FILM / The Matrix, Techno-Jesus, and a Love Beyond Understanding/ Tony Cartlidge
Image © Warner Bros.
To prepare for the release of the fourth feature-length film in the Matrix trilogy, I’ve been re-watching the films again, just to, you know, make sure I haven’t missed anything microscopic that will provide a rationale for bringing Neo and Trinity back from the dead. I’ve been absolutely forensic in my viewing, fast forwarding less than a dozen times and only falling asleep on a few occasions (but always waking up before the credits) because the only thing that’ll ruin the 3rd Matrix sequel will be either the absence of logic or a drop off in the amount of fetish wear.
Anyway, the point is, I re-watched the movies and I still love them all unconditionally and can’t wait to see Matrix: Regurgitated. But true love means we must accept and love even the flaws and, let’s be honest, there are flaws. And by flaws, I mean lots of flaws. In fact, the movies are dramatically and progressively shite. And by shite, I mean, what the fucking fuck?
First, though, all the good stuff slaps you in the face. The outfits are delicious and sexy, the actors beautiful, the premise of the worlds is thoroughly constructed, maybe even philosophically edgy, and the CGI is mostly outstanding, expansive, and groundbreaking. Bullet-time is badass and I wish we could use it for sports. All sports. In addition, the production is glossy and slick and grimy and gritty in all the right places. Lighting and shading are exquisite, logical, and well-considered and, overall, we care about our main protagonists. All good so far, except for that one standout atrocious CGI sequence in M2 where Neo, having met with Oracle, then has to fight all the Smiths. This sequence runs a little long and about 3 days in I felt myself start to get bored. Now if they’d introduced The Smiths, I think I could have stayed the course, watching Neo roundhouse kick Johnny Marr in the face before ramming a daffodil up Morrissey’s arse may have kept my attention, but no, even here we see the Wachowskis get bored and start splicing sequences from the video game into the footage. Pan left, pan right, zoom in, hold, hold… now L1, L1, R2, waggle the joystick, and △. Honestly, I fast-forwarded this bit until Playstation Neo did his Superman impression and effortlessly bounded away into cyberspace and the next cut scene.
The holy trinity of protagonists, Neo, Trinity and Morpheus (to a lesser extent) are the characters that show the most growth but even Agent Smith shows some nuance as he morphs into a virus. Everyone else, real or computer program, feels like a slave to the wobbly logic of a story that chugs and trundles to its final destination, with the last station on the line being a temporary respite for mere mortals and the ascent of Neo into machine heaven, for Techno-Jesus so loved mankind, with their rough and raggedy home knits and haphazard crewcuts, that he sacrificed his life that they should be saved from the evils of machines.
While character development is haphazard in the humans, the programs seem to have more fun with it. Programs created by the originator of the Matrix, The Architect, are AI-capable, meaning they can evolve, learn, and re-invent themselves. And AI has taught them to dress in rubber, attend Club Hel, enjoy fine dining and BDSM, speak French, get married, procreate, and occupy roles that allow them to access all the attributes of their religious and military namesakes from human history, albeit translated into current and exiled machine functions. But here we start to access a world where we don’t truly understand the dynamics. The flaws are explained by the Architect as being necessary because humans wouldn’t accept perfection, but then the programs don’t seem to accept the flaws either. Persephone—the spectacular Monica Bellucci—betrays her husband, the tropishly arrogant French Merivingian, because she wants a kiss from dead-eyed Neo. The Oracle has her own game to play and betrays Neo despite allegedly wanting him to succeed, but to what end? Sati, the child in Oracle’s care, creates a golden dawn (ooh, is that another pseudo-religious reference?) to honour the sacrifice of Neo, but what value does this have if it is a bits and bytes construct within the Matrix?
Should we talk about acting? I think it’s probably better not to because while everyone tries gainfully and honestly, to varying degrees of success, the results are not always the best. Hugo Weaving’s Agent Smith devolves into a maniacal Windows 95 villain, Reeves’ Neo emotes like a Mogadon movie star, Carrie Ann Moss plays Trinity a little too cool, even in Zion, and Lawrence Fishburne pounds across the stage like an Am-Dram megastar.
By all accounts, Keanu Reeves is a beautiful and lovely person both within and without the Hollywood Matrix, and he may even have some acting chops, but they are not encouraged or showcased here. The directors place acting a distant second to the CGI action. There are better performances from the supporting cast. Joe Pantoliano is more than skin deep as the traitorous Cypher, using what little screen time he has to explore his character’s preference for the beautiful illusion over dreary reality. Matt Doran as Mouse says more about the nature of personal experience versus received wisdom in his 30-second discourse about Tastee Wheat than either of the Oracles manage in three movies. French actor Lambert Wilson, as The Merovingian, is an oozing tour-de-force.
