Every trilogy of posts that have a beginning also have an ending – defending a controversial series like The Matrix Trilogy demands it. What follows is Part Three in this series from The Contrarian. Check out Part One and Part Two of ‘The Matrix’ Trilogy Defended.

It is a perverse twist from a decidedly atypical franchise: The Matrix Reloaded intentionally left its rabid audience high and dry and angry. Two films worth of mythology built was betrayed in one of the darkest turns at the close of a second act ever. But put clever twists aside, with a known third film not only in post-production at that point, but its teaser trailer attached to the end of the credits, the slash-and-burn of the second act had to be somehow redeemed by the third act.

As filmgoers left the multiplexes, their eyes straining to adjust to the bright, summer sun, on the other side of the globe the aftermath of President George Bush’s “Mission Accomplished” speech aboard the aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln began to manifest. Violence was returning to Iraq, post-invasion, though the specific players were now changing.

Violence was swelling in Iraq’s “Sunni Triangle” and instead of the well-paid and well-trained Republican Guard that had been loyal to Saddam Hussein, US forces were being targeted by Iraqi civilians who considered the US presence in Iraq an occupation. It saw that occupation as one borne of an interest in cheap oil and administered with a belligerent, careless disregard for the balance of power within Iraq’s Islamic community.

Though perhaps initially “greeted as liberators” by some, the longer the timeline drawn, the more skeptical the view of America’s presence in the country. For those playing close attention, moral relativism was a concept visiting the minds of many watching Iraq.

As The Matrix Revolutions bowed in the fall of 2003, America was embroiled in a fierce debate regarding its responsibility to Iraq, having supplanted an oppressive but stabilizing government. Unbeknownst of what we had set in motion, we stood on the edge of a bloody year of insurgent attacks, for which we were woefully under-prepared.

The Oracle’s prophecy, as it was revealed in The Matrix, held that Neo would destroy the Matrix and free humanity of its bondage from the machines. Where Reloaded had betrayed that prophecy and revealed it a tool of the Matrix itself, the audience was left without any real reason to anticipate the conclusion, aside from how the directors might dig themselves out of the narrative hole. After all, Neo was apparently not a god-given hero, and indeed the diviner of that prophecy was herself revealed to be a program from among the machines. There would be seemingly nothing left to do but watch humanity raise a final, futile defense as Zion inevitably falls.

But … this is a movie … and depending on your point of view, it is a superhero or religious or fantasy or sci-fi movie and one with a heavy debt owed to traditional, Campbellian, narrative structure. If we’re seeing this thing to the end, then certainly there must be some opening for redemption. Even if we’d nothing left to believe in, we must have a reason for continuing on with the story. Whatever could it be?

Yes, Revolutions does drag in a few places early in the film and after the wild goose chase that was Reloaded, being sent on missions to collect a “Train Man” and fight ceiling-running S&M fiends can seem like so much of the same, overly-explored diversions. That said, it’s still a joy to watch, even if hints of Matrix fatigue have begun to set in. Too much candy will make you sick after all, but man oh man is the candy ever sweet along the way.

The abiding face of the original Matrix‘s oppression was via Hugo Weaving‘s masterful portrayal of Agent Smith. While initially seen as a mere dogmatic enforcer of the Matrix’s order, Agent Smith evolves through some very nice character development to reveal that even programs from the machine world find the system lacking. His discontent is grounded in much of the same reasoning, albeit defined from a distinctively different perspective. At the close of the film we see Smith seemingly destroyed, but in truth, what has happened is that where Neo has established himself as a separate entity from the Matrix, Agent Smith has had his own purpose redefined and now he too stands as a separate entity.

At the open of Reloaded, we see this confirmed, and through the two sequels, Smith begins absorbing and destroying any remaining independent minds still populating the Matrix — be they machines or humanity or whatever. As his disgust with humanity and the machine world’s interdependence reaches a zenith, Smith is overcome with nihilism to the point that he would rather destroy the entirety of the system than see humanity and the machines battling back and forth for supremacy any longer.

But where Smith stands as a force for nihilism, Neo as his counterpart must stand for the opposite, and as the film opens, his role in the conclusion of the story is revealed thus. Trapped in the machine world, albeit via psychic link instead of digital broadcast, Neo’s mind is disconnected from his body and exists within a hidden corner of the Matrix, unable to escape. While trapped there, he encounters a family of programs and learns that these programs have evolved to feel compassion and love and concern for each other and would do anything to protect one another. Neo is only rescued from his purgatory when those who love him fight their way to his rescue. The parity of the machine world and humanity is underlined.

