Troy: An Epic Failure

I'll be honest--the very first time I saw Troy, I liked it. I know, I know! But before you desperately cast about in disgust for a different blog to read, allow me to explain.

It was the year 2004, and my soul mate of a sister had just abandoned me for that new frontier, College. I was lonely, bitter, resentful, and I felt left behind. Out of self-preservation, I was ready to sharpen my knife against whatever leather strop the world could provide. The perfect opportunity came one not-so-very-special weekend. My sister and a few of her snarky friends were coming home, and they all wanted to make fun of see Troy. I tagged along and proceeded to sit through a two-and-a-half-hour bombardment of arrow-pierced thighs, foppish hair, and archaic insults (my personal favorite: "You sack of wine!"). After the movie, they howled in rage and mockery at the travesty of a film, bemoaning its inaccuracy and cherishing the melodramatic dialogue. I joined in like the self-ignorant follower I was, building up my cynical demeanor with snorts and bile. But secretly, I was in love. The reason? I was beginning to discover my love for classics, and this movie was a window into that world. Troy was, albeit, a muddy mullioned window, but it was still a window. For that reason, I, now steeped in the world of classics, cannot be too harsh on that monstrosity of a movie.

Now for the nuts and bolts: I am as big a fan of artistic license as the next person, but the line has to be drawn somewhere. Troy drew the line somewhere back on the beach, where the waves and the incoming ships could mess it up. The first thing I took issue with--no gods or goddesses. What the heck?! If you're going to parade yourself as an adaptation of the Iliad, you gotta include the forces that make everyone's life hell. If it were merely a movie of possible events that could have transpired at the battle of Troy, key players like Achilles and Paris and Helen would have been blissfully absent. But the movie drew on the widely accepted mythology surrounding the battle, and with that necessarily comes the Greek pantheon. The gods are alluded to throughout the movie (Briseis is a priestess of Apollo), but no real indication is given of the importance of the gods in the lives of the ancients. The Iliad demonstrates how the Greeks believed the gods worked in their lives, which is more important for the understanding of Bronze Age Greece than a supposedly "humanitarian" focus. The whim of the gods was how the Greeks explained the crappiness of everyday life--for an event as epically crappy as the battle of Troy, the gods are crucial.

My second issue: the portrayal of women. Now, Bronze Age Greece was certainly not known for its empowerment of women, but in the spirit of severely editing and revising mythology (Hector kills Menelaus? Agamemnon kills Priam?? BRISEIS KILLS AGAMEMNON????), I was hoping that ancient Greek misogyny would hear its swan song--no such luck. The portrayals of Helen and Briseis reflect the worst of ancient Greece and modern Hollywood combined, begging the question of whether the male manipulation of the female image has changed at all since 800 B.C.E. In the Iliad, Helen is portrayed somewhat ambiguously. On the one hand, she is a slave to her love for Paris, her abductor, due to the machinations of Aphrodite (for a recap of the events leading up to the Trojan war, click here.) She is resentful of his weak character, but goes to his bed night after night out of lust (which is inspired by Aphrodite, but is really just a mythological explanation for good old-fashioned, everyday lust. More on that later.) She feels guilty about all the men who have died for her, and even calls herself a "bitch" during an impassioned speech to Hector lamenting her fate. True, such self-deprecations are a constructed female self-image through a male lens, but her self-appointed epithet would have ingratiated her to a Greek audience. Her fate is controlled by the gods, but her reaction to her fate is entirely her own--and it is understandable.

In the movie, Helen is just annoying. She is a willing escapee to Troy who waffles on the issue of whether being with Paris is worth the consequence-laden wrath of her husband. What always brings her back to Paris is her lust for him. Since the gods were nixed out of the film and no effort was made to explain the role of the gods in this epic, Helen's oppressive lust looks like raging hormones--and it is, except that the Greeks would have understood this as the work of higher powers and Helen would have been exempt from the responsibility we place on people with such emotions today. Thus the ancient image of Helen as a generally despised pawn in a game much larger than herself translates to the modern image of a woman who is slave to her emotions and consequently responsible for her own misery and the misery of every soldier at Troy.

