“You know I’m blind, right?”
With a single sentence, the greatest ancient poet had thrown my movie review plan far off course. What was I going to do now?
I had packed everything I thought I needed for this trip: a ram & a ewe, a carbon-steel knife, a dozen torches, a hammered copper hoplon, a backpacking-size IMAX 70MM projector, a pop-up IMAX screen, an inflatable Dolby 7.2 surround sound system, two folding plush movie theater chairs, candied figs (I knew he probably wouldn’t want popcorn), a sub-zero sleeping bag, and lots of water. I had been told that it was cold and dry on those black Icelandic beaches; was it ever.
It had all begun so well. I had landed in Reykjavik a little after 11 local time and took an Uber to the entrance of the dead. My only miscalculation up to this point was that sunset in Iceland was at 11:08 PM, which gave me plenty of time to set up my screen, projector, and inflatable Dolby 7.2 surround sound system. If I was going to get the interview of the millennium, I wasn’t going to do it halfway.
The ruddy-handed sun dove beneath the horizon, splashing out its last rays on the copper shield; I slit the throats of the ram and ewe. As a movie critic living in Flatbush I hadn’t had much experience slitting sheep throat, but I had watched a couple of YouTube tutorials on the flight over and it was actually pretty easy. The dark blood dripped onto the pan and I waited for my interview with the original storyteller.
I had seen the mistakes made by Odysseus in his trip up here, so I had ChatGPT generate a sign for me that said “For The Original Storyteller” in Ancient Ionic and Aeolic Greek, and placed the sign gently on the ram’s bloodstained horns. I had to shoo away a number of greedy pretenders. Virgil made a strong case and I was almost taken in by Hesiod, but I kept them all away. Finally, he approached. Nothing was going to stop me from getting this story.
As Homer stooped to sip the blood, I spoke my prepared speech:
O greatest bard, I ask thee now to sit
And watch a great retelling of the great
Odysseus, your greatest, boldest, Hero,
Directed by that Christopher of famed
House Nolan, he a mighty storyteller
Who’s sung of dreams, of stars, of magic men,
And of whatever Tenet was about.
Wilt thou recline and watch this film with me?
“You know I’m blind, right?” The right corner of his lips tightened into a smirk and he almost seemed to look through me. I couldn’t speak—my heart was a boiling storm of rage, disappointment, and confusion. Had I done all this for nothing?
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