But then there are some truly awful performances, notably Jada Pinkett Smith as lifeless Niobe, Harry Lennix as surly, stentorian, stereotypical Commander Lock, and Nathaniel Lees as Mifune, who shouts unintelligible, angry phrases until his veins pop, probably to hide the fact he was given no believable dialogue. Again, while I’m not sure the Wachowski sisters emphasized acting, they could have been a bit more encouraging instead of relying so heavily on the CGI, wild action choreography, and the abundance of pseudo-philosophy to come.
The Matrix, the first film, hovered dangerously close to disappearing up its own arsehole, playfully tickling the rim but ultimately resisting the pull of the black hole to end with the emergence of Super Neo, The One, a Jesus for the modern age. Though religious symbols were glaringly present in the first movie, they were secondary to a genuinely exciting bullet-ballet, a fresh twist (for Hollywood) on a sci-fi action movie. It’s good, enjoyable, light-hearted but not entirely vapid fun
And then comes along Reloaded and Revolutions where resisting the gravity of the supermassive black hole is futile and we plunge gleefully into a two-part 4-hour colorectal promenade inside the pseudo-religious, philosophizing anus of the Wachowskis. And not in a fun way.
Despite my misgivings, I’ve watched the trilogy several times, but never before been struck by the over-abundance of religious symbols. Maybe it’s because I’m 3 months into a bout of insomnia and watched it over 3 late nights, alone, in the dark, while the world and my wife slept, and the triumphant substitution of cold blues and malevolent greens with the glorious ambers of Neo’s sacrifice to the machine world felt too obvious. There are many ways to analyze this story without looking at the pseudo religious aspects—capitalism, fake news, mob mentality—but this time around it felt there was too much God to ignore, even for a bitter and cynical atheist such as myself.
There are the many, many references important in a variety of religions; Zion, Sati, and Oracle to name just three (because 3 is important, remember? Good.) There are references to Bible verses but also to themes exploring the nature of birth and rebirth, the Gnostic preference for the anguish of self-knowledge over the false pleasures of ignorance (remember the “Temet Nosce” sign above Oracle’s doorway?), ascent and descent, heaven and hell (the Frenchman’s club is called Hel), and to the pop psychics of Uri Geller’s spoon bending, and, of course, to death and resurrection (the 4th movie in the trilogy is called Matrix Resurrection). At the end of Revolutions, Neo’s corporeal self, blind, lifeless, and digitally crucified, is carried like Jesus’s corpse to become one with the machine. And it’s beautifully done. The Wachowskis’ depiction of The Passion of Neo is worthy of the great Renaissance artists. Michelangelo, Federico Barocci, or Hans Burgkmair could have filmed this. Just because it’s hokey doesn’t mean it can’t be visually stunning or emotionally impactful.
But really, is The Matrix a religious parable? I’m not a religious scholar, but I’ve spent 45 minutes reading the internet on sites such as “Christian Science Monitor Lizard Goes to the Movies” and “Jesus Loves Sci-Fi” so I feel more than qualified to respond. The short answer is: It’s not. (The longer answer: It’s still not, you idiot.) What we have here is not a parable, a lesson, or a New Digital Gospel. Instead, we get a mishmash of philosophical psychobabble and bubblegum spirituality parading as a holistic approach to new age belief systems; an attempt to melt down Christianity, Buddhism, Gnosticism, Faith, and Reason, and re-forge them into a unified theory of God. It’s an attempt that fails, because of course it does, but not for a lack of raw materials. I also think it fails because the Wachowskis are really just fucking with us and throwing as many layers at us to keep us distracted from the ethical flaws and logical inconsistencies. For the Wachowskis, religion is fetish-wear for the soul, a glossy black latex stations of the cross, with whips and chains for the believers and lashings of flagellation for the atheists, agnostics, and heathens out there. Lilly and Lana Wachowski once said the movies were partly a metaphor for trans identity and the hostility often faced by transgender people. I can absolutely see that, but if that was the intent, why bury it in an avalanche of other references? Perhaps the movies have something of their own identity battle and perhaps this is what Matrix Resurrections will clear up. Or, maybe, we just need to get over it and let the franchise be its own unique and beautiful self, warts and all.
Due December 22, Matrix Resurrections brings us the seventh iteration of the Matrix AI environment, with Trinity and Neo suddenly undead and ready to do it all over again, this time with a daily dose of blue pill fibre. I don’t know what is going on with this franchise, or whether 4 will be a resolution or a reboot. I don’t know if it will provide answers or ask more questions, if it will clarify or complicate, or if it will simply be a moneymaking revisit to a scarred and cratered battlefield in search of meaning. I hope the co-writing of David Mitchell, with his expertise in complex storytelling structures, helps clear away some of the symbological debris and provides some narrative clarity. Or at least some better dialogue. Most of all, I also hope that Keanu and Carrie Ann finally get to act in this one. I think Lana Wachowski owes them that.
Born and raised in Liverpool, England, Tony Cartlidge is currently being held captive in Illinois. His work has appeared in The Guardian, trampset, Pithead Chapel, and elsewhere. His Twitter handle is @ATCartlidge
