Thanks to the upcoming release of the CGI monster-fest Clash of the Titans, I’ve been thinking a lot about one of my favorite mythological characters, the gorgon Medusa. Like most people my age, I was first introduced to Medusa in the famous scene from the original 1981 Clash of the Titans. And like many children, I was scared to death. It wasn’t the cheesy stop motion effects that got me, though the slow, methodical way Medusa tracked down her prey and the eerie rattle of her serpent tail was certainly frightening. It wasn’t even, necessarily, the fact that she could turn a man to stone with a single look, though that was terrifying too. With most monsters, even the most horrible, there was some possibility of escape. With Medusa, there was no hope. If you ever saw her, it was too late. But what scared me most about Medusa was that, unlike other monsters I’d encountered up to that point in my life, she was real. After watching Clash of the Titans, I was unable to sleep for weeks. Even though Medusa died in the movie, her head still had the power to turn anyone who looked at it to stone, and her head was still out there! Perseus (portrayed by Harry Hamlin) had not destroyed it; he had simply tossed it into the ocean. Who knew when a simple day of playing at the beach could result in the dread artifact washing ashore and turning some unsuspecting vacationer into a life sized statue? That fear was an entirely justifiable one, because, as I said, Medusa was real.
I discovered that fact when flipping through the 1968 World Book Encyclopedia at my grandmother’s house (Yes, I was the sort of kid who spent his free time looking through the 1968 World Book.) There was no World Book article for Skeletor or Mum-Ra, not even for Darth Vader, but there was one for Medusa. She had really lived, really fought Perseus, and, since Clash of the Titans had to be a perfect retelling of the story, I knew her head must still be floating out at sea somewhere. Medusa was not just the fantasy of some filmmaker; she had been known for thousands of years.
Medusa is one of the oldest characters in Greek myth. There are two basic versions of the Medusa character, though the 1968 World Book Encyclopedia only focused on the more modern, Roman version. In the oldest version, Medusa is a hideous creature with wings, claws, and snakes for hair; a gorgon, one of three sisters whose gaze could turn men to stone. Nothing is known about the other two gorgons, Stheno and Euryale, only that they were immortal, while Medusa was, for whatever reason, mortal. Like the second and third members of girl groups everywhere, from the other two members of The Supremes to the other two members of Destiny’s Child, the stories of their exploits have been lost to history.
This version of Medusa was the child of the gods Phorcys and Ceto, two children of the very first being, Gaia. That makes Medusa’s pedigree ancient indeed—she is of the same generation as Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. She was an ancient, primal being, and her stories are perhaps older than those of the twelve Olympians. In the second version of the story, originating hundreds or even thousands of years later with the Roman poet Ovid in the time of Augustus, Medusa was a mortal woman, a beautiful priestess of Athena. She was renowned all over the ancient world for her gorgeous blond hair, and obviously attracted a great deal of male attention. Poseidon was particularly enamored with her, so much so that he ended up raping her on the altar of Athena.
Athena was infuriated at this outrage in her own temple, and, true to ancient Greek morality, punished Medusa for being raped. From that moment on, anyone who looked at her would turn to stone. There is some debate on whether Medusa stayed beautiful—ancient art, and modern Dungeons and Dragons fantasy art, gives her the face of a normal woman. If she stayed beautiful, the punishment was ironic—she remained the most beautiful woman in Greece, but no one would ever be able to look at her again. If part of the punishment was to make Medusa hideous, it may have been the intensity of her ugliness which turned people to stone. In any case, her beautiful blond hair was transformed into a nest of poisonous snakes.
Some feminist scholars like to think of Medusa as a remnant of an earlier, female worshiping cult, and the later story as an indication of just how far the role of women had fallen during the course of classical civilization. They certainly have a point; going from one of the eldest gods to a rape victim who is punished for being raped is hardly a promotion. But I have a certain affinity for the second story—it was the first one I heard, after all, and it makes Medusa a tragic figure indeed, tortured to her death by the gods for absolutely no good reason. Whatever her background, Medusa’s story always ends the same: Her head gets lopped off by Perseus and put to a variety of purposes. When Perseus is done with it, he gives it to Athena who makes it into a shield to ward off evil. Or, in Clash of the Titans, he tosses it carelessly into the sea, where it remained to frighten terrified children for millennia to come.
I don’t remember learning Medusa wasn’t “real” with nearly the same clarity as I remember learning that she was. I must have figured it out eventually, because at some point the terror stopped, and when I go to the beach I’m now reasonably sure her head won’t wash up on shore.
But I’m still not convinced she doesn’t exist. Myths are fascinating because they exist in a place between what is and what isn’t. They will be around long after most of us are forgotten, and their stories, while maybe not factual in the strictest sense, can hardly be called false. Medusa’s story is thousands of years old at the youngest, yet in a few days she’ll be onscreen in 3D to once again have her head lopped off by Perseus as it has been for thousands of years, as it will be forever. It's a tired point, but one worth making: “Real” things involve worrying about money, relationships, your career, and other dull nonsense. I like to think of Perseus, Medusa, and all the other gods and goddesses, as being a bit more real than that.
