The Matrix Trilogy

The universe created in the Matrix films is indeed astounding. Let me start the discussion of the films there. The concepts at play and philosophies brought to light due to the nature of that world are remarkable, clever and, most of all, extremely relevant. The design of the films, especially of the “Real World,” are gripping, detailed and majestic. I only wish more of the Real World had been depicted, but more on that later.

The first ninety minutes of The Matrix are terrific; visually speaking there isn't a negative word to be said about it. The Wachowskis manages to seamlessly blend styles and themes from sci-fi, neo-noir and martial arts films. Especially the sequences depicting the Real World are masterfully designed. The image of the giant microphone-shaped walkers harvesting the stalks of human eggs is particularly breathtaking, and will stay with me for quite a while. This amalgamation of aesthetics, especially in those first ninety minutes, creates a singular visual style that doesn't really exist in the two sequels.

 

Thematically speaking there are some things lacking, however. The main philosophical angle of the film is epistemology: the examination of knowledge and what can be said to be true and real. Until Neo ingests the red pill, his reality is the Matrix and everything contained in it; his job, his messy apartment, his hacker friends. But once that pill is ingested and Morpheus shows him the Real World and explains the nature of the Matrix, Neo's entire sense of reality and existence is irrevocably shaken. In is out, left is right, asleep is awake. Things as simple as household objects no longer maintain their value; “There is no spoon.” Considering how shattered his understanding of reality has become, Neo adapts to it a little too well. He blindly excepts that over here is reality, over there is the Matrix, and never the 'tween do they meet. Not once does he question “How can I know whether this reality isn't still a part of the Matrix, or yet another program?” To snap open the jar of confusion that is epistemology and not have at least one breakdown from someone question the existence of his own body and mind feels cheap to me, and does a disservice to the field of philosophy.

 

I will say, however, that the film does well to explain the nature of the Matrix, the discord between it and reality and why it exists without coming across as tutorial. Given the massive amount of information needed to make the audience understand this universe, the film breaks it down succinctly and clearly without reading like stereo instructions. The film also does well to leave the decision of which pill to take up to the viewer. The film presents both arguments as valid, through the characters of Morpheus and Cypher, and allows the audience to weigh the costs and benefits without preaching one answer over the other.

 

My biggest problem with the film, however, is the last forty-five minutes. The first ninety are set up as a genre-splicing mystery story, with heavy importance placed on visuals, character development and its underlying themes. That changes drastically, however, when Neo starts doing cartwheels during a massively overdone, eye-raping gun fight. There are action sequences in the first part of the film, but they are mostly hand-to-hand combat and are within the scope of an admittedly fast-paced, but ultimately still a mystery tale. The ending becomes a simple, cheap, long special effect, filled with helicopter crashes and oversized explosions worthy of Michael Bay. The film is great at foreplay, but when it comes time to get down to business the film ejaculates prematurely. The delicious can of jelly beans the film opened turned out only to be filled with stupid spring-loaded snakes.

 

Moving on now to Reloaded, which was superior to The Matrix in some ways, inferior in others. Visually it was inferior. The look and feel of the second film was much more clean and sterile than the first. It didn't have the same noir style, grit and edge that the first did and felt more like other sci-fi films of the last decade plus. Also the city of Zion – the Real World capital of the rebellion – was visually cool but not as striking or mesmerizing as anything from the first film. Also with Zion evolving into a lively if somewhat primitive metropolis makes the discrepancy between the Real World and the Matrix seem less great, and therefore the theme of the value of truth and reality versus the ignorant bliss of the Matrix is less pertinent, and the choice between the two less daunting.

