Homer’s Iliad and the Trojan War
Page 25
25 For Godfrey’s use of sources, see Waitz 1872, 4, Meyer 1933 and Dorninger 2015, 25–28.
26 For Rigord’s explicit discussion of his sources, see Carpentier, Pon and Chauvin 2006, 86–93.
27 Boethius: Pittaluga 2004. Historia Augusta: Betrand, Desbordes and Callu 1986. Ovid: Meyer 1933.
28 For Petrarch and the Iliad, see Graziosi 2016, 62–65.
29 Waitz: ‘For he had knowledge of Homer – Spec. 1.10 and 12 – but he could scarcely be thought to have seen a copy himself’ (Etiam Homeri cognitionem habuit, Spec. I, 10.12, quem tamen vix ipse inspexisse putandus est: 1872, 4).
30 For Benoît and the Roman de Troie, see n.6 above.
31 Text and translation from Damian-Grint 1999, 109.
32 For Benoît, Dares, and Homer, see: Damian-Grint 1999, 109–10 and Gumpert 2001, 130.
33 This is explicitly claimed: ‘We have written and put down what Dares and Dictys said’ (ço que dist Daires et Ditis | i avons si retrait e mis: Roman de Troie, lines 30, 303–4.
34 Meyer 1933, 43–55.
35 The idea of the translatio imperii (the transfer of empire) was already well developed in the twelfth century and linked with ideas about the translatio studii (the transfer of the centres of knowledge and learning). See Stoll 2014.
36 For Godfrey’s working drafts, the publication date of the Pantheon, and the dedication to Urban III, see Weber 1994, 181–88. As Weber says: ‘Godfrey did not rewrite the Pantheon entirely from scratch, but he nevertheless subordinated the panegyric elements of the Speculum regum to vast amounts of other, newer material’ (1994, 188).
37 The text of the Pantheon used in this chapter is that of Herold 1559.
38 For Gladiator’s wider impact, see the various essays in Winkler 2004 and cf. Richards 2008, 1–2, 174–77, Berti and Morcillo 2008b, 9–10, and Elliott 2014, 4–5. On the term ‘epic’ in film, see Elliott 2014.
39 For the ancient world and cinema, see variously Wyke 1997, Solomon 2001, Martin 2002, Nisbet 2006, Berti and Morcillo 2008a, Winkler 2009, Llewellyn-Jones 2009, Theodorakopoulos 2010, Blanshard and Shahabudin 2011, Paul 2013, Michelakis and Wyke 2013, Elliott 2014, and Safran and Cyrino 2015.
40 The film earned a sizeable $497.4 million according to Box Office Mojo, eighth on the list of highest grossing films in 2004,
41 Benioff 2014 refers to Bernard Knox, ‘whose introduction to Robert Fagles’ superb translation of The Iliad is probably my single favourite work of Homeric analysis’.
42 Winkler 2007b, 5, 2015b, 23 and Kofler and Schaffenrath 2015, 87.
43 Wieber 2005, 150 and Winkler 2007c, 206.
44 Richards 2008, 178, cf. Nisbet 2006, 84, and Mendelsohn 2008, 116, remarking negatively on the film’s debt not so much to the Iliad, but to the (supposedly inferior) wider Epic Cycle.
45 I refer to this extended version of the film throughout, although my reading of the film applies equally to the original theatrical release; contra Weinlich 2015, 202, who argues that this extended version becomes more of a political film in the light of George Bush’s prolonged military campaigns in Iraq and Afghanistan, though Weinlich does not identify specific aspects of the extended cut of the film that show how Troy ‘becomes more of a political film’. In Winkler 2015b, 20, 23, Petersen comments pointedly on his preference for this cut of the film, some thirty minutes longer than the 2004 cinematic release.
46 Tragic qualities: Ahl 2007; Trojan War in cinema: Winkler 2007a, c.
47 Burgess 2009. Cf. Petersen’s comments in Winkler 2015b, 18: ‘My intent was always to tell the story as it could have happened in reality, before it was relegated by the centuries to a more mythical realm’.
