What Elon Musk’s latest culture war ranting shows about his waning relevance
Elon Musk is losing the culture war — he just doesn’t know it yet
Musk’s one-man battle against “The Odyssey” is another symptom of his waning influence on the world outside the hothouse of X.
Elon Musk on April 28, 2026 at the U.S. District Court in Oakland, Calif.Godofredo A. Vásquez / AP Photo
May. 25, 2026, 6:51 AM EDT
By John DeVore
Elon Musk has been busy: SpaceX filed for a blockbuster IPO. On Monday, a U.S. jury dismissed his lawsuit against Sam Altman and OpenAI. And last Wednesday, he accompanied President Donald Trump, and an entourage of tech moguls, to China for an elaborate state visit.
And yet, the richest man in the world spent much of the past week heckling a movie he hasn’t seen yet, directed by one of Hollywood’s most successful and celebrated directors, and starring a small army of A-list actors, including Matt Damon, Anne Hathaway, Robert Pattinson, Zendaya, Tom Holland, and Jonathan Bernthal. He seemed especially angry that a woman of color was cast in two roles.
In a just-dropped Time Magazine interview, director Christopher Nolan confirmed that Oscar-winning actress Lupita Nyong’o is playing two iconic roles in his $250 million adaptation of the Greek myth “The Odyssey.” In the ancient poet Homer’s epic “The Iliad,” which precedes “The Odyssey,” the Trojan prince Paris abducts Helen, wife of the Spartan king Menelaus, sparking a 10-year war with Greece that ends in tragedy. Nyong’o will portray Helen, “the face that launched 1,000 ships,” as well as Helen’s sister, the murderous Clytemnestra.
Musk quickly took to X to voice his displeasure with this casting choice: “Chris Nolan desecrated the Odyssey so that he would be eligible for an Academy Award.” Never mind the fact that the Academy’s eligibility criteria have nothing to do with casting.
Musk also reposted conservative commentator Matt Walsh, who wrote, “Not one person on the planet actually thinks that Lupita Nyong’o is ‘the most beautiful woman in the world.’ But Christopher Nolan knows that he would be called a racist if he gave the ‘most beautiful woman’ role to a white woman. Nolan is technically talented but a coward.”
Nolan’s casting of Zendaya as Athena, the goddess of wisdom, and rap superstar Travis Scott as a bard has also angered Musk toadies and assorted online bots. The trans actor Elliot Page was also cast, causing some hysterical right-wingers to (apparently incorrectly) suggest the actor is playing the great Greek warrior Achilles, slain by the Trojans, and who Odysseus briefly meets in the afterlife. Musk’s minions are so desperate for engagement that they have to work themselves into a lather over mere speculation.
All of this points to a clear conclusion. Elon Musk is losing the culture war; he just doesn’t know it yet. His whiny, white grievance and anti-DEI posts are becoming predictable. Boring. Viral filler. He has an enormous platform, but his messages are increasingly small-minded.
Musk’s one-man battle against “The Odyssey” is another symptom of his waning influence on the world outside the hothouse of X; his Cybertrucks aren’t selling, Grok, his AI product, is lagging behind rivals, and the man can’t decide whether Trump is his bestie.
Another sign that he’s losing his grip: Musk took a break from insulting Nolan and Nyong’o to petulantly criticize the series finale of Amazon Prime’s hit superhero parody “The Boys,” which he called “pathetic” for killing off the show’s MAGA-coded villain, Homelander, but not before he murders a parody of the billionaire. Musk admitted he hadn’t actually watched the show, though. He’s just sitting in one of his mansions angrily scrolling, and getting bent out of shape.
At least “The Boys” showrunner seems to be to having fun sparring with an increasingly humorless Musk on X.
Meanwhile, the two people Musk is targeting in his crusade against “The Odyssey” also seem to be taking his harassment in stride. Nolan hasn’t commented. But Nyong’o did chime in. “Our cast is representative of the world,” she said. “I’m not spending my time thinking of a defense. The criticism will exist whether I engage with it or not.”
