When I first read the brilliant author, Peter Ackroyd’s novel, I was struck by the epic sweep of its setting—19th-century Turkey, where the ancient ruins of Troy lie buried, hiding secrets. But what truly compelled me was not just the grandeur of history, but the intimate, volatile struggle between a man consumed by obsession and a woman awakening to the truth of who he is.

 

THE FALL OF TROY is a story of identity, obsession, and betrayal. At its center is Sophia, a young widow who remarries in search of adventure and purpose, only to be drawn into the feverish world of her older husband, Heinrich. What begins as intoxicating promise soon curdles into something darker, as the dig transforms into a battlefield between myth and madness, love and survival.

 

The film will marry the operatic scale of an archaeological epic with the raw intensity of a psychological thriller. A modern take on the period thriller, more in the vein of FITZCARRALDO and THERE WILL BE BLOOD—both portraits of men whose grand ambitions spiral into mania.  Yet here, that descent is refracted through Sophia’s eyes. She is our anchor, our witness, and ultimately, our survivor. And as the story barrels toward its conclusion, the violence and dread take on the relentless, claustrophobic energy of CAPE FEAR.

 

Visually, the film will embrace contrasts: vast landscapes and claustrophobic interiors, ancient myths colliding with modern hunger. Dust, fire, storm, and ruin will not just be backdrop but character—forces that erode certainty and expose what lies beneath.

 

At its core, this is not only the story of a dig or a marriage— but about the eternal human hunger to control the past, to reshape identity, and to outpace death. Because history cannot be controlled, and the truth—like the earth—has a way of breaking through.