The Greeks have a word (or two) for it: 62, Ελευθερία ή θάνατος, ‘Freedom or Death’, an irreversible binomial

The nine blue and white stripes of the Greek flag represent the nine syllables of the rallying cry Ελευθερία ή θάνατος (‘Eleftheria i Thanatos’), ‘Freedom or Death’ (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

While I was wnandering aoround Oxford yesterday (16 June 2026), by the boathouses, the rivers and the islands in the river, I was musing on Bloomsday and the wandering of Ulysses. But I also recall a holiday on an Ionian island in Greece about 20-25 years ago, when I also visited Ithaki, the island home of Odysseus. On that same holiday, I met an Irish couple who introduced themselves as Joyce and James from Dublin.

They never, ever, introduced themselves in the reverse order, as in ‘I’m James, … Joyce.’

But inevitably, for many of the people staying in that same small apartment block, this became known as their ‘James Joyce holiday’. The pairing was irreversible.

Another holidaymaker in the same apartment block found out, as he was packing to go home, that his suitcase had ripped. Rather than buying a new case, he found a large, pre-used cardboard box, packed all his belongings inside and wrapped it up in bubble wrap, with strong brown masking tape.

At the airport, as he was about to place the box on the scanning machine, a policeman asked him to take it off, and open it.

‘I can’t,’ he pleaded.

‘Take it off’.

Lesson 1, Do not argue with a Greek police officer, any police officer, at an airport.

The lesson was being ignored, but two other tourists – eager to defuse the situation and more eager not to miss their flight – without any airs and graces or fuss and bother removed the box, hoping to restore peace and calm and wanting to minimalise any confrontation with law and order.

‘What is it in the box?’

‘Just me Bits and Bobs’, said the elderly Dub casually, unaware of the chaos or mess that could unfold around him – what Greeks call τα πάνω κάτω (ta páno káto), ‘the ups-downs’.

‘Bobs and Bits?’ the policeman asked.

We all began to smile, he noticed our spontaneous response, tensions were defused, and soon the box was on its way back through the scanner.

Pardon the pun, but it was an open and shut case. Perhaps all he had in his bag and baggage was odds and sods, six of one and half a dozen of the other. Not in there, I am sure from his holiday attire, were a shirt and tie.

Despite the smiles, we had all minded our Ps and Qs. No-one had to bow and scrape, no-one lost an arm and a leg, and we all went through security, happy after a holiday on a Greek island that for two weeks had been our Land of Milk and Honey.

When we got home, I am sure, nobody unpacked their flop flips, put their holidays nacks and nicks in appropriate crannies and nooks, or had conversations in the days that followed with their dad and mum about the days of the Tans and Blacks.

Who speaks of ‘breakfast and bed’ rather than ‘bed and breakfast’ for a B&B? … Park Villa Guest House in Kilkenny (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

The pairing of words known in English as an irreversible binomial, or a frozen binomial, also exists in Greek. This is a pair of words linked by a conjunction such as και (‘and’) and that always occur in a fixed, non-reversible order. Έτσι κι έτσι (Etsi ki etsi), which means ‘so-so’, is a classic example of this paired rhythmic pattern in Greek. The phrase literally means ‘thus and thus’ and is used to describe average health, mood, or a mediocre experience:

Τι κάνεις; (ti káneis), How are you?

Έτσι κι έτσι (Etsi ki etsi), So-so.

Other common examples of the use of an irreversible binomial in Greek include:

Πέτσι και κόκαλο (pétsi ke kókalo, skin and bones), meaning emaciated or extremely thin.

Απ' έξω και ανακατωτά (ap' éxso ke anakatotá, inside out and upside down, completely mixed up), referring to knowing something perfectly.

Ήθη και έθιμα (íthi ke éthima, morals and customs), a standard frozen phrase encompassing cultural traditions.

Στο κάτω κάτω της γραφής (sto káto káto tis grafís, after all, bottom line), literally ‘at the bottom bottom of the writing’.

Τα πάνω κάτω (ta páno káto, upside down, chaos), literally ‘the ups-downs’, used to describe a mess.

Άνω κάτω (ano kato, ‘up down’) or ‘topsy-turvy’.

Μπρος πίσω (bros piso, ‘front back’) or back and forth.

Έθιμα και έθιμα (ethima kai ethima), ‘customs and habits’.

Μισός κι άλλος μισός (misos ki allos misos) ‘one and the other’.

Ένας κι ένας (enas ki enas), one by one.

Common Greek irreversible binomials feature entrenched phrases, historical idioms, and common collocations. In Greek linguistics, irreversible binomials or idiomatic, fixed-order word pairs, similar to the order of ‘bread and butter’ in English, are heavily shaped by iconicity or the chronological or logical sequence of events, and by end-weight, with longer or heavier words appearing toward the end of the phrase.

Verbs expressing sequential actions must follow their natural temporal order (as in going in before going out). In Greek, this appears as μπαινοβγαίνω (bainovgeno, ‘go in and out’) or ανεβοκατεβαίνω (anevokateveno, ‘go up and down’).

When nouns or adverbs of similar meaning are combined, the element with the more sonorous or longer vowel, or a greater number of syllables, is usually placed at the end to provide a rhythmic cadence.

The most famous example of an irreversible binomial in Greek is Ελευθερία ή θάνατος (Eleftheria i Thanatos), ‘Freedom or Death’. This pair of words is ordered by established convention, and they are fixed in sequence. Swapping their order, as in saying ‘Death or Freedom’, sounds jarring to any Greek speaker.