Musk frequently posts bigoted opinions to X, which is his prerogative, I suppose. He owns that dumpster fire. But his current attempts to shame Nolan and suggest that the director, whose action and sci-fi movies are beloved by dudes, is indulging in nontraditional casting to win another Oscar feel transparently pitiful.
When it was first rumored that Nyong’o had been cast as Helen back in January of this year, furious users on X called it an “insult” to Homer. Musk later posted that “Chris Nolan has lost his integrity.” This underlying thesis is not only racist, but it’s also so ignorant that I wonder if Musk can tell the difference anymore between what is real and what is make-believe.
I’m not an expert in ancient history, but I’m pretty sure “The Odyssey” is fictional. There is no such thing as a man-eating Cyclops. And like all classic literature, Homer’s works are open to interpretation.
Another of the arguments against Nyong’o’s casting is that it isn’t historically accurate, never mind that both African and Middle Eastern countries border the Mediterranean. These critics seem to think the ancient Greeks really looked like ripped Scottish hunk Gerard Butler in director Zack Snyder’s cartoonish Spartan action film “300.”
You want realism? Helen of Troy’s father is Zeus, the god of thunder. Zeus, who transformed into animals and seduced mortals. What are we doing here?
Despite Musk’s musings, “The Odyssey” is already the most buzzed-about movie of the summer. The 70mm IMAX screenings are a hot ticket: opening weekend sold out within minutes of going on sale 12 months in advance. This isn’t surprising. Nolan remains one of the entertainment industry’s most dependable and respected directors of blockbusters, from 2023’s Oscar-winning historical phenomenon “Oppenheimer” to his formidable Batman trilogy to 2014’s emotional space opera “Interstellar.”
He’s also a director who has never worn his personal politics on his sleeve, although many of his movies have what could fairly be called conservative vibes. In 2012’s “The Dark Knight Rises,” for example, a billionaire puts down a populist revolution led by a cross between Darth Vader and a communist guerrilla.
Everything I know about “The Odyssey” I learned in high school. I guess I was lucky enough to have an English teacher who knew this epic was full of action and romance, so he always emphasized the good parts. But while Musk might not want to admit it, at its core, “The Odyssey” is really an anti-war story about the ultimate wife guy on an endless, dangerous road trip back home. Through his hero’s journey, Homer teaches that smarts and grit matter more than brute strength. “The Odyssey” is a 2600-year-old message passed from storyteller to storyteller about what really matters in life. It’s a message a man like Musk could learn from — if he’d only stop whining long enough to listen.
In India, Rubio finds himself confronted over anti-Indian racism
The secretary of state was asked about bigoted rhetoric from Americans, which he called “dumb comments” from “stupid people.”
Racism and rank xenophobia tend to be poison pills as far as international relations are concerned.
The Trump administration — despite its chest-beating and appearing to relish embodying the “ugly American” stereotype — is learning this firsthand in its dealings with India.
Indian Americans helped elect Donald Trump in 2024. Nonetheless, some in the MAGA movement have flaunted anti-Indian bigotry, including through racist attacks on Trump-aligned figures such as FBI Director Kash Patel, Ohio gubernatorial candidate Vivek Ramaswamy and cybersecurity official Madhu Gottumukkala.
Trump himself faced condemnation from Indian officials recently after he reposted a racist social media post that grouped India with “hellhole” countries.
Those comments have added tension to America’s relationship with India, on top of the tension Trump’s tariffs and war with Iran have already created. That helps explain why multiple outlets framed Rubio’s visit to India as an effort to “mend” or “repair” strained ties.
In a rather awkward exchange during the visit, a journalist pressed the secretary of state to talk about racist comments made by Americans toward India. Rubio responded by saying he takes it “very seriously,” before attributing such remarks to “stupid people.”