Then, having opportunity to redress the Oracle’s deceit, he confronts her (this time played by Mary Alice, replacing Gloria Foster who died mid-production) and hears that his own reluctance to accept his destiny has been that which held him away from full enlightenment. The Oracle concedes that she has made her choices, but despite knowing why she has made these choices, cannot say whether or not her plans will lead to the her desired outcome. She affirms Neo’s destiny is to return to the source and ultimately stand in opposition to Smith’s nihilism, which threatens to not only destroy humanity but the machine world as well.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Zion is the setting for one hell of a visually-astounding war film. If you haven’t seen Revolutions since it was released, if nothing else you really owe to yourself to see a high def transfer of the battle at the docks again. Of course, humanity’s technology is ultimately of lower sophistication than that of the machines and they’re reduced to fighting them with improvised, homemade explosive devices … yea humanity (?).

Zion’s efforts are as futile as predicted and it is Neo’s charge to sacrifice himself for the good of human and machine alike and balance Smith’s cynicism with optimism. He travels to the source and forces the machines’ collective consciousness (curiously depicted with an amorphous, baby’s face) to concede that they’re as concerned with Smith’s rise as humanity is of theirs. He bargains for one final bid to save humanity and they conspire a final ploy.

In the climactic battle Smith queries Neo why he bothers to fight and ultimately Neo concedes that he persists because he chooses to. That is, to say that his optimism continues to leave possible an open-ended future, where Smith’s cynicism allows only one, ultimately dire end. Neo’s reason is hope and hope always carries greater value than acquiescence. The Oracle reveals herself still hidden amidst Smith’s code and Neo opens himself as a conduit between the machine world and Smith’s virus. Smith hacks Neo and Neo becomes a Smith, and the machine world reverse hacks Smith and destroys the virus. Hope defeats cynicism and humanity and machine begin the road toward learning to live symbiotically.

Among the primary complaints I often hear associated with the film is the implication that Neo carries an unnecessarily Christ-like role as the martyr of our story. Admittedly, he does endure a bit of passion along the way, and as his sacrifice is sown, his arms flail outward in something of a cross-like pose (though he is instead plugged rather than nailed and to no armature of note).

Is he meant to symbolize Christ? Not likely Christ specifically, but no doubt this is a Christian-dominated society. Indeed, some of us were rather aware of that at war in a Muslim country such as we were, and the reference carries weight. Reinforcing Neo’s role as martyr was no doubt the Wachowskis’ intent, but as polytheist as the Matrix films are, it is difficult to see it as a Christian statement. And anyway, he was the One/Neo. His rise was prophesized. He saves everyone. It was kind of Christ-y from the beginning. It’s not like he was killing cops and having premarital sex with Trinity to a soundtrack of Jars of Clay, Audio Adrenaline, or DC Talk.

Speaking of Carrie Anne Moss‘s Trinity, let me touch on her death scene. I hear a lot of men/critics complain that her death falls hollow and that it is utterly unaffecting. While I will defend it personally as I was genuinely moved at it, I will also report that as I have seen this movie with four different intelligent and empowered women and every last one of them was a veritable puddle after this scene. I do not doubt that it is possible to get through the scene unaffected (mileage will vary), but I haven’t seen it happen personally with anyone I know.

While in theory I don’t personally need more Smith vs. Neo kung fu hyperbole, again I watch the film’s final battle and I recognize the reason it is there (apart from being visually amazing). As the two godlike beings are battling over a rain-soaked Chicago/Sydney sky, shockwaves of rain ripple through the air and craters are carved into asphalt as bodies are thrown to and under the earth. The ridiculousness of the impasse has to be established, not only for the audience to understand that two equals of supreme strength and power will always simply cancel each other out, but also because Smith has to believe that Neo truly is trying to battle him to the death, not just set him up for a sucker punch. Which of course, he does, despite Smith’s unmitigated sense of relief and victory moments before he is destroyed from the inside out once more.

At the film’s culmination, a scene in a green city park is lit up by a golden sunrise, and three programs from the machine world concede that peace through symbiosis is now possible, if unlikely to endure. In the final moment, Neo’s sacrifice is honored with beauty as it is known in the world above the conflict, above the clouds. Hope proves not the quintessential human delusion, but rather simultaneously the source of humanity’s greatest strength and the machines’ unwitting salvation against purposelessness. Watching those who we were to regard as the enemy appreciating and thankful for a peace that the hero’s sacrifice has made possible is a staggering step for an audience to resolve, especially in an era fraught with war and terror. For some it is absolutely contradictory to one’s instincts.

Nonetheless, it is a beautiful resolve to a conflict borne of insecurity and despair not only for humanity but also its creation. Where there is no reason for conflict but fear, hope is that which creates the potential for peace. Indeed everything that has a beginning has an ending, and how we choose to confront the challenges that come with existence define how that ending is resolved. In peace or in death. But the Matrix Trilogy doesn’t tell you that outright. It asks you to assemble the parts yourself and hopefully arrive at the same conclusion. But that might have been asking a bit much of its audience. Especially in the fall of 2003.

