then touches them with her wand to transform them into pigs (Od. 10.225–241). Odysseus arrives in search of his men and sleeps with the goddess, who is described at various points throughout the narrative as “of beautiful hair,” “revered/august,” and “dread.” Circe then transforms the pigs back into men, rendering them taller and more youthful than they were prior to their transformation, and hosts Odysseus and his men for an entire year (Od. 10.388–470). In Homer’s version, therefore, Circe is a lovely goddess and powerful witch, a complex figure whose unnatural and extraordinary abilities do not immediately make her undesirable or evil.
Samantha Morton’s captivating portrayal of Circe is a far cry from this glistening hostess goddess. Nolan has created a uniquely off-putting Circe. The transformation scene in particular achieves this effect, although the tension builds as the men scarf down stew in the moments leading up to their metamorphoses. While an impressive piece of visual effects, the cinematic transformation is much more physically involved than the one described in Homer’s text. Morton forcefully shapes the faces of the men into pigs, all while unsettling squealing rings in the background. Nolan therefore enhances a sense of abjection latent in the original text with this very visually stunning (and stomach-churning) scene. The graphic nature of the transformation adds to the other tidbits of characterization the audience has already seen: Circe shows immediate distrust of the men and runs from them when she first encounters them; she likewise makes assumptions about their character, telling them to “return to their disguises” when she transforms them back. The movie ultimately presents a defensive and reactive Circe, man-hating and alone with her animals, whose power is not just uncanny but deeply disturbing.
So Nolan’s Circe is quite different from Homer’s Circe. I am convinced, however, that Nolan’s portrayal of the witch is true to ancient culture. The way Nolan presents this witch, truly the only woman in his movie with clear power and individual agency, aligns with how witches (and the powerful women they represent) have historically been presented, not just in the texts of Ancient Greece and Rome but throughout history. The stereotype of the witch as a transgressive, solitary woman who inhabits the margins of society begins to appear as early as the fifth century BCE. Kimberly Stratton, writing about the connection between women and witches, has noted that the stereotype of the witch is really reflective of women who refused to conform to societal expectations, specifically expectations of submission and subjection. Witches within the creative imagination are manifestations of societal fears and anxieties about the (perceived) overextension of women’s power and agency. The stereotype of the witch was thus highly politicized.
It is notable, therefore, that Nolan’s Circe, the one female character in the entire movie who clearly possesses power and whose sole purpose for existing is not tied to Odysseus, conforms more closely to the misogynistic stereotype of a witch than her portrayal in the epic. It is hard to read this depiction of Circe the witch as neutral or divorced from its larger cultural contexts, especially considering contemporary discourses on the role of women, informed by the rise of red-pill content and tradwives. In his depiction of Circe, rendering her off-putting and her power frightening, Nolan continues in the tradition of many great Classical authors who came before him. He also propagates the power and prevalence of the stereotype of the witch, a stereotype built on the fear of people and power that challenges the status quo. Nolan’s Circe accurately reflects ancient culture and that in and of itself is a problem.
Further reading:
Stratton, K. B. and D. S. Kalleres (eds.), Daughters of Hecate: Women and Magic in the Ancient World (Oxford and New York, 2014).
- Esp.: Stratton, “Interrogating the Magic-Gender Connection,” pp. 1–40.
- Spaeth, “From Goddess to Hag: The Greek and Roman Witch,” pp. 41–70.
- Stratton, “Magic, Abjection, and Gender in Roman Literature,” pp. 152–81.