“Look, I’m sure that there are people that have made comments online and other places because every country in the world has stupid people,” he said. “I’m sure there are stupid people here; there are stupid people in the United States that make dumb comments — all the time.”
Much like Trump ally Laura Loomer, who backed off some of her bigoted rhetoric about India when she faced questioning during a March visit to New Delhi, Rubio discovered that some members of the foreign press are unafraid of calling out the cloud of bigotry hanging over the MAGA movement.
That said, minimizing racist and xenophobic remarks as “dumb” or “stupid” tends to make it easy for people in powerful positions, like Rubio, to avoid talking about how such bigotry has the potential to fuel discrimination and even violence. Last week’s shooting at a San Diego mosque, by two teenagers who appear to have been inspired by white supremacist rhetoric, offers a prime example of this threat.
Just because racism from Trump and members of his movement is “stupid” doesn’t preclude it from being dangerous — and worth taking seriously.
The Boy Who Walked Into the Wedding. The Girl Who Stood Up for the Truth.
At first, everyone thought the boy was there to steal something.
He appeared at the entrance of the grand wedding hall like a shadow that had wandered into the wrong dream.
The ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers, golden curtains, towers of white roses, and guests dressed in silk, satin, and diamonds. Waiters moved between tables carrying trays of champagne. A pianist played softly near the marble dance floor. Everything looked perfect.
And then he walked in.
A skinny teenage boy in dirty white sneakers, an oversized black jacket, and a gray hoodie stained with dust.
The laughter faded.
Heads turned.
Someone whispered, “Is he homeless?”
Another voice muttered, “Security.”
The boy ignored them all.
His dark hair fell over his forehead. His face was pale, smudged with dirt, but his eyes were strangely calm. He walked through the crowd as if he already knew exactly where he belonged.
And then he stopped.
Not in front of the bride.
Not in front of the groom.
But in front of the girl in the wheelchair.
Her name was Clara.
She was sixteen, dressed in a pale-blue gown that shimmered under the chandeliers. Her long brown hair was pinned back with a pearl clip, but her hands were folded tightly in her lap, as if she were trying to disappear.
All evening, people had smiled at her with pity.
They told her she looked beautiful.
They told her she was brave.
But no one asked her to dance.
The boy looked at her and said, “I’ll dance with you.”
The room went silent.
Clara’s eyes widened.
Her mother, standing near the head table, gasped. The groom frowned. The bride placed a hand over her mouth.
Clara looked down at her useless legs.
“I can’t dance,” she whispered.
The boy did not move.
“I can’t walk.”
A painful stillness spread across the ballroom.
The boy slowly held out his hand.
Then he said the words that made every guest stop breathing.
“I’ll make you walk.”
Someone laughed nervously.
Someone else said, “That’s cruel.”
A security guard stepped forward, but Clara raised one trembling hand.
“Wait,” she said.
Her voice was barely audible, but everyone heard it.
The boy crouched in front of her.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Eli.”
“Do you know me?”
His jaw tightened.
“I know enough.”
Clara frowned.
Something about his voice made her heart beat faster. It was not the voice of a stranger. It carried pain. It carried memory.
Her mother rushed toward them.
“Clara, don’t listen to him. He’s confused.”
Eli turned his head slowly.
“No,” he said. “I’m the only one here who isn’t.”
A murmur rippled through the guests.
Clara’s father, Richard Vale, stood from the front table. He was the owner of half the hotels in the city, a man whose smile appeared on charity posters and business magazines.
His voice was cold.
“Remove him.”
Two guards moved in.
Eli didn’t resist. He simply reached into his jacket and pulled out a small silver key.
The moment Clara saw it, her breath caught.
It was shaped like a tiny bird.
Her pendant.
The one she had lost on the night of the accident.
The night everything changed.
Clara’s voice shook.
“Where did you get that?”
Eli looked at her.
“You gave it to me.”
The ballroom erupted in whispers.
Clara’s mind flashed backward.
Rain on glass.
Headlights.
Her father yelling.
A boy screaming her name.