 

I guess it's good then, considering the development of Zion, that the philosophical underpinning of this film shifts from that of the first. Epistemology and the choice between reality and illusion are replaced by the new debate of determinism, of freedom of choice versus cause and effect. Like the first film, the Wachowskis choose to leave the ultimate decision more or less up to the viewer. It could be argued that by virtue of Neo saving Trinity at the end of preventing the outcome he saw in his dream that freedom prevails, but it could also be argued that the recurring existence of The One as explained by the Architect that causation prevails. The viewer is free to choose which argument holds water and which does not (or perhaps each viewer is predestined to select one argument over the other).

 

For the majority of the film the philosophical debate felt forced. The characters seemed to argue their points back and forth without a lot of plot development to reinforce the necessity of their debate other than the recurring imagery of keys and doors, referring to a common hypothetical used to summarize the debate. But once we meet the Architect, that all changes. His existence – more precisely his role and his manner – his explanation as to the existence of The One as the “systemic anomaly,” and the recurrence of Zion and The One, make the idea and debate over free will more than just a passing bout of mental masturbation. The question now takes on much greater importance, to both characters and viewers, and makes it all the more difficult to select an answer.

 

The action sequences in this film were certainly more frequent than in the first film. From the opening sequence we have gun chases, slowed bullets, crashes and explosions. This makes the action a more definitive and constant player in the film. The freeway scene, about half way through the film, is not only wonderfully choreographed, shot, and kept within a reasonable scope, but establishes action sequences as part of the overall pacing and mood of the film. That way, when we get to the climax of the film, the conclusive battle doesn't feel out of place and cheap, the way the ending to the first film does.

 

The third film, Revolutions, exists only as a conclusion to the series. It brings forth no new philosophy, no new character development, and cannot stand alone the way either of the first two films can. Some of the visuals are beautiful and exciting, but there's no meat behind them to make them valuable. It's nothing but action sequences that include mini-Transformers, a blind Neo who now sees with heat vision, a strange talking head inside Machine City, and an ultimate fight scene between Neo and Agent Smith that starts off well but goes on far too long and ends poorly. Not to mention the aimless subway-station sequence that goes as quickly and unexpectedly as it comes and really adds nothing to the film. Ultimately it feels way too rushed and simple.

 

When looking at the series as one entity, I have to give immense credit to the Wachowskis for creating such a marvelous fictional universe. It is unique, poignant, intricate, visually stunning, and it makes you think about so many things on so many levels. However, when it came down to how they executed their films, I have to chastise them a bit. If I could travel back to when they were first planning The Matrix, I might advise them to slow down their thoughts a bit. I'd ask them to think more about what Neo is going through, not just the upheaval of his perception, but his role through the hero's journey, his path to accepting his new role as this Christ-like figure and what it means to him. I'd ask them to clear up their themes relating to religion, which grew quite scattered over the three films – Isn't it strange and ironic that the group that advocates the acceptance of reality over the comfort of illusion, a common secular opinion, also holds dear concepts of belief and hope and deify Neo as The One and their savior? Most of all, I'd want them to determine how much action they want to put in their films, and to keep that level of action more or less constant over the three films, so that the end of the film does not seem an aberration compared to its beginning and middle, and the third film an aberration to the first two. If the Wachowskis had done these things, The Matrix franchise might arguably stand alone as the greatest sci-fi achievements of all time. But, unfortunately, it will stand in my mind, despite its few triumphs, as a disappointment, a failure of execution to live up to the promise of its premise.

Brazil

Brazil is Terry Gilliam's visually-striking sci-fi classic about a man, Sam Lowry, who rebels against the overbearing bureaucracy for which he works to save the love of his life--and himself--from being black-bagged by the Ministry of Information and forced to be overcharged for his interrogation. The film is chock full of beautiful set design, nice themes and excitement. That being said, the film has its flaws.

