Another Damn Matrix Review

You’ve seen the movie by now so no need for a spoiler disclaimer

Words that have been used to describe The Matrix Reloaded: “mediocre,” “boring,” “OK,” “decent.” Exactly what I wanted to hear. My hope was that hardcore fans were disappointed because the movie took a chance by downplaying the ultra-tech fight scenes and instead carried the “reality is fiction” premise to an unpredictable place. It turns out that the movie was dreadfully boring–because of the fight sequences. I felt like a kid watching a musical: Oh no, they’re going to start singing again!. But instead of “A Spoonful of Sugar,” we got a fistful of kung fu. And the medicine never quite went down.

Annoyance 1) Neo can fly. So if he is fighting a dozen Agent Smiths, for example, why doesn’t he just fly away? Why bother wasting all that time fighting? And here’s a guy who can hold up his hand and stop a thousand bullets from penetrating his human flesh. So what can kill him? With Superman it was kryptonite. We don’t know what Neo’s limits are. The fighting seems pointless. If bullets can’t stop Neo than it is probably unlikely that a karate chop will.

Annoyance 2) The pagan love rave. The scene was painful to watch. I almost felt embarrased. It was totally cheesy.

Annoyance 3) The mysticalkabbalahchristianeasternzennewageypscyhobabble. I’m sure Matrix fans, who have seen the movie several times, have decoded some of the more complex philosophical insights. I would have probably enjoyed the movie more if I worked harder at following the circular, mind-melting conversations. But I cared so little about any character, it wasn’t worth my time.

Sarah summed it up: The Matrix Reloaded is a titanium coated turd.

This is a really awkward time in America. I’m not really sure what the appropriate cinematic response to this era of paranoia n’ patriotism should be. Two directions appear to be “the machines are taking over” and “cars flipping over to the sounds of nu-metal (either in LA or Miami)”. Quieter movies are now considered indie fare. Take “About Schmidt,” “Punch-Drunk Love,” or “One Hour Photo.” All of these movies feature blockbuster Hollywood actors but because they’re a bit unusual they are relegated to indie status. Soon a movie like “My Big Fat Greek Wedding,” or “Bend it Like Beckham” will be the new American avant-garde.

May 25th, 2003