Then darkness.
For three years, Clara had believed the accident was her fault.
She had been told she ran into the road.
She had been told a strange boy tried to help her.
She had been told he disappeared.
But Eli was standing in front of her now.
Alive.
Broken.
Forgotten.
Her father’s face had gone pale.
“Clara,” he said carefully, “this boy is lying.”
Eli stood.
“No. You lied.”
The bride whispered, “What is happening?”
Eli pointed at Richard.
“That night, Clara didn’t run into the road. You did. You were drunk. You hit us both.”
A shocked gasp tore through the ballroom.
Clara’s mother covered her mouth.
Richard’s expression hardened.
“That is insane.”
Eli’s voice cracked, but he kept going.
“You paid people to erase everything. You told the hospital I was a runaway. You told Clara I was nobody.”
Clara stared at her father.
“Dad?”
Richard stepped toward her.
“Sweetheart, don’t let him upset you.”
But Clara was no longer looking at him.
She was looking at Eli.
At the scar near his eyebrow.
At the way his hand trembled.
At the silver bird key in his palm.
A memory struck her so hard she nearly cried out.
She remembered holding that same hand.
She remembered a boy pushing her away from headlights.
She remembered him whispering, “Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.”
Clara’s tears spilled over.
“You saved me.”
Eli swallowed.
“I tried.”
The room fell into a stunned silence.
Then Richard said, “Enough.”
He grabbed Clara’s wheelchair handles.
But Eli moved faster.
“Don’t touch her.”
Richard’s mask cracked.
“You filthy little street rat.”
The words echoed.
Every guest heard them.
Phones rose.
Cameras recorded.
Richard realized too late what he had done.
Clara’s hands tightened on the wheels of her chair.
For the first time in three years, she looked at her father not with dependence, but with horror.
“You knew him,” she whispered. “You knew who he was.”
Richard said nothing.
Eli stepped closer to Clara.
“Your legs were injured, yes. But not destroyed.”
Clara froze.
“What?”
Eli looked toward her mother.
“The doctors said she might walk again with treatment. But he stopped it.”
Clara’s mother began to sob.
Richard shouted, “Shut up!”
But it was too late.
Eli pulled a folded envelope from his jacket.
“I found the medical report. The real one.”
Clara’s mother stumbled backward.
Richard lunged for the envelope, but the groom stepped between them.
“Don’t,” he said.
Eli handed the envelope to Clara.
Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
The words blurred through tears.
Partial spinal trauma. High recovery potential. Intensive therapy recommended.
Clara’s lips parted.
High recovery potential.
Not impossible.
Not hopeless.
Her whole world tilted.
For three years, her father had told her walking again would never happen.
For three years, he had kept her weak, dependent, silent.
Why?
Then she looked across the room at the wedding decorations. At the cameras. At the reporters invited to capture Richard Vale’s “charity wedding donation” announcement later that night.
And she understood.
Her wheelchair had made him look noble.
Her suffering had become his brand.
Her pain had sold his kindness to the world.
Clara let out a broken sound.
“You used me.”
Richard’s face twisted.
“I protected you.”
“No,” she whispered. “You buried me alive.”
Eli knelt again.
His voice softened.
“Clara, I don’t know if you can walk far. I don’t know if it will hurt. But I know this.”
He held out his hand.
“You were never as broken as he made you believe.”
Every eye in the ballroom fixed on Clara.
Her heart pounded.
Her body shook.
Fear screamed inside her.
What if she fell?
What if Eli was wrong?
What if everyone watched her fail?
Then she looked at her father.
And suddenly, falling didn’t scare her as much as staying seated forever.
She placed her hand in Eli’s.
A gasp spread through the room.
“Clara, don’t,” Richard warned.
She ignored him.
Eli gently placed one arm around her shoulders.
“On three,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes.
“One.”
Her fingers dug into his sleeve.
“Two.”
The wheelchair creaked beneath her.
“Three.”
Clara pushed down with everything she had.