The most persistent flaw in the film would be the main character. Sam Lowry is a pitiful, pathetic man, his life ruled by his rich, domineering mother and shitty job. When his mother pulls some strings and gets him a promotion, he (at first) turns it down; even when given the chance to be somebody, he chooses to remain nobody. When he begins to rebel against the system, he's doing so out of some misplaced love for a woman he barely knows from his dreams (and even her character doesn't have a whole lot of meat on her bones). He doesn't initiate the rebellion; it's thrust upon him. And even then, he's not really changed by it. He still remains quite wimpish and soft, never truly growing a spine or becoming the hero the film needs. He just goes along with the rebellion that the terrorists and Harry Tuttle have already set into motion. He's a passenger on the train, and not a conductor.

Sam Lowry ends up as another one of those characters who are so sheepish and unimportant to their world that you can't really feel any connection, let alone sympathy, for him. Others include Wikus Van De Merwe from District 9, Scott Pilgrim, and Alvy from Annie Hall. These films are very good visually and very clever, but if the only real sentiment that can be felt for the protagonist is "When is this douchebag gonna grow some balls and take control of his life?" then the film suffers. The stellar technical qualities of the film are therefore brought down, as they are used in narrative film making to enhance the storyline and the emotions felt for the characters, and they can't enhance emotions that aren't there in the first place.

For this type of character to actually be worth caring about, he or she has to show a willingness to take control of a situation. Lionel Cosgrove from Dead Alive is an example. A silly film, yes, but when Lionel kicks open the front door holding the lawnmower and declares "Party's Over!" he has grown from an indecisive dork into someone with cojones. He has become a man. But the other characters I listed, who don't experience this transformation, remain one-dimensional wimps not worthy of my sympathy.

Another problem I had with the film was its goof-ball comedy bits. This was Gilliam's first film after his Monty Python days, and a lot of that humor lingers over into Brazil. This is shown with the casting of Gilliam's M.P. writing partner Michael Palin. Sam's new manager at Information Retrieval and the bumbling repairmen who ruin Sam's apartment are perfect examples of the quirky, oddball kind of humor that pops up in the film here and there. These scenes don't really serve as comic relief, as the film isn't paced fast enough to require relief. And there isn't enough humor to really place the film in the realm of a satire. Instead these scenes hinder the film, making it feel too silly and not poignant enough at times. Because of the comedy, the film ends up lacking strength and a solid raison d'etre that its sci-fi peers, like Blade Runner and The Terminator, truly possess.

The film, however, does have its redeeming qualities that make the film worth watching at least once. Lowry's dream sequences are beautifully-photographed sublime metaphors, and the art direction, both in and out of the dream world, are beautiful and evocative. I especially like the nod to 30s noir, with the employees' suits and the playing of Casablanca on the malfunctioning computers. The commentary on bureaucracy is also nice, even though it's been said before. The ending torture sequence (and just to be clear this is a review of the Gilliam-approved Criterion director's cut; not the heavily-reworked "love conquers all" version) is wonderfully done, with plenty of style and bravery, and is incredibly evocative.

But as I alluded to earlier, if there isn't an emotional connection made with the protagonist of the film, the stunning visuals and exciting climax are more or less for naught. If I don't care what happens to him, I won't feel excited when he's running from the Ministry, down when he's tortured, et cetera. I can admire the photography for its superficial beauty, but I can't really feel the emotions the photography are meant to enhance because I don't care about the main character. Brazil is a film with truckloads of potential to be great that is squandered on a pencil-pushing dork.

Sucker Punch

Amazingly beautiful cinematography and visuals. Kick-ass music that interweaves perfectly with the story. Very lovable, sympathetic protagonists and an overbearing, despicable antagonist. A strong and uplifting central theme. Stir all these in a pot, cook at 450 degrees for 110 minutes, and you get the wicked ride that is Sucker Punch.

The film opens with a silent, slow-motion sequence of Emily Browning's character and her sister losing their mother and then being assaulted by their stepfather, set to a slowed-down version of "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" (think Marilyn Manson's version, but less creepy). Browning and her sister's innocence and vulnerability, and her father's menacing stare, makes the scene incredibly affective. Not to mention the terrific camerawork--closeups of a button torn from Browning's shirt as it spins on the ground, a light bulb as it explodes from a gunshot, and a winding shot through a keyhole and into the reflection in Browning's eye of her stepfather approaching her sister with bad intent. A harrowing and devastating start to the film, to say the least.