As a linguistic convention, the pairings in an irreversible binomial are anchored by cultural, psychological, and semantic rules. When faced with an ultimatum, we instinctively priorities the positive or desired outcome first, followed by the negative alternative. Positioning ‘Freedom’ before ‘Death’ frames the statement as a pursuit of life’s highest ideal, with death accepted only as a last resort.

The phrase Ελευθερία ή θάνατος (Eleftheria i Thanatos) has become the Greek national motto. It originated in the 1820s during the Greek War of Independence against the Ottoman Empire. The nine blue and white stripes of the Greek flag represent the nine syllables of this rallying cry.

The phrase gives its name to Freedom or Death, also known as Captain Michalis, a 1953 novel by the author Nikos Kazantzakis from Iraklion in Crete that is became a key work of modern Greek literature.

The binary choice between liberty and life without freedom is mirrored in other historic rallying cries, such as the Patrick Henry’s ‘Give me liberty, or give me death!’ The late Seumas Phelan, when he was a sub-editor at The Irish Times, would cry out during lulls and dull moments on the subs desk, ‘Give me copy, or give me death’.

In English, the fixed order of irreversible binomials or frozen binomials means that changing the order sounds jarring, even if the meaning remains clear. This fixed order is largely shaped by linguistic patterns rather than arbitrary rules.

The natural rhythm or ablaut means English speakers naturally prefer pairs with specific syllable stresses, or where a shorter, high-frequency word precedes a longer one, as with short and sweet or sick and tired.

Iconic sequencing means phrases often follow a chronological or logical order of events in the real world, such as cause and effect, or trial and error.

But cultural conventions and historical and semantic traditions also cement phrases into our long-term memory, processing them as single holistic units rather than individual words. In law and official documents, there are many irreversible binomials consisting of near synonyms, such as the oft-expressed terms and conditions and cease and desist.

There are hundreds of these expressions in English and they generally fall into a few key categories, such as food and objects. Think of how we link Fish and Chips, Salt and Pepper, Knife and Fork, or Bread and Butter. In everyday conversation and idioms, we refer to Give and Take, Back and Forth, Safe and Sound, Bed and Breakfast, but never to Roll and Rock or Blues and Rhythm, and we ask for explanations and excuses to be Short and Sweet.

The term ‘irreversible binomial’ was introduced in 1954 by the Ukrainian-born etymologist and philologist Yakov Malkiel (1914-1998), although aspects of the phenomenon had been discussed since at least 1903 under different names such as ‘terminological imbroglio’ and the now politically-incorrect ‘Siamese twins’.

Many irreversible binomials are catchy due to alliteration, rhyming, or ablaut reduplication, and have become clichés or catchphrases. The mix and match of idioms includes phrases such as rock and roll, the birds and the bees, and they have survived the wear and tear of generations among generation of native English speakers, even one word in a pairing has become obsolete as in spick and span. Spick is a fossil word that never appears outside the phrase spick and span. Who uses words such as such as vim or abet except when using sayings such as vim and vigour or aid and abet.

No-one is ever caught between a hard place and a rock, high water and hell never come, and I know no-one who has had a tuck and nip, even among the famous and rich. Although, if I wanted to be little more Greek in my turn of phrase, or a Joycean reference, then instead of ‘a rock and a hard place’ I might chose to be caught between the equally dangerous and threatening Scylla and Charybdis.

Ball and Chain? … ‘Sitting on History’ by Bill Woodrow in Milton Keynes (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Previous words in this series:

1, Neologism, Νεολογισμός.

2, Welcoming the stranger, Φιλοξενία.

3, Bread, Ψωμί.

4, Wine, Οίνος and Κρασί.

5, Yogurt, Γιαούρτι.

6, Orthodoxy, Ορθοδοξία.

7, Sea, Θᾰ́λᾰσσᾰ.

8,Theology, Θεολογία.

9, Icon, Εἰκών.

10, Philosophy, Φιλοσοφία.

11, Chaos, Χάος.

12, Liturgy, Λειτουργία.

13, Greeks, Ἕλληνες or Ρωμαίοι.

14, Mañana, Αύριο.

15, Europe, Εὐρώπη.

16, Architecture, Αρχιτεκτονική.

17, The missing words.

18, Theatre, θέατρον, and Drama, Δρᾶμα.

19, Pharmacy, Φᾰρμᾰκείᾱ.

20, Rhapsody, Ραψῳδός.

21, Holocaust, Ολοκαύτωμα.

22, Hygiene, Υγιεινή.

23, Laconic, Λακωνικός.

24, Telephone, Τηλέφωνο.

25, Asthma, Ασθμα.

26, Synagogue, Συναγωγή.

27, Diaspora, Διασπορά.

28, School, Σχολείο.

29, Muse, Μούσα.

30, Monastery, Μοναστήρι.

31, Olympian, Ολύμπιος.

32, Hypocrite, Υποκριτής.

33, Genocide, Γενοκτονία.

34, Cinema, Κινημα.

