2026-27 Miami Heat
135 · 2026-07-29 · medium
“The writing is abysmal. None of the characters has convincing motivation for their actions or words. There are no sex scenes, and all the food looks horrible.” When The Odyssey (2026) was released two weeks ago, I could sense that something was off. Everybody on Letterboxd whose opinions I value were rating it three stars, and everybody else on Letterboxd was giving it the full five. Then I came across a few stray links to the above essay by Emily Wilson, our shared century's most respected Homeric translator, framed by variants of what's up with this killjoy bitch?. Christopher Nolan's epic take on the original Greek Freak became a perpetual thinkworm, so I had to get off the couch and see for myself what all the swords-and-sandals fuss is about. And I gotta say: WOOF. I'm hesitant about properly logging it (two point five, which is what I give to most films from 2026) because I'm too old and tired to defend my opinions to lunatic strangers. I'd much rather complain to you. Three hours of shouty Xbox sludge interspersed with me checking my phone and texting Alison, and yes I know that's extremely impolite in a crowded theater but Jesus what a exercise in survival that was. And this is what gets me the most: a 173-minute script had zero time for Nausicaa, whose famous beach-laundry ball game is a foundational pillar of Scenes From The Ball Game (now available for preorder). Hayao Miyazaki would never. Odissea (1969) had Barbara Bach, and that is also a superior film. Instead, you get an hour of Anne Hathaway as Queen Penelope, which is about as fun as an hour of Anne Hathaway as Fantine. Believe the hype: the thinking man's Michael Mann has done it again, and it is making entertainment that you're supposed to pleasenjoy because everybody else does, plus all those stars you want to fuck are in it. The Odyssey is Nolan's greatest "people's masterpiece" since that one movie that offended every Japanese person I know, the one about the deeply fascinating and complicated American mass murderer. Anyway, basketball. It's July, a month dominated by the fleeting novelty of anticipating the sight of basketball players in different uniforms than they wore last season; if you didn't get what you wanted, and putting Steph Curry on the Pelicans in 2K doesn't do it for you, the Trade Deadline is 190 days away. Everyone's moved on to LeBron-to-Philly, but I'm still thinking about Giannis Antetokounmpo going from Milwaukee to Miami. Now there's a dude on a journey, stateless to superstar. He even made his own short film on WhatsApp about it. (Three point five.) I thought there would be more forced sportswriter parallels about The Giannissey, but all I could find was this clearly AI-generated article. When his decade-plus in the NBA wars are over, how will the Greco-Nigerian king find his way home? Is he too transformed from the journey, too damn rich? Considering his homeland's perpetual anti-immigrant vibes, would he even want to return? “This is the second time that foreign centers are trying to convince us that our sacred symbols and values come from Africa," said semi-famous Greek director Yannis Smaragdis, who made a good short film about the 1896 Olympics once. "Previously they claimed that Athena was Black." Well, I dunno dude, your best basketball player is.