From there we're taken to the Lennox House for the Mentally Insane, where the evil stepfather plans to commit Browning. As Browning is about to be lobotomized, the scene suddenly turns from a grungy hospital room to the glitz and glamour of a stage where a similar scene is being rehearsed. We have now entered the first layer, if you will, of escape. Similar to Inception, Sucker Punch jumps back and forth between layers, but instead of jumping between layers of dreaming, here we're jumping between Browning's consciously-created reveries used to escape from her awful incarceration. But unlike Inception, each layer of reverie serves as a microcosmic metaphor for the layer just above it.

The first layer of escape consists of an exotic dance hall where the girls, that is Baby Doll (Browning), Sweet Pea, Rocker, Blondie and Amber, are forced to dance for their scumbag boss's sleazy clients. The girls ban together to form an escape plan, for which they must first collect four items: a map, a source of fire, a knife and a key. To collect each item, Baby Doll does a dance in order to distract a certain person so that another girl may stealthily pick their pocket. For each of these dances, for the first three items at least, Baby Doll takes us to the second layer of reverie, and each of these sequences is a fantastic over-the-top battle scene in which the girls, lead by Scott Glenn of all people, must collect the appropriate item from layer one.

Each battle scene contains amazingly choreographed fight scenes, gorgeous landscapes, and little snip-its that advance the overall theme unique to each battle (one scene is even set to a cover of The Stooges' "Search and Destroy!") In just about any other context these battle scenes would have seemed self-indulgent and gratuitous. But, in the context of a fantasy world within a fantasy world, where almost no sense of reality is maintained, these scenes work completely. In fact, just how over-the-top these scenes are actually furthers the idea of escapism from the horrors of reality.

Throughout the film the editing is top-notch. But especially in these battle sequences is the editing perfectly timed. In the third of these scenes, in which the girls are looking to steal the cook's knife, a snag occurs and Baby Doll is forced out of her reverie of removing a bomb from a train, and back into the cook's kitchen. Without good editing, the viewer could easily get confused as to what's going on in each location, and even which layer of reverie the movie is in at a given moment. Thankfully, the superb editing in the film allows the viewer to always understand which reverie they're watching and what is happening in that location.

Next up we learn that the boss, Blue, has learned about the escape plan after one of the girls snitched to him out of fear. While lecturing the entire dance squad about his power over them, he unflinchingly executes two of the main girls in a surprising fit of egotistical rage. Up until this point, all the violence had been very stylized and action-driven. These two murders occur at point-blank range with a simple handgun; no thrills or dramatic camerawork to distract from the gun blasts and screams of the dance crew.

Later on, as Baby Doll and Sweet Pea are set to escape, Baby Doll is forced to sacrifice herself by distracting the guards, so that Sweet Pea can flee. Once Baby Doll is killed in the reverie, we jump back to reality, and the previously cut-off lobotomy is completed. We're devastated to see Baby Doll have to die, but we're comforted by the idea that Sweet Pea safely escaped and can tell the world about the horrors that went on in that wretched place.

This conclusion, and the film altogether, forces us to ask the question, as the film does itself in several places, who the story is really about, and who are all stories really and truly about? I think the film would say that every story is ultimately about you. Even if you're not a post-feminist teenage girl stuck in an insane asylum, you can relate to the struggle in the film to escape a poor reality and create a better one for yourself. The film reminds us that we all have the weapons at our disposal to make our lives ones worth living, to escape any horrid existence we find ourselves in and shape it into whatever we want. We just have to fight for it.

On Genre Theory

My last film review was a partnering with a friend to cover [Rec] and [Rec] 2, two in-your-face, over-the-top zombie films with tons of scares, gore and excitement. Now, feeling that I have to balance my geek side who wets himself over crazy fright-fests with my intelligent, sophisticated film connoisseur and aficionado side, here's a brief treatise on film genre theory.