35, autopsy and biopsy

36, Exodus, ἔξοδος

37, Bishop, ἐπίσκοπος

38, Socratic, Σωκρατικὸς

39, Odyssey, Ὀδύσσεια

40, Practice, πρᾶξις

41, Idiotic, Ιδιωτικός

42, Pentecost, Πεντηκοστή

43, Apostrophe, ἀποστροφή

44, catastrophe, καταστροφή

45, democracy, δημοκρατία

46, ‘Αρχή, beginning, Τέλος, end

47, ‘Αποκάλυψις, Apocalypse

48, ‘Απόκρυφα, Apocrypha

49, Ἠλεκτρον (Elektron), electric

50, Metamorphosis, Μεταμόρφωσις

51, Bimah, βῆμα

52, ἰχθύς (ichthýs) and ψάρι (psari), fish.

53, Τὰ Βιβλία (Ta Biblia), The Bible

54, Φῐλοξενῐ́ᾱ (Philoxenia), true hospitality

55, εκκλησία (ekklesia), the Church

56, ναός (naos) and ἱερός (ieros), a church

57, Χριστούγεννα (Christougenna), Christmas

58, ἐπιφάνεια (epipháneia), θεοφάνεια, (theopháneia), Epiphany and Theophany

59, Ζέφυρος (Zéphuros), the West Wind

60, Αύριο (Avrio), Tomorrow

61, καλημέρα (κaliméra), ‘Good Morning’, and καλαμάρι, κalamári, ‘squid’

62, Ελευθερία ή θάνατος, ‘Freedom or Death’

63, Ποδόσφαιρο, ‘Football’

64, καφές (coffee), Φραπές (frappé)

Series to be continued

’Freedom or Death’ is one of the great literary works by Nikos Kazantzakis (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

A moral tale of the threats to civilisation as we know it on a journey with another Ulysses

Patrick Comerford

And if the soul is about to know itself, it must gaze into the soul
– Plato, Alcybiades, 133B

Today is Bloomsday (16 June 2026), and I marked Bloomsday wandering through the streets of Oxford, through Christ Church Meadow, and by the river and the boathouses, vainly searching for any connections James Joyce may have had with the ‘City of Dreaming Spires’.

I have been disturbed since Sunday of the spectacle of a ‘cage fight’ on the lawn of the White House to celebrate the birthday of a maniacal and egocentric president and how it so thoroughly represents the collapse of culture in the US and the way the steady decline of western civilisation – at the very least in America.

In their own way, James Joyce’s Ulysses and Homer’s Odyssey represent, to a degree, the best of literature at different stages or epochs in western culture and civilisation. But is it too harsh to fear that the banality and tastelessness of the Trump administration a warning of the eventual collapse of western civilisation, culture?

My fears are added to by the violence on our city streets away, where the people who are loudest in vocalising their opposition to cultural, ethnic and religious diversity in these islands are the ones least likely to have any appreciation of the foundations of what might be called European and Western civilisation. It seem they are, in fact, the Barbarians, and that the Barbarians are inside the gates, destroying the city.

In some new way, I find myself understanding the words of the taxi driver in the film Ulysses’ Gaze, where he talks of Greek civilisation as a 3,000-year fall from glory and says: ‘Greece is dying. We are dying as a people.’ Perhaps, instead, I might say fretfully after that vulgar display on the White House lawn, ‘Western civilisation is dying. We are dying as a people.’



In the midst of my bleak fretting about the prospects and uncertain political future of our western civilisation, built on the bedrock of classical – especially Greek – culture, it seemed appropriate to sit back recently for three hours once again and watch Ulysses’ Gaze (Το βλέμμα του Οδυσσέα, To Vlémma tou Odysséa) the 1995 epic Greek film by Theo Angelopoulos.

Ulysses’ Gaze is both a beautiful and a bleak film, with powerful images and haunting memories. This 176-minute epic is challenging and demanding, with no clear border between imagination and reality. It makes a devastating statement about the tragic conflicts in the former Yugoslavia and the Balkans in the 1990s, and challenges the boundaries between ethnic identities that set up false borders and fail to recognise a shared humanity and a shared cultural heritage.



Angelopoulos, who died earlier this year, believed in shooting in the actual locations of his stories and felt he had no other option to take the risks involved, However, the UN refused Angelopoulos permission to film in Sarajevo, and so the scenes set there – including one supposedly in ‘Sniper Alley’ – were filmed in Mostar, Vukovar and the Krijena region. But all the other scenes were filmed on location in Albania, the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia (Fyrom or Skopje), Bulgaria, Romania and Serbia.

A key to engaging with this movie and journeying with the main character on his Odyssey may be found in words by the Greek poet CP Cavafy, who opens his poem ‘Ithaka’ (1911) with the words:

Σα βγεις στον πηγαιμό για την Ιθάκη,
να εύχεσαι νάναι μακρύς ο δρόμος,
γεμάτος περιπέτειες, γεμάτος γνώσεις.
Τους Λαιστρυγόνας και τους Κύκλωπας,
τον θυμωμένο Ποσειδώνα μη φοβάσαι,
τέτοια στον δρόμο σου ποτέ σου δεν θα βρεις,
αν μέν’ η σκέψις σου υψηλή, αν εκλεκτή
συγκίνησις το πνεύμα και το σώμα σου αγγίζει.

As you set out for Ithaka
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon – don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body..

Return from Troy



‘A’ is an unnamed exiled Greek filmmaker who has been living in exile in the US since his time as a conscript in the Greek army in his late teens or early 20s. He returns home to Florina, like Odysseus returning from the Trojan wars, after a 35-year absence, for a special screening of one of his controversial films. But the true purpose of his journey home is to set out on an epic journey across the war-battered Balkans searching for three lost reels of film by the Manachia or Manákias Brothers.

