Various and blood-soaked have been
the battles waged. Speak now, muse, of the
ministrations of Damon, friend of Affleck
and foe of Kimmel, who bravely grew out his beard
for a year, as if to single-handedly wreak vengeance
on stray crumbs of bread and the heavier soups.
Too, Damon retreated from his usual mountaintop
of a hundred eighty-five or so pounds and descended into the valley
of a hundred sixty-seven, all by eschewing nefarious gluten.
Good habits fuel strong soldiers; any sensible
warrior would kill his own brethren for
Damon’s new waistline. Young Tom Holland,
who incarnates Odysseus’ son Telemachus,
also labored behind the scenes, rallying to have
Sony push back the release date of the
next “Spider-Man,” lest two proximate films
yield an untoward surfeit of airborne torsos. Meanwhile,
Anne Hathaway (Penelope) and Charlize Theron (Calypso)
spent many anguished hours determining how
classical women managed to appear unwavering
during a time that was avant-brassiere. For Robert
Pattinson (Antinous), the immense challenges
started when he was sent the script, as Pattinson
had confessed to GQ that he, like many,
did not understand “Tenet.”
No less daunting were the conditions on set.
Spanning Morocco, Greece, Italy, Iceland, and Scotland—
all lands that know their way around a lamb chop—
the production put the players through their veritable paces.
Some cast members lived seaside for months—
yet this was no pantywaist “Mamma Mia” or “Shirley Valentine”
day boat. The thespians were oft sprayed with
freshets of water made lively by twin engines, all while
wearing inconvenient footwear; yea, future scribes will
surely change the name of the cinematic genre in question
to “sword and strappy sandal.” Long were the shoots in
obscure and mountainous locations with limited Wi-Fi;
certain of the hotel accommodations were notably
over-pillowed. On set, the Ozempic-friendly thespians found
themselves betimes huddling near the craft-services table,
blithely unaware that Fielding called Homer’s poem
“the eatingest epic.” They played Wordle while awaiting
overtime and its dulcet ka-ching.
No warrior strove harder than clear-eyed Nolan,
who daily tackled the wrath of the studio gods.
Heavy is the sword of the man who has
recently won Best Picture and Best Director.
Onto Nolan’s shoulders have fallen all the
criticisms generated in advance of the film’s release,
particularly those from podcasts helmed by men shy of
the outdoors and eye contact. O, the scorn generated by
the call sheet’s dearth of names ending in “akis” or “opoulos.”
Likewise by the fact that the film’s already luxurious
run time could not have been stretched further given
the physical limitations of IMAX platters—yet another
emasculating example of how man is technology’s bitch.
Throughout, Nolan stood tall. Some wonder
if the film’s release will mirror Odysseus’ journey,
constituting a vengeance upon all the bilious
naysayers; like the king of Ithaca returning home
to slay the crowd of overfed hangers-on surrounding
his wife, after his victory. Perhaps Nolan’s warship,
hard on the heels of “Oppenheimer,” heaves into
port anxious to put to the death a crowd of
lotus-eaters who lounge about, trash-talking it.
And who shall helm this bloodletting? None other than
Spider-Man (Holland), Catwoman (Hathaway),
the Batman (Pattinson), the Punisher (Jon Bernthal),
Nakia (Lupita Nyong’o), Kitty Pryde (Elliot Page),
and, of course, Jason Bourne. Jason, the Argonot.
Yea, even the movie’s merch seems to ridicule the film’s
consumers; behold the Trojan Horse popcorn bucket.