Another woman who suffers from the modern twist is the character of Briseis. Her storyline nearly gave me heart palpitations. Not only is her character puffed up to give Brad Pitt something to angst about, but she is also contrived as having a softening influence on the fiercest warrior of all time. Briseis was given to Achilles as a spoil of war, and her reclamation by Agamemnon was an attack on Achilles' pride. He refused to fight in the Trojan war because it would severely impair Agamemnon's chances of winning; Briseis is merely a pawn in their power struggle. Hollywood's love story concoction offends the character of Achilles and objectifies women more than even the Iliad.

The major theme of the Iliad is the wrath of Achilles. He is the greatest warrior of all time; it is his blunt, unforgiving nature which comprises his character. Though the movie certainly tries to emphasize Achilles' fierceness with his mountain-lion-attack style and general disregard for the concerns of others, it makes the fatal error of trying to tame him. Of course, this can only be done with the love of a good woman, but what the movie misses is the more important emotional connection Achilles has developed with Patroclus. They fight each other with swords and words, but underlying this is Achilles' very real sense of protection for his friend (or cousin, or lover, depending on who you talk to). A brawling friendship with another man is probably the only relationship that makes sense to Achilles. It is, therefore, the death of Patroclus that propels Achilles back into the war. The persuasive efforts of all those he might care for have thus far failed, which is what makes the death of Patroclus so significant. Achilles feels responsible for his safety and in his death feels the loss of a true friend. Guilt turns to wrath, and Achilles re-enters the war to avenge Patroclus. His "love" for Briseis in the movie weakens the emotional sturdiness of his character and lessens the significance of Patroclus' death. Indeed, the death of his friend seems like yet another emotional blow in the soap opera of Achilles' life.

Briseis' feelings for Achilles are never explored in detail in the Iliad, but that is hardly necessary. One can assume, however, that she would not have been too pleased to be the sex slave of an invading warrior. In the film, however, her virginal priesthood and stiff upper lip are no match for the raw callousness that is Achilles. In a breathtaking turning point, Achilles' life balances on the edge of a knife as Briseis straddles his figure with a blade to his throat (clever metaphor, huh?). It is for the lives he will take that she must kill him now, she claims, for those innocent lives that she lays on the grenade (and on him) to do the dirty deed. And do it she does. Just when a woman could have asserted herself in this misogynist setting, Achilles disarms her with a kiss and proceeds to deflower her. And she likes it. Briseis changes from a victim of war to a willing conquest. It is worse than Briseis' total lack of voice in the Iliad because the film allows for her self-assertion and then throws it away. Moreover, the audience most likely knows that if Achilles is going to die, it will not be by the hand of his slave. His glory in battle has been referred to throughout the entire movie by every character and his mother (literally); surely, he will die in a manner befitting a warrior. Briseis' attempt to kill him is therefore framed as a pathetic sidestep on his longer heroic journey, turning the character of Briseis into a model of ultimate and inevitable surrender to the male hero.

Wow. I didn't mean for this review to become its own baby. I just get long-winded and passionate about feminism, does it show? At the risk of adding even more to this review, I have to insert that I loved Hector. I thought Troy did a great job of humanizing Hector's character even more than the epic does, and providing a positive example of a good marriage to balance the lustiness of Paris and Helen as well as the whatever-that-is-supposed-to-be-ness of Briseis and Achilles. Also, yay for Peter O'Toole and positive examples of parenting.

It is 4:18 in the morning, and my vocabulary can no longer extend much farther than "yay for...." So with those final sentiments, I bid you adieu as I drift into the land of sleep and rainbows.

The Myth of Troy

To better ground you in the world of Greek mythology, here is a quick summary of the widely accepted series of events that led up to the Trojan War.

Zeus held a banquet to celebrate the marriage of Peleus and Thetis, the future parents of Achilles. Eris, the goddess of dischord, was not invited to the party because no one wants Dischord around. In true Maleficent-fashion, Eris made her presence known out of spite by throwing a golden apple into a room full of people. Normally, this would not seem catastrophic, but this was the Apple of Dischord, so you know it was special. Moreover, upon it was written, "for the fairest," so of course a major beauty queen smackdown had to ensue. The goddesses Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite all claimed the apple. Instead of judging for himself who the apple belonged to, Zeus pawned off the responsibility on Paris, prince of Troy (also referred to as Alexander), leading to the event darkly referred to as the Judgment of Paris.