Of course, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, that year’s other epic, final chapter would be released just a little more than a month later on December 17. With a very defined line between good and evil, and with that evil decidedly defeated at film’s close, it would go on to win the Academy Award for Best Picture and leave its audience soundly satisfied, any moral relativism crushed and thrown to the wayside. At least for a couple months more, until the shit truly hit the fan.

The entire series of ‘The Matrix’ Trilogy Defended from The Contrarian:

‘The Matrix’ Trilogy Defended Part One

‘The Matrix’ Trilogy Defended Part Two

‘The Matrix’ Trilogy Defended Part Three

It takes a trilogy of posts to defend a controversial series like The Matrix Trilogy. What follows is Part Two.

As I previously alluded, much of what created distaste for The Matrix Reloaded upon its original release was based upon the societal and political environment in which it was released. If you opened a newspaper in 2003, you couldn’t have thrown a dart without hooking a moralizing argument. Morality plays were the go-to play in the Rove strategy book for all of the unyielding campaign of Bush’s two terms. Certainly those opposing his policies and (more to the point) his doctrine, were doing their dead best to rise to the challenge and stage their own.

The Matrix Reloaded‘s first ponderous debate of philosophy takes place between Zion’s Councilman Hamann (a politician portrayed by Anthony Zerbe) and our hero Neo (again, populated by Keanu Reeves). The conclusion they arrive at is that when one lives in a house made of machinery, its best to not run around, throwing wrenches. Great, and that will make battling them so much easier, because moral high ground is sorta the one thing you need when you’re going to war. It would seem moral relativism has invaded Zion. One might guess this will play an important part in where this saga goes from here.

Now, while I’ve invested a great deal of effort to setting up the context for why the sequels were received poorly, it isn’t to say that the films do not have faults of their own. Those faults, however, are those that were present from the beginning. I suggest that while they do have their shortcomings, those specific shortcomings are not at all inconsistent with the eponymic debut, and if you were given to like the first chapter, you’ve shaky ground from which to launch your complaints at the second and third. The Matrix Trilogy, if anything, maintains cohesion whilst still allowing each of its respective chapters a chance to explore unique territory.

This is not to say that I think that the sequels ought to be universally loved by all who loved the first film. If you recall from my previous columns, I tend to track away from trading in such absolutes. Rather, I suggest that all the given attributes that made The Matrix successful return and are multiplied as exponents of themselves in Reloaded and, ultimately, Revolutions. What was comparably weaker in the original remained weak in the sequels and those faults were ultimately magnified as a result, once the whole saga was turned up to “11.” Not only was due attention paid to the special effects, art direction, fight choreography, and mythology, but the philosophical underpinnings were also expanded and given specific focus as well. With a banquet like this, the whole feels less like a seven-course meal and more like a buffet. And people get ridiculously picky when they have their choice of seven desserts.

Of particular, personal interest to me was the expansion of the mythology. As the mythology was broadly fleshed out, so it followed that the world of the original film was to be expanded as well. With a greatly expanded world — that is to say, with Zion no longer alluded to but now one of the main settings — it followed that there were to be a great number of new characters and many additional opportunities for the Wachowski brothers to underdirect performances. They have a handle on many parts of making a great action film, but directing actors emotionally is not seemingly one of their strong suits.

From the leads, the performances are admittedly a little shaky in places but again, no more so than they were in the first film. None of the lead actors are known for delivering referential performances in anything they’ve been in, so to fault them for not rising to a standard they’ve never set simply because you hoped for more is ultimately just pissy. By now, continuing to ding Keanu Reeves for wooden acting turns the onus back on the complainant. You’ve seen him before — what you get isn’t exactly a variable. Did no one tell you he was in this film?

The leads aside, there are some very good performances from peripheral characters. My personal favorite of these performances is that of the Merovingian, as portrayed by Lambert Wilson. In 2003, we had a particularly barbed relationship with the French (one of the few nations to balk at Bush’s justification for invading Iraq), and in Reloaded, this French character delivers all the loaded stereotypes we associate with the nationality. He knows it all, reveals nothing, and mocks those who’d ask. Our heroes might as well have been asking for directions to the Eiffel Tower from an irascible, baguette-packing, Parisian waiter blowing cigarette smoke in their faces.

This is to say nothing of the fact that, all the while he’s mocking them, he’s imposing on them a philosophical monologue regarding the relevance of causality to a band of heroes who are admittedly walking into that which they do not understand. To only reinforce the notion, we are introduced to anomalies like ghosts, werewolves and vampires and given a reason for them existing in the Matrix (programs who’ve gone rogue in the system – also an allusion to our potential anti-hero, Agent Smith).

I like the Merovingian, but his place in the films is a sticking point for a lot of people. I do understand why. There are a number of philosophical discussions scattered throughout the films and his is a frustrating one for a lot of reasons. But it is to be remembered when discussing philosophy that these are questions worth asking because they have no answers. We ask because where we go when we ask these questions is sometimes more revelatory than any answer we might find chiseled in stone. The players on the Wachowskis’ stage ask these questions not only because they are relevant to the story, but also because these are characters contemplating the nature of life within its own self-aware world, which is the essence of dramatis personæ, or indeed any creative art that aspires to be more than mere well-crafted décor.