Back when I was a student at NIU, I founded the NIU Horror Club, a campus group meant for watching and discussing horror films. Stuck within the paradigm of "horror" club, our members would often debate whether a given film that we showed fell within the horror genre. Each member had their own idea, usually based on their tastes and preferences, about what the horror genre was about. In this essay I will attempt to describe what horror, and all the other popular film genres, are "about."

It should come as no surprise that all the films grouped into one genre must have something in common, specifically something at their core that is absolutely vital to the nature of those films. Given the most commonly referred-to genres, and the ways in which they are discussed, I have concluded that there are two major principles that make up a genre: what is seen in the film, and what is felt by the viewer.

Horror is a very diverse genre that has taken many different forms. Films described as horror can portray serial killers; demons and monsters, both terrestrial and otherwise; viruses; murderers; haunted houses; and many other scary things. The scary thing can be clear and obvious, like Jason Voorhees, or more subtle or even unseen, like in The Blair Witch Project. These film are so diverse that they have little in common as far as what is actually seen on the screen. What they do have in common is the feeling of fear that is evoked in the viewer.

Comedy is another film genre along these same lines. Comedy can come from so many distinct places that iconography cannot be used to classify this genre. Instead the experience of laughter and the overall lightheartedness that comes from laughter is what defines a comedy.

Other modern genres of film that are of this type include romance, thriller, and drama films. The feelings of true love are what define a romance film. The excitement and suspense felt by the audience make a thriller. Drama sometimes acts as a left-over bin, meaning a film that doesn't clearly fit into the other groups falls here, but dramas are characterized by strong emotional attachments to a character that may not be specifically related to fear, humor, love or excitement.

All the genres that are defined by what is felt are defined as so because the iconography in those films are so varied. On the other side of the coin, there are film genres that have very similar iconography but varied moods and tones that accompany them.

Science fiction is a genre defined by its iconography of aliens, outer space, spacecrafts, computers, robots, and other things related to modern-day technological advances. These films can take very different tones and evoke very different emotions. 2001: A Space Odyssey is a sci-fi film that's very artistically crafted and awe-inspiring, with subtle themes of humans being replaced by something more intelligent. Alien is a sci-fi film that's very suspenseful, frightening and claustrophobic. This year's Paul has the images of sci-fi but is very much a comedy. This films listed have disparate emotions that they create in viewers, but are similar in the images shown on the screen, which is why they can be grouped into the same genre.

Western is another genre categorized by imagery: The Wild West, revolvers, cowboy hats, horses, tumbleweeds. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly; True Grit and Blazing Saddles are disparate in the reactions to them, but are similar in the imagery depicted.

Other film genres of this type are action, fantasy, war, crime and musicals. All these genres have lists of imagery and events depicted that allow movie theorists to group them together, whether it be explosions and gunfights, fanciful creatures, battle scenes, bank heists or song and dance numbers. Each film can use its genres imagery to tell different stories with different themes, but they're still part of the same genre.

One thing to keep in mind about genres is that they're almost always approximations. The Matrix, for example, has imagery from sci-fi, action and neo-noir films, making it a difficult film to place into a visual genre. Most DVD stores divide their selection by genre, and store owners and employees have to use their best judgment when placing films like The Matrix and other genre-bending films.

Which brings me to my next reminder that film genres are never mutually exclusive. In fact, to really get an accurate description of what to expect with a film, it really should come with at least one visual and one emotional genre: a "sci-fi/horror" or an "action/thriller." The Matrix does not have to be permanently lumped into one genre when it can so easily be described as several others.

Hopefully this little blurb has provided some of you with a new way of looking at film genres. Possibly I've supplied an interesting rambling about movie stuff. At the very least I feel I've done something intellectual with this little blog of mine. So there.