In exchange for the Apple O'Beauty, Hera promised to make Paris king of Europe and Asia. Athena offered him wisdom and skill in battle, and good ole Aphrodite promised him the most beautiful woman in the world--Helen of Sparta (who was incidentally already married to Menelaus). Like the shallow little cretin he was, Paris chose Aphrodite's gift. He gave her the Apple, thereby securing the hatred of Hera, Athena, and every other Greek who would spend the next ten years of their lives chasing after one man's object of pride.

The abduction of Helen has various portrayals in literature. The Iliad is deliberately vague about the manner of her arrival in Troy, but her contempt for Paris and guilt over the war is very clear. Most sources refer to the event as an abduction, implying some level of resistance on her part and easily explaining her hostility toward Paris. The poet Sappho, however, claims that Helen left her husband and daughter willingly, that the abduction was actually a seduction. This jives with the idea that it was with Aphrodite's help that Paris brought Helen to Troy, but complicates her negative attitude. Whatever mythological prelude the Iliad takes for granted, it certainly emphasizes the notion that Helen continues to be a slave to lust induced by Aphrodite, whether willingly or not.

The seduction or abduction of Helen by the Trojan prince Paris was a serious crime against Greek hospitality and pride. Also, Menelaus missed his wife. As the brother of King Agamemnon of Mycenae and king of Sparta himself, Menelaus possessed the wherewithal to pursue Helen. He persuaded Agamemnon to gather the Greek armies of which he was the ultimate ruler and launch a thousand ships for Troy. And the rest is history (sort of).

Bacon and an Adventure

I would never have thought to put those two together: bacon...and an adventure? When I think of bacon, there are frying pans involved, greasy paper towels, and the sense of expectation that usually accompanies Sunday morning celebrations at home. But if Samwise Gamgee has taught me anything, it is that you can bring frying pans along on any adventure. But what is an adventure?

I experienced last summer what it meant to have neither. On a three-week dig in the Promised Land, I doggedly burrowed my way through each day with the promise of neither bacon nor an adventure. Ironically, that is precisely what I had come to Israel for--an adventure, not bacon (I've never been much of a bacon fan.) I had already learned last summer that archaeology was not the roaring, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants experience that Indiana Jones had promised. So what was I doing on another dig? I still don't know. I think I just wanted to travel. I have always associated adventure with travel, but somehow I expected that just being in Israel would be enough to outweigh the archaeological tedium. The most significant thing I learned last summer is that travel and adventure can sometimes be less related than bacon and adventure. Banished to the farthest corner of my area, I spent several days of that dig sifting through bucket after bucket of dirt in search of beads the size of a freckle. I was in Israel, yes, but I was also in exile.

The misery of that experience has left me with one truth: you need not go far to have an adventure. It has also left me with the title for this blog post. One of the most fun people digging in my area was Linzie, a gregarious, social glue of a woman. Her humor kept me greatly entertained and often kept me from directing my trowel at my wrists instead of at the dirt. One morning, in the wee hours before the sun had risen and we were already sweating, she announced to the area that she had had a dream in which she baldly stated that she needed bacon and an adventure. There was no reason for this proclamation in her dream...it simply was. And so that phrase became the motto for our area.

The current summer of 2009 has proven that truth right. Instead of embarking on another journey to the Middle East (or anywhere, for that matter) I stayed home and got a job. It's nothing fancy--I work the concession stand at the local movie theater. I live with my parents, and when I'm not working, I take care of my aging dog. This summer has been therapeutic more than anything. If I had traveled somewhere, I would most likely have done so to escape pain--it's not been the easiest of years for my family. Staying put has calmed me in a way I did not expect. I have been exposed to unimaginable depths of heartache, but with the help of my family, I have thus far come through each trial. My nose has been rubbed in decay. It still smells awful, but I can deal with it better. I am stronger than I thought.

