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The Matrix

In words we very nearly used to sing as children, Neo (“The One”) says, “I know that’s what it looks like but it’s not.”

The artistic basis is something along the lines of The X Files. Really, it’s the apotheosis of UPN/WB/FOX-TV science fiction. Ed O’Neill, who isn’t as dumb as he looks, is supposed to have said he never thought Married With Children would get on the air, and it’s hard to see something like Babylon 5 (or whatever) making money at the movies.

It takes money to make money, or Handmade Films wouldn’t be out of business. The 400 or so million dollars this picture made has mostly been plowed into sequels, in hopes of exponential returns, I presume.

The Sight and Sound reviewer was very impressed with the window washers, though it’s only a question of a Home Improvement wipe.

The Wachowskis’ script for Richard Donner’s Assassins would appear to have been doctored by the director (or rather Brian Helgeland), otherwise it’s unaccountable. It’s a question, in The Matrix, whether the script or the direction is more responsible for the acting. Perhaps it’s only a matter of accepted style. Ah, the special effects. The disappearing mouth was done perfectly by Bu˝uel in Un chien andalou, not so here.

An extreme close-up turns a telephone into monumental sculpture, doesn’t it?

Man is born free, and he is everywhere in The Matrix.

A great stinking green cheese of a movie.

Tron, by comparison, isn’t bad at all. Artificial Intelligence, like manufactured evidence.

From 1984 there is an amusing theme: the second coming of Goldstein.

And then it turns into Peter Pan. “Whoa! Okey-dokey!”

Every year now comes a batch of films under the rubric properly given to them by Groucho Marx: “Ooga-Booga!” File The Matrix there, on the high-tech end, in Eisnerland.

“Fate, it seems, is not without a sense of irony,” thus it provides a public of nerds with a fable of cyber-reality presented in crypto-cyber-reality and a marketing scheme to match.

A recent book given serious critical attention puts forth the theory that all untoward revolutionary elements (i.e., terrorists, Nazis, etc.) adhere to an apocalyptic vision corresponding to that of Babylon Destroyed in the Book of Revelation, by which logic you receive here the good “ship” Nebuchadnezzar.

Are the black costumes somebody’s idea of la vie parisienne, or borrowed from one of those Midwestern S&M cliques that like it skintight so you can pee in it?

Hyper-kicky wire-fighting though, sort of, not.

The lamest piece of unadulterated shit I’ve ever seen on film. A corporate sellout, the New Economy worshiping all its idols, even the Unknown One the faux triumphal orchestral score sings unbounded. A commercial for the phone company and the computer company.

The least you can do is buy the video game.