Yiannákis Manákias (Γιαννάκης Μανάκιας, 1878-1954) and his brother Miltiádes Manákias (Μιλτιάδης Μανάκιας, 1882-1964) were pioneering filmmakers in the Balkans at the beginning of the last century, and the search for the mythical reels first filmed by the Manákias brothers around 1905 serves as the backdrop for a search for the shared history of the Balkans.

‘Why A?’ Theo Angelopoulos asked himself. ‘It’s an alphabetical choice. Every filmmaker remembers the first time he looked through the viewfinder of a camera. It is a moment that is not so much the discovery of cinema – but the discovery of the world. But there comes a moment when the filmmaker begins to doubt his own capacity to see things, when he no longer knows if his gaze is right and innocent.’

In the early years of cinema, the Manákias brothers criss-crossed the Balkans tirelessly as they recorded the history and customs of the region, and they disregarded national and ethnic strife. But their primitive images were never developed, and ‘A’ must ask whether those three reels ever really existed. And if they still exist, where are they?

In a some way, these films are the first ‘gaze’ into the soul of the Balkans. As the title of the movie suggests, the story is an odyssey, but it begins in Greece and moves through Albania, the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia (North Macedonia), Bulgaria, Romania, Serbia and Bosnia.

Before the titles, the film opens with an old black and white silent film that shows the brothers’ 114-year-old grandmother spinning wool in their home village. In a voice-over, Harvey Keitel, who plays ‘A’, comments: ‘Weavers in Avdella, a Greek village, 1905, the first film made by the brothers Miltiades and Yiannákis Manákias, [who filmed] all the ambiguities, the contrasts, the conflicts in this area of the world.’



We then move to 1954 and Thessaloniki, where an old man stands at the west end of the seafront near the White Tower, preparing to film a sailing ship coming out of the harbour to the east.

The old man is Yiannákis Manákias, and the scene is recounted to ‘A’ by an old man who had once worked with Manákias as his assistant.

As the assistant recounts Manákias and his work, the films takes on colour and Manákias collapses from a heart attack and dies. His assistant continues to recall the past as ‘A’ arrives at the very place where Manákias had been filing with. In one long scene, Angelopoulos has covered 60 years of Greek filmmaking, and sets the tone for the whole journey that is about to unfold.

Finding Penelope at home



After the titles, ‘A’ has arrived in a rainy Florina in northern Greece, where one of his controversial films is being shown in the market place. All the cinemas have refused a screening , and religious fanatics are planning to protest in the streets. ‘A’ is advised to leave and as he is about to catch a taxi, a woman in her 30s (Maia Morgenstern) passes by.

The Romanian actress Maia Morgenstern plays the roles of four different women in this film, and ‘A’s’ four lovers also represent the four key women in the story of Odysseus. In this scene, she becomes ‘A’s’ old lover abandoned by him years ago, a Penelope figure. A stunned ‘A’ follows her, muttering to himself: ‘I did not expect to see you here.’



But she disappears into the crowds of demonstrators and counter-demonstrators. Like Penelope’s battling suitors, the two groups are marching towards each other, separated only by a thin line of police. But we do not see the clash that follows. Instead, the film cuts to a dreary, snow-covered winter day when ‘A’ has arrived in the taxi at an Albanian border crossing.

As the taxi driver (Thanassis Vengos) looks after formalities with the police, ‘A’ notices a frail elderly woman (Dora Volanaki) standing alone with a suitcase. She asks ‘A’ for a lift to a town across the border, where she plans to visit the sister she has not seen for 47 years.

‘A’ helps her into the taxi as a group of illegal Albanian migrants, who have been rounded up by the Greek police, arrive on a bus to be forced back across the border. As ‘A’ and the woman cross the border from Greece into Albania, hundreds of desolate Albanians are lining the roadside in the snow, waiting in desolate hope for a chance to slip across into Greece. The taxi reaches Korytsa, and in an empty square ‘A’ helps the elderly woman out.

She has returned from one exile to face a second exile in this vast open space, surrounded by concrete. Her silence gives way to an unseen muzzein’s call to prayer from a minaret, symbolising the return to the old religion in post-communist in Albania.



As the taxi leaves, the bleak image of an empty town creates a compelling sense of loss But non-Greek viewers are unlikely to make a connection with either the history of the Greek minority in Northern Epirus or with the capture of Korytsa by the Greek army in 1912 during the first Balkan War.

Calypso in Monastiri

The taxi continues on to the border with Skopje, but is forced to stop because of snow on the road. The taxi driver decides against crossing and waits for the snow to be cleared. As he and ‘A’ listen to Greek music and drink raki, cementing their friendship, the taxi driver says: ‘Greece is dying. We are dying as a people.’

‘A’ arrives by bus in Monastiri in search of the original home of the Manákias brothers. As he stands at their front door, we are brought back to black and white footage by the Manákias brothers from 1956.

The house is now a museum. Inside, ‘A” meets a young librarian (Maia Morgenstern in her second role), who remains distant and aloof in her refusal to help him. That evening, they meet again on the train to Skopje, and ‘A’ tells her in detail about the purpose of his journey.

The librarian’s name is Kali – and so she is about to become the nymph Calypso who held Odysseus captive for seven years on her island Ogygia. She tells ‘A’ that the Manákias films are not in the archives in Skopje.



