…having stayed in Damouchari, Pelion.
Telemachus took a deep breath and said,
“You want the truth, and I will give it to you.
My mother says that Odysseus is my father.
I don’t know this myself. No one witnesses
His own begetting.”
τὴν δ᾽ αὖ Τηλέμαχος πεπνυμένος ἀντίον ηὔδα:
‘τοιγὰρ ἐγώ τοι, ξεῖνε, μάλ᾽ ἀτρεκέως ἀγορεύσω.
μήτηρ μέν τέ μέ φησι τοῦ ἔμμεναι, αὐτὰρ ἐγώ γε
οὐκ οἶδ᾽: οὐ γάρ πώ τις ἑὸν γόνον αὐτὸς ἀνέγνω.
— Homer, Odyssey, 213–216 (S. Lombardo, trans.)
Mama Mia is a “juke-box musical romantic comedy”, or so the taxonomists on Wikipedia tell me. All-star cast, infinitely profitable for its makers. I may have been the last person in America not to have seen it, but Amy said we had to watch it, since we spent a couple of days in Damouchari, where most of it was filmed. Here are some reflections.
First, I thought it was delightful; silly, over-the-top, but a lot of fun. Second, if Homer tried his hand at a Roman Comedy, this is what it would look like.
In the opening scene, young Sophie reveals to her friends that she has discovered her mother’s diary from twenty years earlier. Through this diary, unlike Telemachus, Sophie “witnesses” her own begetting—indicated by her mother’s hand-written ellipsis—but with a certain ambiguity, since she evidently has three possible fathers. That sets up the plot. It seems to me a very Greek plot. tAnd it is a very Greek movie in a lot of ways. They did a terrific job of showing a small, family-run beach hotel on an island in Thessaly. Brightly colored, a little shabby, but friendly and welcoming with a vast and cheerful staff.
The music of ABBA, despite their being Swedish, has always said “Greece” to me, since when I first came here at age 12 every hotel lobby played nothing but ABBA. Below is the hotel in Delphi where I stayed in with my Dad, in 1981, where I first learned that there was a job called “Classicist” and where I first heard “Fernando”, “Dancing Queen”, “Take a Chance on Me”, and “Chiquitita.” I generally never think of ABBA, except when I’m in Greece, when that soundtrack automatically clicks on in my brain. Last May, Amy and I sought out that hotel. It is unchanged after 43 years.
The movie would be worthless without Meryl Streep. ’Nough said.
Amy and reflected on that number of stunt-performers needed for filming, more than for any Michael Bay action-flick. We have walked the trails around Damouchari, gingerly, trembling in every limb. There is no way on God’s Green Earth that anyone, least of all an Insurance Provider, would allow Meryl Streep, Amanda Seyfried, or even the manly Pierce Brosnan to go running along those paths. In fact, the “bursting into song and dance” required less suspension of disbelief than the “everyone runs up the stairs and no one breaks a femur.” They did include a touching moment when Sophie has a boo-boo on her shin and Donna, her mother, bandages it. That was very realistic.
Colin Firth is always terrific. He almost always plays the same character (not a criticism), except when he was the best Mr. Darcy ever in the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice alongside Jennifer Ehrle, the One True Elizabeth Bennet.