Therein lies a minor miscalculation on the part of the writers, directors, and brothers, Larry and Andy Wachowski: taken in low dosages it was easy for lunkheads who weren’t given to ponder philosophical questions like those alluded to in The Matrix to simply overlook them. In this instance, where tension is dialed up and we’re getting nowhere fast in the tragic fall of the epic’s second act, it is harder for some who are struggling to understand why we’re all walking in the dark to suddenly set down the plot for a second while we enjoy an aside. It is a common occurrence in classical, theatrical plays, but less common in modern cinema. Casting high art aspirations in a decidedly mid-cult (at best) medium is always a nice idea, but usually less appreciated than perhaps the author hoped.

Questioning causality’s influence on compulsion, desire, and survival and just why that causality exists in the first place, by my personal interpretation, is one of the most subversive aspects of all three films and that’s really saying something. While it’s poor timing for those who aren’t at all interested in multi-tasking amidst the action, keeping my brain engaged instead of just being force-fed rote exposition is one of the things I really love about the Matrix films.

And its not like those action sequences relent at all, either. Not even the silly wire work that was all the rage post-Crouching Tiger obfuscates the beauty one might find in the fight choreography of Neo’s sparring against Seraph (Collin Chou) in the tea house. There’s some very impressive precision fighting done at the Merovingian’s chateau, as well and even that only subsides to begin one of the best car chases ever filmed. Admittedly, for my part, Neo’s initial fight against former-Agent Smith (Hugo Weaving) in the park goes on a bit too long. But even now, searching for an edit point, I find it difficult to cut it down. Within the fight itself, I find conceptual motivation for the way in which Neo addresses each wave of the growing replications of Smith. Nonetheless, it took some six or seven viewings of the scene before I began to appreciate it. Initially, it was a bunch of computer generated bodies in black suits performing spastic, gymnastic routines before Neo remembers that he can just fly away.

Before I close discussion on The Matrix Reloaded, let’s make a stop at a couple of its most controversial scenes. I’m sure that if you’ve read this far and you have an axe to grind, you might accuse me of glossing over the most contentious parts of Reloaded‘s criticism and I don’t mean to duck them. Let’s address them directly.

Regarding the “rave” in Zion. A lot of complaints regard it as tacked on and exploitative. I do wonder if any of these people have seen the Wachowskis’ first film, Bound. The sum value of that film is the brilliant caper flick tacked onto the end of a brief, soft-core lesbian sex scene that is its first 20-odd minutes of the film. It’s like what Cinemax might have produced had they bought the script to The Usual Suspects.

Further, to call the “rave” scene tacked on is to say that it is not relevant to the story, but that too is incorrect. In context, the remainder of all of humanity has gathered in a great hall to hear that the future’s in question because an army of machines is on its way to destroy them. Apart from panic (which is addressed), the only appropriate, alternate response is to be definitively human. For a small quantity of people living below the surface, that response is dancing and, more to the point, group sex. If we’re speaking as adults here, for a relatively small collective charged with repopulating the earth, I’d wager they’re not exactly searching for an excuse to get decidedly un-Puritanical, if you know what I mean. Actually, that’s probably pencilled in for every afternoon at 4:30.

I also think it’s unsurprising that most people complaining about this scene are pasty, white, sci-fi fans – a demographic decidedly missing from the would-be orgy itself, which is comprised almost entirely of buff men of color and assorted bi-curious girls grinding on each other. I can see why typical Matrix fans might find this threatening. Their invitations seem to have been lost in the mail.

Next, let’s discuss the penultimate scene, wherein Neo arrives at the fulfillment of the prophecy, only to be told by the Architect of the Matrix (Helmut Bakaitis) that the entire premise, upon which everybody – the audience included – has pinned their hopes is 100%, unmitigated bullshit. Through an exacting succession of adverbs and conjunctions that are more commonly used by programmers to define command exceptions, it is revealed that the entirety of the prophecy was only ever meant to be a pressure-release redundancy. It was a soft option designed to let humanity indulge its illusion of freedom of choice. Those who came for skintight catsuits, kung fu fights and machine gun bad-assery might have been left feeling a slight bit betrayed.

I’m not at all sympathetic. Achieving literacy isn’t something you finish. If you don’t understand all of the language, you still have work to do. Of course, as someone who is accused from time-to-time of speaking and writing a touch too floridly, you might imagine this would be my point of view. That aside, I LOVE Neo’s exchange with the Architect. It may be my favorite scene in all the films.