In Skopje, ‘A’ boards the overnight express train to Sofia and Bucharest, but he continues talking to Kali on the station platform, telling her of an event two years earlier on Delos, when he tried to photograph the birthplace of Apollo. The train starts to leave and picks up speed, and Kali, enticed like Nausicaa by a story from Delos, is now running along the platform. Finally, ‘A’ grabs her on board. He continues his story, and Kali is so moved they cannot escape a passionate embrace – they are on a journey together.

When the train pulls in at the Bulgarian border, the guards say something is wrong with ‘A’s’ passport. Past and present mix again in a surreal scene as he is questioned by an official in 100-year-old clothing, as though he is Yiannákis Manákias, accused of sedition against Bulgaria. ‘A’ protests that he does not understand, but he is blind-folded in front of a firing squad. He is Odysseus captive to the half-blind Cyclops.

At the last moment, a messenger arrives, saying King Ferdinand of Bulgaria has commuted the sentence to exile until the Balkan war (1912-1913) is over.

He tells the modern Bulgarian border guard he is going to in Philippoupolis, but is corrected. Today it is Plovdiv.

Telemachos greets his father


‘A’ and Kali are reunited and board another train for Bucharest. As they step off the train, it is the 1940s and a young women (Mania Papadimitriou) comes forward and speaks to ‘A’ as if he were a child. She is his mother, and he apologises for missing her funeral. They are back in his childhood, and they travel on to their old home in Constanţa on the Romanian Black Sea. There, all his dead relatives are dancing. Like a well-mannered child, he greets each in turn.

His father appears in rags, back from a concentration camp. It is 1945, and ‘A’ is not only Telemachos, welcoming home his father Odysseus, but his memory has merged with that of the Manákias brothers. We witness a dance through a period of five years, 1945-1950, that signifies the end of the presence of the Greek, Armenian and Jewish minorities in Romania and the arrival of the new Stalinist regime.

Farewell to Calypso



‘A’ and Kali wake up together in bed in a modern hotel in Constanţa. They go down to the harbour, where a larger-than-life but broken statue of Lenin is being loaded on a barge, to be taken up the Danube to Germany. A tear-filled ‘A’ tells a sorrowing Kali: ‘I cannot love you’ – as Homer’s Odysseus tells Calypso when he leaves her. He boards the barge, leaving a bewildered Kali behind on the quay.

As the barge makes its way up the Danube, groups of people on the riverbank stand in awe of Lenin, paying their respects and many crossing themselves. This long travelling shot, with Lenin’s severed head gazing at the skies – almost like the floating ruins of Ozymandias – is a stark reminder of the ruins and failures of the past, the confusion created after the collapse of the Communist system. Like the muzzein’s call in Albania, the people on the riverbank crossing themselves as Lenin passes symbolise the passing of an old order and the return of the old religion.

Odysseus in Hades

When ‘A’ arrives in the Serbian capital Belgrade, he is met by an old journalist friend from Greece, Nikos (Giorgos Michalakopoulos). Nikos greets him quoting the Greek poet George Seferis (1900-1971): ‘When God created the world, the first thing he made were journeys.’

‘A’ replies: ‘And then came doubt … and nostalgia.’

In an old people’s home, they meet Yovisitsa, an old man who was in charge of the Belgrade Film Archives for many years. He admits he failed to develop the Manákias films but tells them they are now in the Sarajevo Film Archives in Bosnia.

In a café in Belgrade, Nikos and ‘A’ drink to the memory of old, now-dead friends, to poets and revolutionaries, to Cavafy, Che Guevarra, May 1968, and Santorini, and the departed giants of cinema: ‘To Orson Welles! To Dreyer! To Murnau!’ They continue their voyage into nostalgia while drinking ion the tram tracks and on the street. For ‘A’, Belgrade is Odysseus’ descent into Hades in the Odyssey, where he meets old friends and is given instructions to complete his journey. He decides, despite the dangers, to journey on to Sarajevo.

Nausicaa washes Odysseus’ clothes



Nikos helps ‘A’ to find a boat on the River Sava that will take him to Sarajevo. It is night time when ‘A’ is woken on the boat by a young woman (played again by Maia Morgenstern), who now is Naursicaa. Together they row up the River Sava in a small boat towards Sarajevo.

But we are brought back to 1915 and they are back in Philippoupolis (Plovdiv) in Bulgaria. They arrive at a ruined village and walk to the charred remains of the woman’s ruined home.

The grief-stricken woman cries out: ‘Vania! Vania! Vaniushka!’

In the debris, ‘A’ finds a framed wedding photograph. Is this the woman and Vania?

In the evening in the rubble, a table is set and she and ‘A’ dine together to the sound of gunfire and explosions in the background.



When he awakes, ‘A’ wraps himself in a blanket and walks outside to see the woman, like Nausicaa, washing his clothes in the river. Back in the house, she gives him her husband’s clothes, and then goes down to the river to break up the boat with an axe – now she is Circe is trying to keep Odysseus captive. She returns to the house, sees ‘A’ dressed in her husband’s clothes, pulls him to the floor and they make passionate love. But in the darkness, ‘A’ escapes and in the night drifts down the river in a small boat.

Nausicaa and Penelope in Sarajevo



Two hours into the film, ‘A’ arrives at dawn in Sarajevo, where the siege has left the city in ruins, and people risk their lives each day, braving Serbian snipers to fetch water.

‘A’ finds his way to the Film Archives, where a young boy takes him to meet the Jewish curator, Ivo Levy (Erland Josephson). Together, they walk back to the damaged archives building, each carrying a container of water.

