Film: The Matrix Reloaded
I’m at the Bourgeois Pig when Kalendar, who’s sitting to my left, asks, “you wanna see the Matrix?” Of course I do. In five minutes he’s managed to invite three more.
We show up 45 minutes early. I order popcorn and a Dr. Pepper. I say to the concession boy, “Sorry to bother you, but could you—,” when he interrupts, “extra butter, squirt in the middle too?” I drift, anticipating the crunch of exploded cellulose kernels between my molars as the trailers roll.
I pull a beer from my bag as the preview for the new Pixar movie starts. A baby starts crying three rows behind so I turn, scowl at the parents, and cluck my tongue in disapproval. Twenty minutes in and the kid’s screaming again. “control your pet,” I say. The frustrated father hauls his spawn away, but at this point I think the movie’s ruined. I have a headache and instead of being pulled into the action I’m away; critiquing the overuse of digital effects, wondering why Neo doesn’t do this or that.
Burrowing through the popcorn, fingers dusted in salt, I find each kernel more saturated than the last. Continuing is impossible.
The movie is expensively made but dull. Monica Bellucci and her glorious pomegranates are worth the price of admission, and there are a few good bits centered around the cast-off collection of Character Objects who are new to the franchise, but overall the action is overblown and the story underdeveloped.
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