As a long-time admirer of Egyptian rendition of the Major Arcana, and indeed, all the profound mystery woven into ancient Egyptian culture and its monumental legacy, I approached Alex Proyas’s 2016 epic fantasy, Gods of Egypt, with a significant degree of excitement. The title alone promised a deep dive into the very mythology I cherished. What unfolded, however, was nothing short of a head-turning slap in the face. And I’m not even talking about what is undeniably one of the worst casting choices in modern cinema. Frankly, I felt like each and every element of the movie was a direct insult to my intelligence, beginning, of course, with that egregious opening exposition dump—a narrative crutch that critics such as myself literally can’t stand.
Beyond its immediate visual and hearing offense, the film was infested with plot holes. To name the most jarring, for example: the gods were anthropomorphized to such an extent that they could be stabbed and killed, yet they still condescendingly referred to humans as “mortals.” Osiris, a mighty god and Ra’s own son, is quickly dispatched by Set early in the film, following the basic outline of the myth. But then, in the movie’s cheesy finale, Ra, who had previously been too busy dragging the sun around the Earth, casually takes time off to resurrect one human from death. This raises an obvious question: if such an act of resurrection was within his power, why didn’t Ra intervene earlier to save his own son Osiris, or prevent the excruciating removal of Horus’s eyes? The inconsistency wasn’t just illogical; it diminished any sense of genuine stakes the film desperately tried to establish.
After some consideration, it became obvious that the very way they decided to frame this story was destined to flop all along. Stories, if they are crafted with any depth and insight, are never truly about gods in their ultimate, unchanging forms. True narratives are about flawed humans with free will who make dubious decisions, consequently fall from grace, and then gather themselves up again. They stumble after fall, attempt to manipulate their new reality to their will only to fail some more, and at some point, are forced to trust a higher power—their higher self, their soul, god, or love, if you will. This arc, characterized by ego transcendence and profound personal transformation, is what resonates with an audience. But how, one must ask, would such a character arc possibly play out for someone who is already at “god status,” inherently powerful and ostensibly flawless? The bottom line is, Horus’s character, despite his journey to reclaim the throne, was flat from beginning to end precisely because he was already a god, robbing him of any meaningful internal struggle.
We are, then, left with Bek, the mortal, who did at least portray some recognizable human properties such as doubts and fears. This would have been the perfect character to work with, a relatable entry point into a fantastical world. But lo and behold, they portrayed him as inexplicably smart and agile from the very beginning, making his potential for development a moot point from there on. His primary motivation, to save his dead girlfriend from the underworld, was presented as a grand quest for which he realistically had no means to even attempt, let alone fail. And the ultimate betrayal of his potential arc? At the very end, it was not even he who contacted Ra and prayed to save Zaya, which would have been the obvious, powerful conclusion to his journey and an act of earned faith. Instead, the resurrection prayer was performed in his name by Horus, with Ra saving the girl in an act that completely destroyed any remaining logic or stakes in the script, as mentioned earlier.
Because of such fundamental flaws, I firmly believe Gods of Egypt stands as one of the worst movies I’ve ever had the privilege to see. It was a squandered opportunity, and it would have been a million times better to approach the subject matter differently.
Rather make it about Egyptian priesthood
They should never have made a movie with gods routinely taking human form, or at least not in the leading, physically battling roles, which should be reserved for mortals. This would preserve the mystery and awe of the divine, with gods appearing as largely unseen forces whose interventions manifest as natural phenomena or through symbolic visions.
Imagine an outline where the story follows a young Egyptian, perhaps a farmer named Khepri, initially steeped in the mundane routine and boredom of his daily life. His spirit stirs with inspiration as he observes Neserine, a priestess of Hathor, whose serene devotion and meticulous ritual observance infuse her movements with a profound, quiet grace.
When his fields face an unprecedented drought, a cruel manifestation of Set’s chaos, Khepri’s pragmatic, “naive ways” to combat it fail, leading to significant loss – a profound falling from grace if you will. Desperate, he begins turning to the priesthood, observing their solemn prayers to Osiris for the Nile’s return, and to Ra for benevolent sun. The rain, when it finally comes, is a mysterious, awe-inspiring manifestation of divine favor channeled through their unwavering devotion, allowing Khepri a moment of atonement for his previous skepticism. Later, navigating the complexities of human connection, Khepri finds himself troubled by love, his overtures “corny” and clumsy. The priesthood, perhaps an elder priestess or a wise scribe, guides him to the subtle teachings of Hathor and Isis, emphasizing inner qualities and patience. This moment of suspension of action for his worldly desires forces Khepri to truly listen. The same way we could weave into the story other gods as well. Through these trials, he achieves transcendence, shedding his ego and finding a deeper understanding of the divine teachings and the gods’ presence, not as physical beings, but as the very fabric of existence. His ultimate “resurrection” is the rebirth into his higher self, a man now deeply aligned with his land and its spiritual rhythms, his own arc mirroring the enduring renewal of the Nile and the triumph of Horus over chaos. While receiving the kiss from the goddess Neserine ofcourse. This approach, where human experience mirrors divine myth without cheapening it through literalism, would allow the awe, the spiritual weight, and the profound human struggle within the context of Egyptian mythology to truly shine, leaving the audience with something far more meaningful than empty spectacle for the insatiable eyes.
Thank you,
Ira
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