‘A’ tells Levy he is in Sarajevo to find the three Manákias films. Although Levy has the films but has never been unable to develop them. Now he agrees to try one more but last time.

‘A’ falls asleep at the archives, and is awoken by Levy’s daughter, Naomi (Maia Morgenstern in her fourth role). Naomi is his Nausicaa, and we realise ‘A’ has projected his past lovers onto every woman he meets. When Naomi leaves, ‘A’ finds Levy at work in the lab. Later, Levy is successful and he and ‘A’ are overwhelmed with joy that, after almost 100 years, an image of Greece from the early 20th century has been brought to life once again.



Outside in the fog, they walk through the streets of Sarajevo, where a lull in sniping allows a small orchestra of young Muslims, Croats and Serbs to perform in a small square, while a small group of actors nearby us staging Romeo and Juliet. The lull in sniping also allows Muslims and Christians to bury their dead.

Further on, some couples are dancing to pop music, and Naomi appears through the fog, inviting ‘A’ to dance. The music changes to a 1950s tune, and Naomi becomes Penelope, left behind in Florina by ‘A’ so long ago.

‘A,” Naomi and Levy are joined by Levy’s family and they walk together in the fog towards the river, with Levy and ‘A’ straggling behind. Suddenly, a car pulls up, doors slam, and men shout. Levy tells “A” to stay where he is and runs in the fog towards the rest of the family. Naomi cries out: ‘Not the children!’ Gun shots are followed by splashes as bodies are dumped in the river. The car reverses and then speeds off.

There is total silence. We are left staring, guessing what has happened, what we have not seen.

‘A’ rushes to the scene of the massacre has taken place and be the riverbank he finds Levy dead in the snow, and then Naomi. He embraces her, embracing all the women he has loved and lost, and in primal screams we hear his helpless rage and anger.

As he walks back slowly to the archives, the orchestra is still playing in the snow-covered square in Sarajevo.

In the final scene, a film has just been shown on a blank projection screen, perhaps one of the Manákias films – if they ever existed. But the film reels have been burned and he faces the camera in tears, speaking the words of Odysseus to Penelope: ‘When I return, it will be with another man’s clothes.’

Fulfilling a vow

Ulysses’ Gaze received the Grand Jury Prize at the 1995 Cannes Film Festival, but has been largely ignored by film critics and distributors in Western Europe.

This was a response by Angelopoulos to the Balkan crises following the break-up of Yugoslavia. With the many allusions to images in Greek poetry that bring together the values of classical Greece and modern Greece, Angelopoulos is claiming a continuity between the ancient and modern Greek worlds, between the Hellenistic and the Byzantine worlds, but also expressing a nostalgia for a Balkan world once shared by all irrespective of religious or ethnic identities.

‘A’s’ belief in the innocence of Manákias brothers’ creative gaze may hold the key to lost innocence and essential truth, to an understanding of the Balkans. In his journey, this modern Odysseus is not seeking to return to a geographical homeland but is searching for rue meaning and true identity. Indeed, ‘A’s’ journey in search of the Manákias reels is less of a practical quest and more like the fulfilment of a vow, almost like a pilgrimage religious people undertake to honour the memory of a saint.

His wanderings have taken ‘A’ on a double journey: a journey through space, as he wanders across the Balkans at war; and a journey across time, as he revisits his past, the past of the Manákias brothers and the past of the Balkans. Those journeys across take him through a landscape peopled by ghostly figures and broken dreams, and take him to the heart of darkness.

Our modern Odysseus has reached his Ithaka, but his odyssey may not be over.

Cast:

Harvey Keitel (‘A’).
Maia Morgenstern (woman in Florina, Penelope; Kali, Calypso; widow, Circe; Naomi Levi, Nausica)
Erland Josephson (Ivo Levy) – the actor Gian Maria Volonté died during filming and was replaced by Josephson
Thanassis Vengos (taxi driver)
Giorgos Michalakopoulos (Nikos)
Dora Volanaki (old lady in Albania)
Mania Papadimitriou (‘A’s’ mother in Romania)



Music:

The score by Eleni Karaindrou, featuring Kim Kashkashian on viola, was recorded in December 1994 at Sound Studio, Athens, and was released on the ECM label in 1995.

Kim Kashkashian, viola soloist
Vangelis Christopoulos, oboe
Andreas Tsekouras, accordion
Socratis Anthis, trumpet
Vangelis Skouras, French horn
Christos Sfetsas, cello
Georgia Voulvi, voice
Lefteris Chalkiadakis, conductor

Theo Angelopoulos (1935-2012) died in an accident in Athens 24 January 2012, aged 76, while working on a new film.

Daily prayer in Ordinary Time 2026: 40, Tuesday 16 June 2026

‘For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good’ (Matthew 5: 54) … sunrise off the coast of Igoumenitsa in north-west Greece (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

Patrick Comerford

We are in Ordinary Time and the week began with the Second Sunday after Trinity (Trinity II, 14 June 2025). The calendar of the Church of England in Common Worship today remembers Saint Richard (1197-1253), Bishop of Chichester, and Joseph Butler (1692-1752), Bishop of Durham, Philosopher.

Today is Bloomsday, and so, in my own trbute to James Joyce, I may spend time re-reading parts of ULysses during the day. Before today begins, I am taking some quiet time this morning to give thanks, to reflect, to pray and to read in these ways:

1, reading today’s Gospel reading;

2, a short reflection;

3, a prayer from the USPG prayer diary;

4, the Collects and the Post-Communion prayer of the day.