But where does this all leave us? Now the viewer has wasted time through two whole movies, realizing too late that what was thought to be the culmination was in fact a massive set-up and that we’ve been following a rube of a false-idol (although he did just totally resurrect Trinity). Upon learning the news, Morpheus’s faith and ship are blown into so many greasy, metal shards. Neo believes himself a failure and the conduit of Zion’s destruction. And just before the end credits roll, Neo pulls a Jedi on two sentinels and goes out like a light. What the hell? It’s hardly a cliffhanger if the stagecoach is at the bottom of the cliff. One can hardly blame Neo for wanting to pass out before those end credits roll and those in the audience who are now too much affected by Reloaded‘s decidedly and intentionally disappointing end demand he get up and fight more robots. We’ll have to wait for the next film to see him roll away the stone and strike his Jesus Christ pose.

It takes a three-part series to defend the last two movies in this trilogy:

The entire series of ‘The Matrix’ Trilogy Defended from The Contrarian:

‘The Matrix’ Trilogy Defended Part One

‘The Matrix’ Trilogy Defended Part Two

‘The Matrix’ Trilogy Defended Part Three

It takes a trilogy of posts to defend a controversial series like The Matrix Trilogy. What follows is Part One.

As consumers of storytelling, we like conflict and we like that conflict to be set between two sides that are easy to distinguish — namely good and evil.

Prior to Star Wars, science fiction was reliably set in dystopian visions of overly-ordered societies, often totalitarian and controlling. The hero was usually a wild anomaly in the system that by film’s end, had been resolved and reabsorbed or killed. Filmmakers were compelled to report our cultural temperature as it was, not as we might hope it to be, and between Nixon and Vietnam and desegregation and generational upheaval, it was hard to spot silver linings just then. Hope was naive by comparison.

This was our culture’s raw, inner-cynicism revealing itself as pathology and such a pathology that, without hope, would potentially evolve into self-fulfilling prophecy. Amidst that cynicism, Star Wars sought to reintroduce clearly-defined roles for us. It collectively reset our disposition to aspirations for “a new hope.”

Lines between good and evil were brought into very discernible clarity and fought between discernible sides for most of the 80s. John Rambo as he appeared in First Blood, holding the past-due bill for our horrific abandonment of the Vietnam veteran, was roundly ignored. It wasn’t until he was forced to fight against perceived evil again in Rambo: First Blood, Part II, that he became an American phenoma. In Reagan’s America, the culture prided itself on knowing that good guys always wore white and bad guys always wore red. Well, at least until the Iran-Contra hearings. Then everything started to go all wonky again.

Moral ambiguity wouldn’t really begin to make a return until the post-Soviet 90s, when anti-heroes returned and we recognized the most interesting people were those we could cheer both for and against.

Pulp Fiction put forth all manner of characters that you knew were, to some degree, complicit with bad deeds. Despite this, we empathized with them, often against another character we had just cheered for in a previous scene. Likewise, Seinfeld was arguably the most popular show of the 90s and its four leads were all really selfish, petty people. Kurt Cobain, poster boy of the 90s, rose to prominence and flamed out under a constant wet blanket of cynicism and mistrust.

By the end of the decade, evil was two high-school kids from Littleton, Colorado and a rock star misattributed to inspiring them. Osama bin Laden had even already once attacked the World Trade Center and not even he was the greatest threat to America, at least as far as pop culture was concerned. America was starting to see that its own fascination with the anti-hero was mixing poorly with its own taste for fantastic violence.

It’s worth noting that Marilyn Manson wasn’t the sole witch put on trial for Columbine. The first Matrix film was dragged through the mire, as well. Why? The Matrix was a story that, while still focusing on rebellious anti-heroes, had at least justified them morally. While accepting moral ambiguity under the standard as defined by The Matrix, when you “freed your mind,” you could see that being anti-establishment was really fighting for liberty from enslavement. It recast moral ambiguity as moral imperative and justified it. Knowing that, it became a lot easier to start killing off wave after wave of policemen, because, you know … we wanna be free. To do what we wanna do. And… stuff.

Not only that, but in The Matrix there was A PROPHECY and it said in no uncertain terms that we were supposed to be doing this! It was a directive handed down by a smiling, warm, matronly woman of color, who was seemingly obsessed with eating candy! We had no idea if she was God or not, but there was a Buddhist child sitting in her living room bending spoons with his mind, so we might be okay assuming as much.

By the end, Neo (our surrogate in this hero’s journey, as portrayed by Keanu Reeves), is even able to defeat death! With love! COME ON … What gets more hopeful than that?! It’s moral ambiguity disambiguated, justified and given a heavy buttercream frosting of clearly defined, ol’ fashioned good-versus-evil. Slap on some cutting-edge special effects, some beautiful fight choreography, and underline the entire story with fairly intense allusions to philosophical precepts from Heidegger, Descartes, and Plato and by the time you’re finished, it’s practically fine-fuckin’-literature. It becomes the sort of cinematic force that encourages a culture to turn a corner, much like Star Wars had.