48 Roisman 2008, 141–42, Chiasson 2009, 188–95 and Winkler 2009, 219.
49 Paul 2013, 70–76, cf. (less favourably) Mendelsohn 2008, 117 and Winkler 2015a.
50 So Winkler 2007b, 4, 7–8, Rabel 2007, 190, Richards 2008, 179, Berti and Morcillo 2008b, 16, Mendelsohn 2008, 115, 117–18, Burgess 2009, 170–72 (‘Agamemnon’s machinations obviously represent post-9/11 American foreign policy’, 172), Elliott 2014, 11, Weinlich 2015, 202, cf. Denby 2004, and French 2004. For American appeals to Homer in relation to earlier, twentieth-century conflicts, see Winkler 2007b, 2. On the importance of reading a film against its own contemporary mores and cultural assumptions, see Berti and Morcillo 2008b, 15–16. However, note too Elliott 2014, 10–11, who cautions that while a film is partly a reflection of its own present, this does not necessarily, in the case of historical films, prevent them from functioning as ‘earnest attempt[s] to retell historical events’ (11).
51 On the contrasting forms of masculinity that Achilles and Hector offer in Troy, see Proch and Kleu 2013.
52 In the discussion that follows, I refer to the director-writer partnership, Petersen-Benioff, since they played the most crucial role in shaping the film’s narrative.
53 The primary focus here is on the film’s extratextual contexts; it remains for others to shed additional light on Troy’s aesthetic sensibilities.
54 Paul 2013, 72.
55 Paul 2013, 72 well notes, however, the contrast between Troy and Iliad’s Hector. In the former, he rejects the idea of immortal glory (‘the dust from our bones will be gone’); in the latter, Hector speaks repeatedly of his desire to achieve undying personal glory (e.g. Il. 6.460-61; 7.91).
56 Paul 2013, 73.
57 Romney 2004, cf. Robey 2004 (‘It’s a disgrace. As an adaptation of The Iliad, it’s a pathetic joke’); Nisbet 2006, 82–86 and Mendelsohn 2008, 112–23. For a more sardonic response to the film, see the amusing ‘Troy in 15 Minutes’ by ‘Cleolinda Jones’,
58 Paul 2013, 73–75.
59 Vlassopoulos 2013, 170–72 with references.
60 The poem does certainly privilege the Achaean perspective, as indicated most clearly in the uneven space dedicated to listing the Achaean contingents and the Trojan allies in Book 2. Some scholars have argued that some subtle distinctions do emerge; see, for example, Christensen 2015.
61 Winkler 2009, 111–12 argues that this must be the temple of Apollo Thymbraeus, which stood outside the walls of Troy. See Il. 10.430; Cypria, fr. 41; Ibycus fr. S 224 (Davies); cf. Cavallini (2015, 72–73, 79–80), providing further historical and archaeological contextualization. Chiasson 2009, 199–201 reads this scene as further proof of the gods’ impotence in the world of Troy.
62 As Winkler 2009, 112 n.58 notes, the seated Apollo figure in Troy recalls the god’s initial appearance in the Iliad, in which he is depicted as being seated, shooting his terrible arrows into the Greek camp (Il. 1.43–52). The film took $364,031,596 in cinemas outside the USA, well over two-thirds of its total box office takings, and opened in over forty territories; cf. Iordanova (2011). On ‘epic film as an international, global narrative apparatus not bound by nation or ethnicity’, see Burgoyne 2011b (quote at 2).
63 Shahabudin 2007, 109–10 notes that much of the marketing for the theatrical release centred on Brad Pitt’s chiselled physique. For references to Achilles’ handsomeness in the Iliad, see Il. 2.673–4; 24.629–30; cf. 1.197; 23.141.
64 Proch and Kleu 2013, 182–87 and, cf. Wieber 2005, 158.
65 So Winkler 2009, 230–31, who notes the clear discrepancies in Helen and Menelaus’ relationship in Troy and the Iliad. In the latter, Helen in fact yearns for Menelaus (3.139–42; 6.349-351).
66 On Agamemnon, see Burgess 2009, 171: ‘The film clearly signals that the war’s instigator, Agamemnon, is not sympathetic’. See too Proch and Kleu 2013, 179, who remark on the corpulent frames of Agamemnon a
nd Menelaus – a clear contrast with the svelte, well-defined physiques of the younger heroes Hector and Achilles.
67 Cf. Graziosi 2016, 37, who regards Agamemnon as a flawed leader in the Iliad. Indeed, regardless of his poisonous dispute with Achilles, Agamemnon, like Achilles, Ajax, and the Iliad’s other great warriors, has his own aristeia at 11.91–147. As the discussion below will demonstrate, ‘flawed’ is a less-suitable adjective to describe the wicked megalomaniac that is Agamemnon in Troy. Cf. too Thuc. 1.9.3, where the historian Thucydides claims that fear of Agamemnon’s naval power played a signal role in the Achaeans’ united expedition against Troy.