‘He … sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous’ (Matthew 5: 45) … reflections of rain in Saint Mark’s Square, Venice (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Matthew 5: 43-48 (NRSVA):

[Jesus said:] 43 ‘You have heard that it was said, “You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy.” 44 But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. 46 For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax-collectors do the same? 47 And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48 Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.’

‘For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good’ (Matthew 5: 54) … sunrise on the High Street in Stony Stratford (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2026)

Today’s Reflections:

The Gospel reading for the Eucharist this morning (Matthew 5: 43-48) continues our readings from the Sermon on the Mount, and continues reading from a passage that has often been misused and misinterpreted.

I wonder how often this reading has been a crippling burden on new disciples as they seek to live out their Christian faith?

‘Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you’ (verse 44) – now that’s a tough one for everyone. And what about: ‘Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect’ (verse 48)? That’s seemingly impossible.

So, as I did yesterday, let me look at each of these challenges.

The phrase, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemy closer’, is often used in situations where someone seeks to convey that do not trust some of the people around them.

The word ‘enemy’ (verses 43-44) comes from the Latin word enim, meaning ‘against’. In English, it means someone who is against us or our interests. For example, an enemy might be a person who wants to harm us physically or emotionally.

The Greek word used here, ἐχθρός ( echthros), refers to some who is hated, under disfavour, inimical, hostile, an enemy or adversary. In the New Testament, it refers to enemies of various kinds, including personal adversaries, enemies of God, and even the devil as the ultimate enemy of humanity.

In classical literature, Aristotle and other Greek writers classified people encountered by characters in tragedy into φίλοι (philoi, friends and loved ones), ἐχθροὶ (echthroi, enemies), and μηδετέροι (medetoeroi), who are neither friends nor enemies but neutral. The characters and their audience seek a positive outcome for the first group and the downfall of the second, as the third group watch on passively or offer commentary.

Can we seek the downfall of our enemies, yet want what is best for them in God’s eyes?

At the time of Christ, ‘love’ and ‘hate,’ were not understood in terms of internal emotional feelings, or attitudes. He is not asking us to romantically or unquestioningly love our enemies.

People then did not understand ‘love’ and ‘hate’ in Jungian or Freudian psychological terms. They were internal states that had immediate connotations of corresponding external expressions.

The word ἀγαπάω (agapao) conveys ideas about welcoming others, entertaining them, seeking their better good, to be happy for them, to be content with the blessings they have received. Μισέω (miséo) means to hate in the sense of detesting.

To love our enemies does not mean to have romantic feelings for them, or to consider taking them out on dinner date, still less marrying them. It means to be attached to them, to be devoted to them, to be loyal to them, to seek their better good, to hope that they are treated fairly and justly. And to do that truly, our outward behaviour towards them must reflect our inner feelings.

Perhaps it would be easier merely to like them rather than to hope for the best for them.

But as Christ points out, God treats God’s enemies – the evil and the unrighteous – in the same as God treats God’s friends – the good and the righteous. Should we not do the same?

We are living in a world where the US President deploys special forces on the streets against his own people and thinks it better to indulge himself on his birthday in an ugly and vulgar display of cage fighting on the White House lawn rather than seeking justice, mercy and peace.

We live in a world where war is escalating hour by hour, as we seen in the Gulf, the Middle East, and in Russia and Ukraine.

We are living in a world where refugees and asylum seekers are dehumanised by the far-right and hateful crowds stirred up in rage on the streets for political gains and a handful of votes, where hostages have been held as bargaining tools, where starvation is used as a weapon of war, where a Republican politician suggested last year that it was a good idea to tar and feather the Governor of California only days before Democrat politicians were shot at home and on their doorsteps, where the Governor of Florida says it is legal for drivers to run over protesters with their cars, where a referee is barred from the US and taking part in the World Cup simply for no other obvious reason than he is black and African.

Wanting for our enemies what is the best for them in God’s eyes does not mean not praying to be defended against their evil, still less not wanting their downfall.

As the collect prays this week:

‘Lord, you have taught us
that all our doings without love are nothing worth:
send your Holy Spirit
and pour into our hearts that most excellent gift of love,
the true bond of peace and of all virtues …

If we are kind only to those we are close to, are we not simply repeating what those we hate also do? Where is the merit in doing that?

To be children of God is to be perfect enough.

‘He … sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous’ (Matthew 5: 45) … reflections in the rain at the Old George on the High Street in Stony Stratford (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2026)

Today’s Prayers (Tuesday 16 June 2026):

In Pray with the World Church, the prayer diary of the Anglican mission agency USPG (United Society Partners in the Gospel), the theme this week, from 14 to 20 June 2026 (pp 10-11), is ‘Rooted in Compassion’. This theme was introduced on Sunday by the Ven Titus Oluwalusi, the Anglican Chaplain at Saint John’s Church in Casablanca, Morocco.

The USPG prayer diary today (Tuesday 16 June 2026) invites us to pray:

Gracious God, we thank you for the international congregation at Saint John’s, Casablanca. We pray that the church will be a place of welcome, hope, and community for all who attend.