I have had plenty of adventures right at home। There was the instance of the falling tree branch, for example. The perpetrator? A squirrel. Not to mention the time I shared a bowling lane with two amorous high schoolers who kept stealing my ball. So uncool. Shit almost went down. Anyway, the real adventure is living life in the moment. I've found that when I'm fully present to whatever situation I'm in, I gain so much more from that experience...and that experience rapidly becomes an adventure. My dig last summer was hell because I spent the whole time wishing I were home, and when I got home I spent the whole time wishing I had enjoyed Israel more. I was never fully satisfied with either place because I didn't take time to fully experience each place when I was there. So this summer I stayed home and learned what it means to be a contributing adult back at my parents' house. I, too, can bring home the bacon, which is closer to adventure than you might think.

Serendipity

The movie Serendipity is on right now, and it could not have aired at a more serendipitous moment. I love the poetry of life. Anyway, I am having a Dickens of a time trying to write my four papers due in the two weeks before the semester ends, so what do I do to relieve my stress? Watch TV whilst I blog.

This is exactly what I shouldn't be doing right now. The imaginary weight of my unwritten papers should be bearing down upon my very real conscience, but instead, iBlog. If there were a time during this semester that I should be the most stressed out, it is now. With four papers rustling their empty pages in the corners of my mind, the knowledge that my beloved seniors are graduating, and the regret that I haven't had the time to say proper goodbyes, I should be hysterical! But instead, I indulge myself in the exact way that I shouldn't, which is ironically what the movie "Serendipity" is about. If you haven't seen the movie, it's about a man who is so intrigued by a woman he met years ago that he goes on a hunting spree for her, despite the fact that he is soon to be married. Before I learned more about myself and the facts of life, I judged this type of person harshly. How could you be so indecisive, so willing to screw up a good thing? Couldn't you simply trust the path you were on? Watching this movie again, I am much more forgiving. It is so easy to get stuck, and even easier to seize any opportunity to either validate or escape your chosen lifestyle.
I know too many people who are stuck. I suppose to some extent everyone is "stuck," but I have developed a healthy respect for and fear of immobility. Were I to become an object rather than an instigator of my own life, I imagine that I too would become a self-professed "jackass" and radically depart from whatever path my life was on. So, are these people guilty of anything other than an attempt to reclaim their lives?



Trust in one's judgment is so much harder to maintain than I had previously understood. Until I entered college, morality seemed more or less black and white to me. Sure, there were grey areas, but for the most part it should be relatively simple to discern right and wrong. Since entering college, I have been confronted with truly difficult decisions, ones that are not a choice between right and wrong but between right and right. That is the most confusing and tricky decision to make of all. I have lately realized that my perspective on morality hasn't changed drastically--I've always tried to consider another's point of view. I just never had to make truly difficult decisions before. For some reason or another, life has gotten much harder recently.

And that brings me back to the idea of serendipity. Why is it at this particular time in my life that everything seems to be falling apart? My grandparents, my godmother, even my dog are all rapidly declining, and it was an especially cruel twist that on Easter Sunday all these potential crises were actualized in some form or another. But the worst aspect is my inability to make any decision. These situations do not call for my action or judgment...just my audience. I am stuck watching my loved ones suffer. My surprising reaction has been to ignore these problems when I can. Perhaps it's not so surprising after all, but the only way I can conceive of reclaiming my life is to cut these people out of it (yes, I consider my dog a person, and you would too if you met him). But I suppose I have a choice after all--to ignore the sometimes utterly devastating facts of life, or to face them. Whether it be bravely, hesitantly, or heartbrokenly, I can choose to face them. Without trying to sound melodramatic, I think this is the hardest choice I have had to make in my life. I don't typically face reality when I find it so agonizing.

Serendipity is over. The movie, I mean. That is just as well, since the prospect of following fortunate coincidences as a way of life did not make much sense to me. I am finished doing what I "shouldn't" be doing, a phrase that applies to a multitude of sins: ignoring people, abandoning homework, etc. But I also "shouldn't" be blogging, and had it not been for the serendipitous confluence of movie-watching and blogging, I would not have realized the pattern by which I have been living lately. Serendipity might help me un-stick myself after all.