Saw The Matrix: Revolutions on a gigantic IMAX screen so I could guarantee my senses were overwhelmed with disgust. (see? i’m not so different than lots of people with an online presence. we’re the same!) I actually ended up enjoying the film, far more than the previous chapter, which felt heavy, like a tumor filled with the Wachowski Brothers undergraduate philosophy class notebooks. (if i were an editor for MAD magazine, i would have called them “the watch-out-ski brothers” and i would have called their film “schmatrix: schmevolutions.” i’m just saying, is all.) I got a little freaked in the beginning, when the Oracle started talking her crazy puzzle talk, but then a bunch of guys shot bullets at robots and I relaxed, stabbed my thumb into my mouth, and felt warm and placated.
Because the IMAX screen was just so tremendous, I actually gasped out loud when Monica Belluci’s cleavage made a brief cameo. I felt like Gulliver in Brobdingnag, when he’s being wet-nursed by a giant and is afforded a microscope’s view of female anatomy. However, unlike Gulliver, I popped a boner. Sorry, Gulliver!
Also, and I hope to be credited for this some day, there is one scene, during the war against the machines in the all-night-rave city of Zion, about which I would like to make an important prediction. In the scene, two women – a sleek fighter with a shaved head and her African-American buddy with flawless skin – try to take out one of the machines with a couple of shoulder-launched surface-to-air missiles. The anthropomorphized machine is essentially an enormous drill bit with spindly legs and no brain to speak of. These women want to knock it over, and curtail its relentless drive, and they want it BAD.
As the events in this sequence unfolded I could feel it inspiring a great tidal wave of term papers from first-year women’s studies majors across America. And those papers will each receive a B-minus, except the one that uses the expression “Phallocracy.” That paper will receive a D.