The Collect:

Most merciful redeemer,
who gave to your bishop Richard a love of learning,
a zeal for souls and a devotion to the poor:
grant that, encouraged by his example,
we may know you more clearly,
love you more dearly,
and follow you more nearly,
day by day,
who with the Father and the Holy Spirit are alive and reign,
one God, now and for ever.

The Post-Communion Prayer:

God, shepherd of your people,
whose servant Richard revealed the loving service of Christ
in his ministry as a pastor of your people:
by this eucharist in which we share
awaken within us the love of Christ
and keep us faithful to our Christian calling;
through him who laid down his life for us,
but is alive and reigns with you, now and for ever.

Yesterday’s Reflections

Continued Tomorrow

‘Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect’ (Matthew 5: 48) … liturgical items in a shop in Kalabaka at the foot the monasteries of Meteora in Thessaly, Greece (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible: Anglicised Edition copyright © 1989, 1995, National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. http://nrsvbibles.org

Daily prayer in Ordinary Time 2026: 37, Saturday 13 June 2026

‘Let your word be “Yes, Yes” or “No, No”’ (Matthew 5: 37) … contradictory road signs near Shanagolden, Co Limerick (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

We are in Ordinary Time in the Church Calendar, and tomorrow is the Second Sunday after Trinity (Trinity I1, 14 June 2026). Before today begins, I am taking some quiet time this morning to give thanks, to reflect, to pray and to read in these ways:

1, reading today’s Gospel reading;

2, a short reflection;

3, a prayer from the USPG prayer diary;

4, the Collects and Post-Communion prayer of the day.

‘Let your word be “Yes, Yes” or “No, No”’ (Matthew 5: 37) … Yes and No answers about coffee at a café in Kazimierz, the old Jewish Quarter of Kraków (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Matthew 5: 33-37 (NRSVA):

[Jesus said:] 33 ‘Again, you have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, “You shall not swear falsely, but carry out the vows you have made to the Lord.” 34 But I say to you, Do not swear at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, 35 or by the earth, for it is his footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. 36 And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make one hair white or black. 37 Let your word be “Yes, Yes” or “No, No”; anything more than this comes from the evil one.’

‘Let your word be “Yes, Yes” or “No, No”’ (Matthew 5: 37) … Molly Bloom’s ‘Yes’ in a Bloomsday sign in Sweny’s Pharmacy on Lincoln Place, Dublin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Today’s Reflection:

The Gospel reading at the Eucharist today (Matthew 5: 33-37) continues our readings from the Sermon on the Mount. Christ has spoken about adultery, divorce and remarriage, and now he deals with truth, honesty and credibility.

Christ refers to the Biblical advice on oaths (see Exodus 20: 7, Leviticus 19: 12, Numbers 30: 2, Deuteronomy 5: 11, 6: 3, 22: 21-33) but then calls for even greater, total truth-telling. Our yes is yes and our no is no, and we are called to perfect and transparent, clearly visible honesty.

Of course, we can only aim for such honesty. Nevertheless, we must not swear falsely, break an oath, commit perjury, or call on God as our witness when all we want to do is to express an opinion.

The reference to ‘heaven’ – as with ‘earth’ and ‘Jerusalem’ in verse 35, and ‘your head’ in verse 36 – is an example of oath-taking verifications that allowed varying degrees of authenticity. A vow that was supported by the name of God is particularly binding, but as Christ points out, God is associated with all oath verifications.

Christ proposes standards that go beyond external ways of behaviour but challenge how we feel in our hearts. He suggests that if we do not keep an eye on our feelings and thoughts then we cannot control our actions.

Yes or No? Truth or Lies? … second-hand books on a stall at a charity sale in Portrane, Co Dublin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Today’s Prayers (Saturday 13 June 2026):

In Pray with the World Church, the prayer diary of the Anglican mission agency USPG (United Society Partners in the Gospel), the theme this week, from 7 to 13 June 2026 (pp 8-9), has been ‘Safe Churches in Zambia’. This theme was introduced last Sunday with a programme update from Fran Mate, Senior Regional Manager for Africa, USPG.

The USPG prayer diary today (Saturday 13 June 2026, World Day Against Child Labour) invites us to pray:

Lord God, guide Anglican provinces as they strengthen safeguarding through shared learning and accountability. Help your global Church to grow in wisdom, courage, and care for all people.

The Collect:

O God,
the strength of all those who put their trust in you,
mercifully accept our prayers
and, because through the weakness of our mortal nature
we can do no good thing without you,
grant us the help of your grace,
that in the keeping of your commandments
we may please you both in will and deed;
through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord,
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.

The Post Communion Prayer:

Eternal Father,
we thank you for nourishing us
with these heavenly gifts:
may our communion strengthen us in faith,
build us up in hope,
and make us grow in love;
for the sake of Jesus Christ our Lord.

Additional Collect:

God of truth,
help us to keep your law of love
and to walk in ways of wisdom,
that we may find true life
in Jesus Christ your Son.

Collect on the Eve of Trinity II:

Lord, you have taught us
that all our doings without love are nothing worth:
send your Holy Spirit
and pour into our hearts that most excellent gift of love,
the true bond of peace and of all virtues,
without which whoever lives is counted dead before you.
Grant this for your only Son Jesus Christ’s sake,
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.

Yesterday’s Reflections

Continued Tomorrow

Words from William Temple on worship, holiness, truth, beauty and love … seen in Saint Carthage’s Cathedral, Lismore, Co Waterford (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible: Anglicised Edition copyright © 1989, 1995, National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. http://nrsvbibles.org