Even prior to the film’s debut, Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey has faced heated casting debates. Look at the discussions over Lupita Nyong’o in the dual role of Helen of Troy and Clytemnestra, or Zendaya as Athena, to see that the debates are in full swing. Then there is the matter of Elliot Page’s place in the ensemble. A rumor circulated suggesting Page was to be Achilles; it was eventually put to rest as false, with Page in fact taking on the part of Sinon, the deceiver of the Trojan Horse in Virgil’s Aeneid. Yet the notion does pose an interesting query: would a Page as Achilles be so contrary to what one might expect from classical sources?
Achilles: The Warrior in Disguise
The myth is hardly a modern invention when it comes to provocation; there is ample precedent for gender ambiguity in the tale of Achilles. In the lore of the Trojan War cycle, which runs separate from the Iliad proper, we find Thetis, his mother, acting on the knowledge of his early demise should he go to war. She puts him in hiding at the court of King Lycomedes on Skyros, where he is passed off as one of the king’s daughters under the name Pyrrha, a red-haired “flame.”
It takes the cunning of Odysseus to put an end to the charade. With a ruse involving fine fabrics and jewels for the young women, but with weapons stowed among them, he lures out the truth. The moment Achilles makes for a sword or helmet of his own accord, his mettle is made plain, caught as he is between his mother’s wishes and his role as the greatest warrior of the Achaeans. It is a scene that has long held appeal for artists.
Ambiguity Over Muscle
This appears in the old Roman frescoes of Pompeii, where Odysseus and Diomedes come upon Achilles in his guise as Pyrrha. The European masters have had their turn with it as well. Rubens treated it with all the theatricality and rich texture one would want, while Poussin laid stress on the tension between the finery and the call to arms; Pompeo Batoni and Angelica Kauffmann are among others to have painted it. In such depictions, you are more likely to find an androgynous, elegant youth amid his ornaments than the hard-muscled statue of a hero that pop culture has put its stamp on.
A Different Achilles Before Brad Pitt
Walk into a room today and the first thing that comes to mind for most when they think of Achilles is Brad Pitt’s portrayal in Wolfgang Petersen’s 2004 Troy. It is an iconic, cinematic portrayal: athletic, blond, commanding and sculpted. A very effective way to sell a blockbuster, to be sure, but it is only one of several modern readings.
There is a longer history to the character. There is a strong case for a less hyper-masculine, more ambiguous figure without being “against the myth,” as there is an artistic tradition to support it. In the past, Achilles has been rendered as a young person in disguise among women who will not show his hand until he sees a weapon, or as a figure of mourning, or simply as doomed youth. The fact that rumors have swirled around Elliot Page for the part (inaccurate as they are) speaks to how our present day conception of antiquity can at times be more inflexible than the post-classical or ancient sources.
Then you have the backlash to Nolan’s casting. Some critics will point to a “classical” standard, insisting that warriors ought to look a particular way, much as Western painting has made a habit of showing Helen with fair skin and blonde hair. But in art history, the picture is not so clear cut. The ideal of Helen’s beauty was subject to change in Europe, and Achilles was often put in youthful or cross-dressed situations that had nothing in common with the monumental physique of the cinema.
Much of the outrage over a departure from the norm is really a defense of a movie-friendly idea of tradition. The ancients did not hold to a single set of stable ideals; there was fluidity and complexity to their world. At times Achilles was no invincible body but Pyrrha, surrounded by feminine gazes and jewels, biding his time for a sword to rouse him.
Nolan’s Odyssey has its share of controversy, but these kinds of episodes prove that looking at old myths with new eyes can get one closer to the substance of classical tradition than a rigid adherence to expectation would allow.