68 Schein 2007.
69 See most recently Hanink 2017.
70 Goldwyn 2015 and cf. Winkler 2007b, 3 n.9.
71 Dowd 2001.
72 Goldwyn 2015, 245.
73 Kristof 2003.
74 Cf. Berti and Morcillo 2008b, 16: ‘[a film’s] view of historical episodes transmits certain ideological tendencies, collective values and cultural conventions attested in the context in which the movie has been produced and released’.
75 In Winkler 2007b, 8.
76 I thank Jo Paul for alerting my attention to this vital aspect of Petersen’s comments.
77 Mendelsohn 2008, 115: ‘Benioff has exiled Homeric heroics in favor of something that modern audiences will feel more comfortable with: global geopolitical Realpolitik’. One of the most explicit visual indicators of Agamemnon’s drive for global conquest occurs near the end of the film. Stewing alone in his tent, the king repeatedly stabs Troy on a map of the world with his dagger.
78 Note that earlier in the film, too, Agamemnon assuages his brother by observing that ‘Peace is for the women and the weak. Empires are forged by war’.
79 The similarities between Agamemnon’s death in the Odyssey and Troy are just as striking as the differences: in both accounts, his murderers take vengeance on his immoral deeds; cf. Safran and Cyrino 2015, 3.
80 Weinlich 2015, 201–02.
81 Burgess 2009, 172 notes the way that Achilles interacts more readily with the Trojans Priam and Briseis than he does with his fellow Greeks.
82 On the widespread opposition to the Iraq War in Western Europe, see Dumbrell 2005, 33.
83 Benioff 2014: ‘Dozens of different versions of the War have been told, and my script ransacks ideas from several of them’.
84 On the film’s transformation of established story patterns, see further Wieber 2005 and Winkler 2005, 418–20.
85 Scully 2007, 120, Burgess 2009, 169, and Winkler 2009, 218. As Fitton 2007, 103 observes, however, the gods are still revered by various characters and statuary representing the divine features throughout the film; cf. too Benioff 2014 and Latacz 2007, 42. For a different view again, see Chiasson 2009, 197, who argues that the gods do exist in the film, but ‘as utterly debased versions of their Homeric counterparts … powerless both to punish the humans who are disrespectful to them and to protect the humans who revere them’.
86 Winkler 2015b, 18.
87 Winkler 2007b, 3–4. Indeed, Petersen himself has acknowledged the impact of Gladiator on the American film industry: ‘It became so successful that all of a sudden these projects were popping up that dealt with the times of 2,000 years ago–3,000 years ago, in our case’ (in Winkler 2007b, 4).
88 Ahl 2007, 167 and cf. Rabel 2007, 186: ‘[Troy is] a dialogue with the past about the present’.
89 Similarly Roisman 2008, 140–41 and Winkler 2009, 225. Particularly revealing in this context are Helen’s soothing words to Paris following his retreat from the duel with Menelaus: ‘[Menelaus] lived for fighting. And I hated him from the day I married him until the day he died’.
90 Cf. Ahl 2007, 175: ‘in the world of mainstream epic the future lies with the conquered Trojans, not with the conquering Greeks’.
91 Here I refer to the British government’s Iraq inquiry (or Chilcot report), published in July 2016. The report submitted a damning verdict on the British government’s involvement before, during, and after the Iraq War.
Conclusion: Memorial
And
MENESTHES
ANCHIALOS
AMPHIUS
TLEPOLEMOS
COERANUS
CHROMIUS
ALCASTOR
ALCANDER
HALIUS
PYRTANIS
NOEMON
TEUTHRAS
ORESTES
TRECHUS
OENOMAUS
HELENUS
ORESBIUS
PERIPHAS
And
Oswald, Memorial p.25
The title of this epilogue takes its name from a poem by Alice Oswald, Memorial: An Excavation of the Iliad, published in 2011.1 The poem begins with a list of 200 names, each printed on a separate line in bold capital letters. These are the names of fallen soldiers, both Achaean and Trojan, starting with the Achaean Protesilaus, the first to die on the beaches of Troy, and running through to the Trojan Hector, whose death sealed the fate of his city. This stark list of the fallen evokes archaic Greek catalogue poetry (most obviously the lists of Achaeans and the Trojan allies in Book 2 of the Iliad),2 as well as ancient epigrammatic funeral monuments,3 and, perhaps more familiarly for Oswald’s twenty-first-century audience, modern war memorials.4 As the poem continues, it opens out into a string of individual ‘obituaries’, interspersed with formulaic lines and simile doublets.5 The poem is therefore not a narrative, or a retelling of the Troy story. Instead, it is what its title suggests – a literary memorial, a verbal monument commemorating the war dead. Indeed, in the published preface to the poem, Oswald herself described it as ‘a kind of oral cemetery’.6 Memorial differs from Iliadic poetry, then, in that while both are concerned with commemoration,7 Memorial has little interest in klea andrōn (see above pp.17–19).
