The Matrix Resurrections
Warner Bros
It's hard to know where to start with Lana Wachowski’s The Matrix Resurrections. First and foremost, from someone who adores the work of both Lana and Lilly and who cherishes the original Matrix trilogy – specifically the sequels – going back to the source seemed a sure-fire to cause excitement and be a rousing success, and for what it is – if that can even be divulged and dissected within this world limit – it succeeds in its goal, just not in the way one would expect.
That very feeling of excitement for fans wanting a transitional sequel is held for around fifteen minutes until it descends into something else entirely, and before long, the viewer begins to understand that this isn't a Matrix sequel at all but a denouncing self-referential indictment of the Hollywood blockbuster system. It should be stated in principle and definition that this is indeed a sequel to the original trilogy, and it rhymes and riffs on motifs, sequences, thematics, and characters. Characters loved and adored return, and the connecting tissue of its predecessor is on display, albeit with a new lick of paint and avatar on occasion. How The Matrix Resurrections handles said motifs is arguably one of the biggest complaints. Aside from the two central characters of Neo and supposed Trinity – who is going by Tiffany – very little here is even remotely examined for the audience to indulge and be immersed regarding characters. Notable names pop up here and there but look incredibly different from what was once remembered.
A notable example of this is Yayha Andul Mateen, who plays a rendition of Laurence Fishburnes’ Morpheus. A character that visually looks astounding is a notable charismatic staple within this franchise. Still, even Mateen struggles to project or inspire depth and intrigue with the screenplay, not willing to touch upon his characteristics whatsoever. More often than not, the film even forgets that he's the main player before long, seeing him disperse and disappear in the background, instead of focusing on the central duo. Thankfully, this theme is the crux emotional core of the entire feature and is a beautiful and tender exploration of sheer love and devotion, played effortlessly by both Reeves and Moss. They inhabit these now-iconic characters as if 18 years ago was just yesterday. The film does make the viewer wait for each eventual reveal and meeting, but the result is always an engaging poignancy-produced piece in how Lana Wachowski handles these two much-adored characters for her own sake, knowing what they mean to the director.
The writer-director takes some giant steps forwards within the lore of the two characters. Revealing little and asking much in the wake of audience acceptance in both depiction and creation. It all just about sticks and feels organic enough within the lore, albeit feeling entirely rushed, which feels incredibly odd since this is the longest Matrix entity by a landmark. At over 150 minutes, it often feels incredibly well-paced in set piece and momentum, but on reflection, so little is covered and explored. Almost to a problematic extent, with the narrative never affording itself to breathe or take a pause for the audience to immerse and be subjected to this world as its three predecessors have done ever so well, with Reloaded a notable example of such a balance. Nevertheless, Resurrections feels almost as if three films have been rolled into one, which might be a testament to Wachowski’s damnation of the sequel generation audiences are experiencing. However, while the on-the-nose meta and self-referential discourse is ever-present, it feels almost ludicrous to extend the conversation that far in destroying narrative impression for an audience out of artistic spite?
While Reeves and Moss excite, the same can not be said for Jessica Henwick’s Bugs and her entire crew – played by much of the cast of Sense8 – of which have absolutely nothing and not a remote inclination of depth or traits for the audience to find inspired. Henwick fails to conjure up the same screen prescene as Moss’ Trinity, nor can completely get on the same terms as the screenplay demands with quite a wooden rendition presented. Compared to The Matrix, which gave monologue and traits to an entire crew of which all names could be remembered, it is a far gone prospect this time around, aside from Henwick’s ‘Bugs’, the viewer will be hard-pressed to remember any other supporting players traits, visual, or internal manifestations. What makes this so heartbreaking is the sheer amount of talent and demand these performers have in the Sense8 fan base and the demand in the lore to be explored and unearthed.
Made more complicated is the film's new big bad, or bads?, which the feature can't define or make up its mind to follow nostalgia, reinterpret, or find new ground – ultimately deciding on a combination of all three – and what a massive mess it is. This might be a conscious conversation and examination of the conventions of reboots, sequels, etc. Nevertheless, both newcomers Neil Patrick Harris and Jonathan Groff completely fall flat in crafting screen presence, charisma, or even a remote power of threatening aurora. Granted, the latter comes closest to the spiralling menace of Weaving’s Agent Smith - even throwing clear homage to said performance - yet does manage to squeeze in momentary splices of individualism and fun, but it never conjures up the needed tension or atmospheric motif. However lacking Groff might be to fill in Weaving’s shoes, it is undeniably that of Harris who quakes in the thought of being in them. Resulting in a dire and horrid - at times cringeworthy - depiction of false ego moral authority that misses the mark ten-fold with shocking charisma presented. It is a performance that on paper is the antithesis of Neo and the humans journey to free-will, yet once the feature begins to open its secrets, it is a pandoras box that should have remained closed. With such lacking menace, charisma, and terror presented by Harris, the audience have absolutely no fear in what or why his character does the things he does, or the supposed threat he may create to the audiences hopes of the heroes journey. With the sole focus ultimately put on Harris’ shoulders with little antagonism coming from the real and machine world, the feature is centric to his performance engulfing fear in the characters and ultimately viewers experience, but falls insufficiently and heartbreakingly flat to project the needed fears the feature needs to up the tension and atmosphere. Failing to elicit the tonal injection of fear and tension that it needs for the viewer to be engulfed in the thematic presence of the narrative. Otherwise, the audience is just watching hollow skins and ghosts of the deeply adored characters they have come to love be reanimated for the sheer sake of wanting them involved but not needing them.