It was a huge hit, amidst and possibly in spite of the return of the first new Star Wars film in 16 or so odd years, showing on alternate screens in the same multiplexes. What a journey to this place in our culture … But don’t kick off those travelin’ shoes just yet …

The only thing to do after that was to make more of them. After all, no film worth its salt was truly justified until it was turned into a trilogy. “Woah — they’re making The Matrix into a trilogy? And they’re shooting the sequels at the same time? And they’ll come out within months of each other? HELL. YES.”

Oh, wait…

Four years passed between the first Matrix film and its two sequels. During that time America’s moral barometer had undergone one hell of a reconfiguring. George W. Bush was awarded his presidency by the Supreme Court, despite narrowly losing the popular vote. That Osama bin Laden guy turned up again, but this time he managed to capture our strict attention. In response, we started not one but two wars, with moral ambiguity a firm point of contention associated with the second one.

As the spring thaw began in 2003 and the hype machine for the first Matrix sequel (The Matrix Reloaded) sprung into action, soldiers and Iraqi citizens were pulling down Saddam Hussein’s statue in Baghdad. Good guys win! Good guys win! Mission accomplished!

Oh, wait…

By the movie’s release date in May, responsibility for rebuilding Iraq had started to become a sore spot. No-bid contracts for Vice President Dick Cheney’s former employer, Halliburton, were radically expanding. What were initially thought to be Iraqi Bathists, loyal to Saddam Hussein, were starting to attack our troops with improvised explosive devices. The dissent that had been culturally divisive in the run-up to our invasion of Iraq had been squashed under an avalanche of nationalism and the dissenters had settled into a funk of hopelessness. But there was a new Matrix film coming out, so at least there was a new, escapist, fantasy film to which we could look forward.

Instead, what eager movie fans found in the theaters that May was not quite picking up the story they’d left. First, in The Matrix Reloaded we learn that despite the liberation at the first film’s conclusion, the threat was greater now. The whole of Zion was about to be destroyed by machines mounting a final offensive, and it meant to wipe out all of civilization, less a mere handful who would perpetuate the illusion of choice and freedom.

Where lines between good and evil had been clear, now there were musings about how very symbiotic humanity’s relationship with the machines remained. That matronly, sweet fairy godmother who loved candy? She was revealed to be another program from the machine world — could we even trust her now? Before, we knew with absolute certainty that Neo was the God-given savior of humanity, but by film’s end, moral clarity became moral ambiguity and was implying it was about to become moral relativism. Our MacGuffin had been pulled out from under us as the prophecy was exposed as a lie of further control, and we were left with only a mere hint there was ever any justification to it to begin with. Say, that sounds familiar …

Well slap some philosophical musings about causality from a tormenting Frenchman who laughs at how gullible our heroes are, and you can imagine how let down the culture ultimately was, both in our own real world and in the world of the film. We started the film knowing everything and we ended the film knowing that everything we ever thought we knew was a lie, with only a plate of Freedom Fries to console us. Knowing the path was, indeed, proving to be very different from walking the path.

It takes a three-part series to defend the last two movies in this trilogy:

The entire series of ‘The Matrix’ Trilogy Defended from The Contrarian:

‘The Matrix’ Trilogy Defended Part One

‘The Matrix’ Trilogy Defended Part Two

‘The Matrix’ Trilogy Defended Part Three

In the comments from my previous column, fellow Scene-Stealers writer Trey Hock made the point that there is a distinct difference between being a film critic and being a film fan. The implication was that my column was not critical, but rather written from the perspective of a film fan. He is right, and I was glad he brought it up.

He also suggested that perhaps I should have titled my column The Apologist and not The Contrarian. Interestingly enough, that was the original, ironically-chosen title for this column. It became The Contrarian for several reasons, not least of all for the simple fact that I don’t feel a discordant defense of something is inherently an apology. It is just discordant. To assume it apologetic is to assume that there is something for which a film should apologize, and that is decidedly contrary to the primary philosophy behind the column.

I meant to write something of a manifesto or mission statement for this column that would appear with the site’s redesign, formally launching this column. However, when Star Wars dropped on blu-ray, I decided to jump in feet-first, as writing about the release was topical and obviously quite near and dear to my heart. So given all that, indulge my backing up a little…

By way of clarification, I should state it simply: I hate film criticism. That’s right – you read correctly.

Actually, I don’t really like any contemporary media criticism. I feel it is built on the faulty premise that any opinion could be at all definitive. I’ve been guilty of writing criticism in the past on several occasions — and I may not have committed my last sin in that regard — but I’m really trying to break the habit.

I have a considerable quantity of personal distaste for criticism, but also a dispassionate, reasoned concern: There is no such thing as a normative critical opinion. That era is dead, if it ever truly existed.

In the age of home theaters, as broadcast television struggles to maintain viewership numbers and movie studios package their films in cheap 3D gimmicks to boost box office, the old media machines are slowly learning that the age of communal entertainment is dying. The record industry cannot even seem to package an entire album of songs without iTunes making a case for selling off the component parts for a dollar each.