The key lies in the individual obituaries provided for the fallen warriors. One such passage is that of Lycaon, which picks up on and transmutes the events of Iliad 21, 34–135.
Laothoe, one of Priam’s wives
Never saw her son again he was washed away
Now she can’t look at the sea she can’t think about
The bits unburied being eaten by fishes
He was the tall one the conscientious one
Who stayed out late pruning his father’s fig trees
Who was kidnapped who was ransomed
Who walked home barefoot from Arisbe
And rested for twelve days and was killed
LYCAON killed Lycaon unkilled Lycaon
Bending down branches to make wheels
Lycaon kidnapped Lycaon pruning by moonlight
Lycaon naked in a river pleading for his life
Being answered by Achilles No.
Oswald, Memorial p.69
For all its Iliadic resonances, this is no Homeric death scene. Gone, for example, is Achilles’ lengthy exposition on Patroclus’ death and his own inevitable fate:8 instead, Lycaon’s death is seen through the eyes of his mother rather than those of his killer. At the heart of the passage are the dead man’s family relationships, personal memories, and domestic details; with the result that the poem celebrates the life that has been lost as much as it mourns the loss of life.9 Poignancy comes from the inclusion of small, quiet details; such as in the example of Pandarus, who ‘had a wife at home … He was captain of Zelea and he and his men | Used to drink the black raw water from the river’.10 The pathos is heightened yet further by the inclusion of obituaries written in the form of appeals to the deceased in the second person, as in the case of Socus: ‘Your father is a rich man a breeder of horses | And your house has deep decorated baths’.11 For Oswald, the deaths of minor heroes are major events, and every human life is worthy of commemoration.12
While the content of the poem may serve as a literary memorial for Iliadic heroes, its form is a meditation on both the processes and practices of memorialization more generally. How do we choose to remember? How do we create a memory of a p
erson, a thing, or an event? Oswald’s poem demonstrates that we ‘do’ memorialization by creating links – by forging connections and analogies between our own experience and the thing being memorialized.13 In other words, memorialization is achieved in the same way that traditions are created – through dialogue. Memorialization is the making of tradition.
The subject and the process of memorialization
Oswald’s Memorial commemorates more than either the legions of Homeric dead or the processes of memorialization and tradition-making. It commemorates the poem of the Iliad itself. Just as Oswald uses names, lists, anecdotes, repetition, and comparison to create connections between the reader and the deceased, these same techniques also serve to create a connection between Memorial and the Iliad.
Similar processes are at work in the other examples we have discussed in this book. In each case, we began by investigating how our examples both used and innovated on the Iliad in order to create their own unique representation of the Trojan War. In each case, we also found that the opposite line of enquiry could also be pursued – how our examples used and innovated on the Trojan War story in order to create their own unique Iliad. This is more obvious in some cases than others. In the first choral ode of the Troades, for example, Euripides deliberately presents his audience with an alternative Iliad from a Trojan perspective. Less explicitly, Petersen-Benioff’s Troy seeks to ‘out-Homer’ Homer as a vehicle for kleos, offering a kind of extended ‘Director’s Cut’ of the Iliad, padded out with outtakes and extra scenes. Similarly, Herodotus and Schliemann both look to present their own more complete version of the Iliad, aiming at a higher level of historical truth which they claimed as the privilege of their own respective genres. On a smaller scale, Godfrey of Viterbo sought to create Homer and the Iliad in his own image, as a reflection of his own arguments. Shakespeare also looked to create an Iliad for his own times in the Troilus and Cressida, expanding and elaborating on what he would have seen as the key theme of the poem – argument. More subtly, Rossetti’s painting of Helen (literally) points to other possible Iliads, while Euthymides’ amphora (literally) punctures the frame of the Iliadic narrative.