Pain shot through her legs.
Her knees buckled.
The crowd gasped.
Eli held her tighter.
“Look at me,” he said.
“I’m scared,” she cried.
“I know.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
Her legs trembled violently. Sweat gathered at her temples. Her breath came in sharp, broken bursts.
Then, slowly—
impossibly—
Clara stood.
For one second, no one moved.
No one spoke.
The entire ballroom seemed frozen inside that single miracle.
Then Clara took one tiny step.
Her mother screamed.
Not in fear.
In joy.
The guests erupted. Some cried. Some clapped. Some simply stared as if they had witnessed the world split open.
Clara collapsed into Eli’s arms, sobbing.
“I walked,” she whispered.
Eli’s eyes filled with tears.
“You did.”
Richard turned to leave.
But the doors opened.
Two police officers stepped in.
Behind them stood an older woman in a nurse’s uniform.
Clara recognized her immediately.
Nurse Helen.
The woman who had disappeared from the hospital after Clara’s accident.
Helen pointed at Richard.
“That’s him,” she said. “He paid me to switch the records.”
Richard’s face drained of color.
The officers moved toward him.
“This is absurd!” he shouted. “Do you know who I am?”
Eli answered quietly.
“A man who thought money could erase the truth.”
Richard was handcuffed in front of everyone.
The cameras captured it all.
The perfect wedding had become a public trial.
But the twist was not finished.
As Richard was dragged away, he suddenly laughed.
Cold.
Ugly.
Desperate.
“You think he came back for justice?” he spat at Clara. “Ask him why he really came.”
Clara turned to Eli.
Eli went still.
Richard smiled like a dying snake.
“Tell her, boy.”
The room grew quiet again.
Clara’s voice trembled.
“Eli?”
He looked down.
For the first time all night, he looked afraid.
“I didn’t just come because of the accident.”
Clara’s heart sank.
“What does that mean?”
Eli reached into his jacket one final time.
This time, he pulled out a faded hospital bracelet.
Clara stared at it.
Her name was on it.
But beside it was another name.
Twin: Male.
Clara stopped breathing.
Her mother let out a strangled cry.
“No,” Clara whispered.
Eli’s eyes shone with tears.
“I was in the car too,” he said. “Not as a stranger.”
Clara’s world went silent.
Eli’s voice broke.
“I was your brother.”
The ballroom disappeared.
The guests vanished.
There was only Eli, holding the bracelet between them.
Her twin brother.
The boy she had forgotten.
The boy her father had abandoned because two injured children would ruin the story.
One disabled daughter made Richard look tragic and heroic.
A homeless son proved he was a monster.
Clara covered her mouth.
Memories returned like lightning.
A little boy laughing beside her.
Two children sharing cake with their fingers.
A silver bird pendant split into two keys.
A voice in the dark saying, “Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.”
Clara reached toward Eli.
“You were my brother?”
Eli nodded, tears slipping down his dirty cheeks.
“I waited for you to remember me.”
Clara sobbed and pulled him into her arms.
This time, the room did not clap.
No one dared.
Because this was not a performance.
This was a family being resurrected from a grave built by lies.
Her mother fell to her knees beside them, crying harder than either of them had ever heard.
“I thought you were dead,” she whispered to Eli. “He told me you died.”
Eli closed his eyes.
“I almost did.”
Clara held him tighter.
The reporters lowered their cameras.
Even the bride cried.
Outside, police lights flashed against the golden windows.
Inside, Clara stood once more—not perfectly, not steadily, but with Eli’s arm around her and her mother holding her other hand.
Together, they faced the crowd.
The girl who had been used as a symbol of weakness had just exposed the empire built on her silence.
The homeless boy who had been thrown away had returned as the only person brave enough to tell the truth.
And Richard Vale, the man everyone had admired, was remembered forever not for his wealth, his charity, or his grand wedding hall—
but for the night his daughter stood up, his son came home, and every lie he had buried finally learned how to walk.
