The Matrix Revolutions, 2003.
Directed by Andy and Larry Wachowski.
Starring Keanu Reeves, Carrie-Anne Moss, Laurence Fishburne, Hugo Weaving.
Written by Andy and Larry Wachowski.
Matrix III. Now don’t get me wrong here, I’m not saying that the first two were wonderful - you’ve got to give some credit to the first film for giving the sci-fi movie genre a hefty kick up the arse and there were about fifteen minutes of the second film that didn’t suck - but, Matrix Revolutions just hoovers up everything around it.
One major problem - too little bullet-time jumping about in PVC pants. Where was the damn matrix? Didn’t feature enough (the film could easily just have been called Revolutions) and all that post-apocalyptic, grimy, grey, stuff with living underground and the spaceships that aren’t spaceships is just too depressing and dull.
Another issue - it tried to get too damn clever for its own good. In the first Matrix, the science-bit comprised of Morpheus saying ‘they use humans as batteries’. The rest of the film was just lots of fighting and shooting and whatnot. Ok, the geeky could argue that all Matrix films tried to be clever by their intricate and ingenious weaving of Judeo-Christian-Greco-Franco beliefs, mythology and general meanderings, but lets face it - it wasn’t really clever. More annoying. Reloaded (Matrix II), with it’s interminable conversation between Neo and Colonel Sanders sent my brain to sleep, with my arse following close behind (as it normally does). Revolutions spreads its attempts at intelligence over its two-hour running time and, while trying to be clever and to tie up the trilogy, just ends up being more daft than the others.
We find Neo (Reeves) in a coma after stopping the robo-squid in the second movie. Oddly enough, there seems to be more going on in his comatose brain than in his waking one - he’s chatting away to people in a subway station that probably represents something metaphysical that the Wachowskis think is smart. Or, maybe not, as Morpheus and Trinity (Fishburne and Moss) decide to rescue his brain from the train-world. I don’t really know - it’s boring and complicated at the same time and I started doing reruns of The Young Ones in my head (the one where Neil biffs himself in the face with a frying pan, if you’re interested).
Loads of other psuedo-clever stuff happens and it turns out that Agent Smith (Weaving) is outside the Matrix. Or maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s The Oracle. Or maybe it’s one of his clones, although technically, can they be called clones?
We visit Zion, the bastion of humanity where we meet ‘That Pipsqueak Rudy’ - I can’t remember what his real name is but he’s some astonishingly annoying kid who runs around at Neo’s heels and seems like he’d happily clean up after a Neo wet fart. We also get to witness some sort of Zion rave which degenerates from a trippy, drum n’ bass dance-off into a mass orgy. And we learn that The Machines (ooooh, The Machines) are digging holes to attack the human rats sheltering and shagging in Zion. To defend the city, the humans have those mechanical-army-leggy-robot-things like Ripley had in Aliens except these have big guns built into the arms.
Neo sets off on a mission of mediation to talk to The Machines (ooooh, The Machines). He strikes a bargain that The Machines (ooooh, oh never mind) will all live happily with the humans if he, Neo, will stop Agent Smith who’s gone all mental in the matrix and is messing up the place like that drunken bloke who pukes in your kettle at a party.
This premise leads to the big showdown, the culmination of three movies worth of antagonism - Neo versus Smith: Rumble In The Rain. While all the clone-Smiths look on, Neo and Smith duke it out.
And it’s rubbish.
Really. The big climax comes with a big ‘anti’ prefix. This is the best they can do after I sat through six-odd hours of this stuff? Rubbish. Neo loses but wins and it all goes back to normal, except Neo’s gone - or maybe he’s not - and everything’s different - or maybe it’s not.
Should have left it at one.
Read more I Sat Through That? right here.
Gerry Hayes is a garret-dwelling writer subsisting on tea, beer and Flame-Grilled Steak flavour McCoy’s crisps. You can read about other stuff he doesn't like on his blog at http://stareintospace.com or you can have easy, bite-sized bits of him at http://twitter.com/gerryhayes
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