CUT YOUR TEETH is for those who sit at the intersection of taste, ambition, and business—because no one told you it's okay to be all three.

Like millions of others, I watched The Odyssey last weekend.

Sat in those modern, greasy theater chairs with a stupid grin on my face, anticipation buzzing under my skin, and welcoming the adrenaline of preparing watch one of my favorite all-time stories get the Christopher Nolan treatment.

If you don’t know this about me, I love film.

I treasure it as an art form. At one point, I believed I wanted to not only write novels, but craft screenplays. I still read screenplays regularly, and I watch movies like I would observe a painting in a museum. From both a craft and critical perspective, film is extraordinary to me, and very influential on all of the work I create.

Now, knowing this, I knew this was not going to be a perfect film. I went in with fairly high expectations, considering what I knew about it before the story started. I had a feeling it was going to be less about the gods and more about Odysseus. I had a feeling it would highlight more about the human side of things, and potentially, I had a feeling the director would do the objectively smart thing when it comes to moneymaking Hollywood films, and make Odysseus a much more sympathetic character.

So the movie I saw did not surprise me.

Many parts of the story were changed, of course. Some things. I wasn’t happy about. Most of the decisions, however, I thought were very smart, and the pacing of the three-hour epic was—in my opinion—perfect.

I’m not a classicist, but I love the story of The Odyssey, as well as The Iliad. Of course, you can’t forget some amazing Greek plays, like Oedipus, or Medea.

These characters, their interpretations, and the study of Greek mythology and the influence and concepts of these ancient gods—and their pettiness—still inspire me to this day.

There are few things that make my fingers twitch with the desire to write than rereading an old myth, or a snippet from an epic poem—or even one of these plays—that planted a seed of inspiration within me, many years ago.

Now, this love comes with a very important principle:

I knew Christopher Nolan wasn’t going to make a god-heavy epic with an Odysseus as troubled and three-dimensional as the one from the story.

This doesn’t mean it’s automatically excusable, or “good,” but I do want to argue that the movie was well-crafted in many ways.

I thought it was well-directed, fantastically acted, and while certainly not perfect, the elements of the story that mattered the most were kept.

I felt like Nolan was telling me the story he wanted to tell. It was his decision, as the director, translator, or interpreter, to tell the story this way.

To be clear, I loved it for what it is. I did not love it as a wholly accurate retelling of The Odyssey, but I did love it as its own sort of film.

If you were to compare it to Homer’s work—or Emily Wilson’s translation of it—I have a few bones to pick that I do think weakened the story.

One example? Nolan wanted Clytemnestra and Helene to be identical twins. Did that make sense? Not really. I thought that was one of the sillier choices, as that removes one of the most important differentiators in Helene’s story, and reason to be. Her origin is very clear about how she is the most beautiful woman in the world—the face that launches 1,000 ships—and if her sister looks exactly like her… why would it still be only Helene, and not both?

The other largest glaring example for me was every choice made with Calypso. Odysseus doesn’t have amnesia on an island with her. It’s very clear throughout his years staying with her—in various translations of the story—that he just wants to go home. Back to his wife, back to his son. (I know some stories have them written as lovers, and he even bears children with her… but we’re not talking about those)

So, I do have some problems.

They just didn’t break the film for me.

I expected Christopher Nolan to tell me what he wanted to tell me. He managed to accomplish this with competent direction, some odd scriptwriting—this still isn’t his strongest suit; the exposition was getting tiresome—and some insanely beautiful visual and acting-forward storytelling that created a satisfying and interesting story.

I’m telling you this not to be one of those obnoxious die-hard Nolan fans who scream obscenities on Reddit on how he can do no wrong, and he’s a god among filmmakers, etc. and etc.

Without apology.

Without reprimand.

Without external influence.

You need to get in touch with every part of yourself that demands recognition.

These might not be as present as your other daily thoughts, but they’re there. You feel them. You see them. You hear them. They’re screaming, whispering, clawing at you to pay attention. You must obey these callings, recognize when their screams make an idea, concept, or story tangible to you—and go after it.

The reason we, as human beings, are so interested in reading one topic from many perspectives—at least, if you’re a well-read and curious person who hasn’t atrophied your brain—is because we’re curious about how many ways we can experience a story where we share a connection.

It doesn’t matter which vocation you’ve chosen. If you’re a designer, brilliant. If you build brands, incredible. If you gather communities to boost startup credibility, amazing. If you’re a painter, musician, or professional thinker… damn, I love that. Please never let that go and keep pursuing what makes you individually special.

However, you must pursue these vocations with your unique point of view intact.

Even if you’re doing something similar to Christopher Nolan—adapting a timeless piece of art with enormous breadth, depth, and interpretations to experience—you must never lose sight of your own voice.

Outside noise clutters the creative vision. You see it all the time, with artists and entrepreneurs alike. Trends. Data. Customer input overtaking the original vision. Logical information hideously converging with personal tastes.

Failure to witness the Self among the clutter of Other.

I would argue this is the greatest tragedy to befall the modern artist.

The creators. The creatives. The entrepreneurs with artistic integrity. The people who refuse to be put in a box, but feel the need to branch off and adopt identities that are not their own, in order to achieve “success,” or become “noticed.”

Or, worst of all… be “liked.”

Christopher Nolan obviously did not create this version of The Odyssey to please others.

He created it because he wanted to. It’s his vision, and others went along with it. Audiences hate it. They also love it. It’s raked in millions. It’s raked in anger.

What a relief that he created a piece of art that’s generating so much discussion.

What a privilege to make a piece of work that challenges others to spit fire in challenge. What a beautiful thing to wield as an Artist of the Modern World, to command, to dictate, to craft a piece of art that arouses discussion like this on a mass global scale.

For, perhaps, many years from its creation, too.

No matter your vocation, you must allow your point of view to stake its claim. Never allow the opinions of others to sway what makes you truly unique.

Everyone says “nothing is original anymore,” and so they encourage laziness. They encourage copycats and tired ideas and even more disastrous outcomes. They believe there’s no point in trying—whether subconsciously or consciously—and so they want you to feel as inadequate as them. They want you to feel limited, so they can feel big.

You must never listen to this lie.

It will poison your potential.

What makes you original—what makes everyone original—is their palate.

A Creative Palate, as I like to call it. And one of these points of identity is the intersection of your origin story, your passions, your interests, the art you love, the art you want to create, the ambition that ties it all together, and the dark sides of things as well to pinpoint what you absolutely do not want to do.

This… is uncopyable.

And, yes… it is original.

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See you next week, Toothcutter,

Taylor