As an audience, we like what we like, we consume it when we please and we don’t much care how mainstream our opinions are anymore. When niche is king, who even cares about normative positions? Critics and… marketing executives? Aren’t the former really a more discriminating version of the latter?

On a personal level, I find definitive statements offensive. Such statements tend to connote that the writer assumes his or her opinion supreme and all other opinions in error – which is a fairly arrogant presumption. It may make for compelling and controversial copy, but it just turns me off. Of all the things to have strong feelings about, how creatively successful a film is should rank just above whether or not McDonald’s should make the McRib available year-round.

I get that people feel passionately about film and I think that’s fine. I also recognize that some people enjoy arguing about film and feel like that’s a good way to spend their time. Power to them — I hope they enjoy themselves. For my view, if no opinion is definitive and arguing taste is an unending task, why commit any amount of means toward something that has no achievable end?

Of course there are formal considerations for any craft that mark whether or not it has been carefully practiced, but as for personal appreciation for such work, it is a wide-open question. The contemporary art experience is built on the personalization of the media we consume. If an actor’s character is a totem for the human experience, we tend to find our appreciation for the totem defined by comparing our experience or judgement with that of the character. The appreciation for that totem is as fundamentally unique as any individual among an audience. Accordingly, the individual’s mileage will vary.

The intent of this column is not to suggest the reader reconsider a film from a critical perspective — at least not primarily. Rather, it makes the point that films generally find their audience and you needn’t be an outright idiot to appreciate those films that critics (even a majority of them) commonly loathe. If you’re the kind of asshole who takes delight in telling your aunt that she’s an idiot for liking Tyler Perry films, you probably needn’t bother reading this column. Those films make her happy — what do you care and why would you want to take that away from her?

That raises another point I wish to be clear about … Regarding comments on my column: I may or may not read them – don’t be offended if I don’t respond. I appreciate that people want to engage with what I write, when they do. Maybe you vehemently disagree, or rather wish to validate what I’ve written. I would hope that whatever your response is, you know that I, by default, totally respect that you feel that way. It’s a blank check. If you think me a genius or an abject idiot, you’re probably right. Well-spotted.

Either way, arguing taste is a waste of time. So I’m probably not going to play along. I come from a school of journalism that feels the responsive reader should get the final say. I’ll not be engaging in back-and-forth anymore, but please, write whatever you like within this site’s guidelines.

As my next column will be a fan’s defense for the pair of Matrix sequels, I suspect there might be hot and cold-running responses on tap.

Film criticism in a bubble is irrelevant to the modern filmgoer and arguing taste is only gratifying to the writer. Michael Bird‘s new column The Contrarian seeks to justify those who find their Tomatometers out of calibration with the critical norm.

I am a lifelong fan of Star Wars. I was four and half when I saw the first film’s original run in theaters. In some ways, I can recognize more of my DNA in the saga than in some of my ancestors. I know without question that Star Wars planted seeds in me that would eventually make me an artist.

I’m not unique. Star Wars had that effect on a lot of people and no one needs another testimonial to the transformative experience of seeing it. The reason that proclamation is so trite now is because, as a truth, it initially bore very little subjectivity. Having your mind blown by Star Wars in 1977 was a reliable service exchanged for your ticket-buying dollar. And it’s kind of hard for some people to believe or even remember that now.

This past weekend, the Star Wars saga got released on Blu-ray. And with another format release comes a new round of tweaks to the films. Beginning with the Special Editions released to theaters in 1997, Star Wars creator George Lucas has regularly tinkered with the effects, dialogue, music and film structures, while refusing to bring older cuts forward. This has caused no small amount of rancor.

Each time Lucas makes these adjustments, an unending argument is dredged up. Those with the time to feel passion about such things bleat their familiar refrains: “Lucas has gone too far this time — he’s changed the films beyond recognition!” screams one side, as the other defends, “Well, they’re his films to change!”

I have to admit, I’m well beyond tired of the debate.

A Vocal Minority

Lucas’s detractors will tell you that he has monkeyed with the films to the point that they’ve lost their magic, while his proponents obviously feel quite the opposite. One side feels their specific memory of the films ought not be tinkered with, while the latter feel the new editions keep the saga fresh. The complainants swear they’ll never spend another dollar on Star Wars — and some of them will actually keep their promises, though most won’t. Meanwhile, an abiding pool of the pleased and loyal keep Lucas flush with cash.

And that is the real reason that Lucas is indifferent to the complaints — they come from an excessively vocal minority. That’s something that people who complain about the revisions seem to forget — they’re a minority. If a third of the potential market for these films truly stood their ground and refused to buy them, Lucas might stop changing them. And even if that weren’t true, how much could one respect Lucas for making the revisions despite the potential financial ramifications? That certainly doesn’t fit the familiar, greedy caricature Lucas’s critics paint of him.

