The Matrix Revolutions
Sometimes being an optimist can really be a bad thing. After the rather lackluster Matrix Reloaded, I had very low expectations of what the third chapter in this trilogy would entail. Though, spurred on by some positive reviews which placed it above its predecessor, I became excited to see The Matrix Revolutions. The original Matrix was a great exploration in some classic sci-fi themes pioneered in books like Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World and William Gibson’s Neuromancer. With such a bold beginning, I suppose the series set itself up for a big fall.
Fluff, fluff, and more fluff. Revolutions fails on nearly all accounts of proving to be anything worthwhile. It neither gives us any sort of explanation on all of the wordy philosophical introspection from Reloaded, nor does it resolve itself in any sort of palatable form. What it does give us is more Hollywood schlock than you can shake a stick at, reducing the film to equal parts Independence Day (but underground!) and overacted, sappy love-fest. I have never wished more for a fast-forward button during a movie (except perhaps during the excruciating A.I.). The only realization that we walk away with from Revolutions is that in this grim vision of the future all conversations, regardless of their context, will be astoundingly profound and delivered with perfect, stoic expressions. Ugh. I can’t spend anymore time thinking about this film.