 The Matrix Reloaded (2003) I was skeptical when the first one came out and this reverent buzz began to swirl about, reinforced as years went by and countless movies ripped it off. I did not seek out The Matrix; I wanted it to suck; I wanted everyone to be wrong. But it ruled, and still does. And now, as expected, every critic in the world wants the sequel to suck. They want it to not be as good; to be greatly disappointing; to be old-hat. They'll tell you it's all special effects and no emotional substance. They'll tell you it's a mish-mosh of comic-book philosophy and comic-book-store-denizen wet dreams. Fuck that. It's better than the first one. Reloaded does the only thing it could have done to deliver on its inherent promise: it adds brains and heart to all the ass-kickin' action. Case in point: the film's primary showdown is not one of the many slo-mo kung pow fight scenes—it's Keanu Reeves standing perfectly still, debating free will with an old man sitting in a chair. That scene left me wondering how many people in the average theatre even understand half the vocabulary flying at them. Words more powerful than all the sci-fi kickboxing. Smart words. Thoughtful words. The Flying Wachowskis clearly thought a lot about the meaning and purpose of these movies before they even put one first-draft word down. Their intelligent synthesis of ideas makes this much more than the Matrix Redux every media jackass wants you to believe it is. By the time the credits roll, everything you've seen has paid off; all your concerns addressed; all your doubts laid to rest.
And so I excuse Lawrence Fishburne, whose Matrix royalty checks have noticeably converted to unburned calories, and whose performance nearly teeters off into Shatnerland. And my initial puzzlement at the sudden eruption of a rave about forty minutes in turns to a nodding wonderment that the directors could be so bold, so risky, so true to the service of their story. And my fear of cliché when the film's climax becomes a car chase on the 101—evaporated, into the pure thrill of it. I mean, yeah, it's a car chase … but it's a Matrix car chase. And I will even excuse the Dave Matthews song that plays over the end credits … as Star Wars has Muppets, let The Matrix have frat rock. Don't believe the anti-hype. This film is so good it'll illustrate the empty bordeom of your real life for months to come. Months, and months, and months … until Matrix Revolutions comes along to fuck your shit up even harder.
Review by La Fée |