All this aside, what makes this experience truly heartbreaking is that two significant motifs and defining elements of its previous trilogy – choreography and score – are arguably some of the weakest aspects put to film this year. For some ungodly reason, Lana Wachowski refuses to utilise a wide shot or shot that exceeds the length of three seconds. Staples of Lana and Lilly Wachowski’s aesthetics are just thrown out the door and what converges instead is a parasite of dull, vapid, and shallow investment. The cinematography, for one, fails to elicit mood or tension with little atmosphere ever felt; moments of spectacular feel rigid and look overly eccentric in color balance and lighting, with Bill Pope’s eye most definitely missed with the darkly gothic interpretation all but a homage. Nevertheless, what genuinely will bring tears to fans' eyes is the genuinely atrocious score; Don Davis unfortunately is not returning for this fourth outing, and the end result ultimately becomes a disaster. Aside from Neo and Trinity’s theme, little expression and flair can be found to craft mood or momentum. It often feels shallow and a placeholder for something so much more ready to be put in its place. What is used, however, is ever so dismal and forgettable in the instance it is projected on a screen, and with each roaring visual momentum, the score consistently converges to let its side down to a point in which it all but destroys the atmosphere.
That being said, this is a feature that is more inclined and focused on examining itself as a sequel and its meta approach to a franchise and themes than it is to drive home a sequel to The Matrix Revolutions. What it does quite spectacularly is deconstruct and appropriate the operating table and conventions that limit and reduce what a sequel can do and can say. More poignant as this feature goes up against Spider-Man: No Way Home, what can be considered an embellishment of the modern-day cinematic corpus. Wachowski and co take a stance to use this fourth Matrix outing to continue this story but also condemn and, in the same breath, inspire an audience on a completely conscious thematic narrative, and on the nose level in what the viewer is visually and thematically consuming. The combination and melding of the Matrix itself as a contextual entity and the machine world and how that ultimately gives further life and brooding thematic depiction to the undertones and underbelly of what is perception, actuality, and what audience and people consume to be in what they want or told want they need and have to do, crafts an inspiring second wind and perception of the grandeur of this franchise.
This conversation is not limited to the Hollywood medium but to others that have taken on the theme of “red pilling” trans allegory and a whole host of Wachowski-isms that will be written about in books for decades to come. The problem is that this film needs and has an audience right now on release; fans of whom have waited almost two decades with such limited detail and lore left to crave have resulted in a type of hype and intoxication that almost feels too big to even manifest as reality even before release. This combination is held rather well by Lana Wachowski, who undoubtedly serves up her vision – one that takes no prisoners whatsoever in any and all forms of layers and possible detractors. The problem being is that it feels as if nothing is behind the scenes to counterbalance and give equal weight to that measuring, of which Lilly Wachowski’s understandable detachment from the Hollywood regime ultimately comes into play and is heavily missed. While Lana brings scope and thematic underbelly with her ideology of cinema and theoretical approach, it is Lilly’s cinematic touch and flair that ultimately coaches said ideology into a cohesive existence into a cinematic form. Case in point is the marvel of Speed Racer or Cloud Atlas that teach untraditional and avant-garde theoretical and philosophical approaches in dynamic blockbuster shapes and sizes. This ying and yang, this equal and balancing result of an equation that crafts harmony in creative indulgence and audience spectatorship. Incorporating Cloud Atlas author David Mitchell heavily substantiates and furthers Lana’s philosophical nature. The added inclusion of Run Lola Run and Cloud Atlas co-director Tom Tykwer as a writer feels a shadow compared to Lilly Wachowski’s vision and idealism for evolutionary and transcending cinematic art.
The Matrix Resurrections does not, and sadly never, quite finds that perfect Wachowski balance and equilibrium with a soft shell and hard center that tastes sweet but ultimately becomes bitter as it emerges from underneath its own skin. In a sea of blockbuster escapades crafted from an engine room, Lana Wachowski does craft a quite enigmatic and substantial testament to not only anti-blockbuster but an anti-governing body that plays by no rules, investigating and destroying itself with a constant rebuilding and redesign – resulting in a feature that overly deconstructs and contextualises itself through the eyes of filmmaking and not necessarily the motif of continuing a story many have missed and seemingly will continue to wait for after the release of The Matrix Resurrections.