To my mind, neither camp is right nor wrong absolutely. Some people welcome some of the changes but curse Lucas for others. The heart and essence of the films remain the same and their charm is still deeply embedded for me. I agree with some of the complaints, while others seem petty and, well, overblown. Watching the original saga again this weekend (for the several-hundredth time), I was struck at how my awe and appreciation were still close at hand. Yes, it has become a rote experience to some extent. I know the dialogue by heart, but somehow my love for the films was nonetheless still right there, unwavering.

It Still Works

Certainly complaints over the use of CGI elements to mask poorly-executed effects from the past has hit-and-miss resonance with fans. Some of the effects were pretty dodgy, despite being groundbreaking. They were reaching beyond their capabilities and they didn’t always make it. I can personally testify that watching Luke Skywalker’s landspeeder roll across the desert via a mattress of vaseline smeared on the camera lens used to pull me right out of the drama. It has since I purchased my first VHS copies. Those days are gone and I couldn’t be more pleased to be rid of them.

But I hear you ask: Don’t I care that Han shot first? I could weigh in on the debate with my opinion (and trust me, I have one), but it truly doesn’t matter who fired first. A split second of effects timing doesn’t change the performance that Harrison Ford invested in the role or the character arc he crafted over the course of his three performances. Let’s just remember that Han Solo won that duel, no matter the timing.

I watched especially closely the most-changed of this re-release, 1983’s Return of the Jedi. Don’t I care that Darth Vader screams “Noooo,” at the end of Jedi, just as he did at the oft-mocked conclusion of 2005’s Revenge of the Sith? I didn’t mind the scream in Sith and I barely noticed it in Jedi. It neither depleted the scene of its drama for me, nor enhanced it. It was just different than what it was before. I have to admit, I actually teared a tiny bit at Darth Vader’s death. I cannot recall the last time I did that, if ever. Were the changes made to it what tipped it over for me? No, I’m sure they weren’t, but it did happen and if the films had been substantively depleted of their original punch, or at least compromised by the changes, should that be possible?

Nostalgia is Dangerous

At this point, Star Wars isn’t only a vehicle for revisiting one’s childhood and I do not understand how fans of the original trilogy can be confused over this point. To me, it seems they are engrossed in an intractable love affair with their own nostalgia. I can recognize why they’d like him to, but it seems silly to resent Lucas for not being respectful of their sentimentality.

As it stands, 30-odd years later, the Star Wars experience exceeds the comfortable, warm little corner of their childhood they wish would go undisturbed (or “raped” as the also oft-mocked expression goes). It has more than doubled it, if you are to count TV shows and whatnot. While I sympathize with them, because I recognize who much of a touchstone this film is for a lot of people, there were never any guarantees that change wouldn’t reach even that which one might normally take for granted. As we get older, we are regularly asked to adapt to change. This is such a short curb compared to most of what life deals us.

What Lucas is Afraid Of

Now, I did mention that I didn’t feel either side was entirely right or wrong and I do think Lucas deserves to be called out on the carpet for at least a couple of shameless displays of hubris. In one of the commentary tracks for A New Hope, Lucas justifies his modifications, saying that painters and other artists commonly make tweaks to their paintings over the years, correcting and adjusting as time moves forward. This is patently wrong, if not altogether dishonest. Few artists if any do this, and those that do certainly don’t have an option to do that after the painting has been sold. Imagine paying several thousand dollars for a painting to have the artist show up at your front door one day to ask if they can touch up their piece. Would you trust them? I’m an artist and I wouldn’t let them in the door.

Lucas is fixated on changing/perfecting these movies because he is afraid of failing at making new films. Artists don’t change their past work — they accept their mistakes, learn from them and put their energy into making new films. That’s how filmmakers grow over time. Lucas has directed a total of six films and only two that weren’t in the Star Wars series. And even those came before Star Wars. At that, if you take Lucas at his word that he was only executive producer of The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi, how do you suppose the deceased Richard Marquand would feel about his aesthetic decisions being revised posthumously? The most generous way to even regard it is that Marquand was only meant to be the puppet of the producer. From this point of view, Lucas’s actions seem perhaps very wrong and certainly disrespectful at least.

About Those Prequels…

I do love the prequel trilogy, but I would readily concede that Lucas’s aesthetic was damaged by his long lay-off. The prequels admittedly lack some of the character-driven charm of the original trilogy, but they do expand the scope and tell a story that is engaging for me (if not always well-acted). I could put together a fairly cogent defense for each of the films, but that’s sort of outside the scope of this piece.

For those who would grumble about the films, they should bear in mind that most children who grew up in the era of the prequels hate the original trilogy with almost the same derisive impatience that their parents have for the prequel trilogy (especially the plodding pacing of A New Hope). And these aren’t just Jar Jar apologists; they’re ardent fans of the newer movies most old-school fans don’t bother to watch anymore.

New Blu-ray Box Set Delivers 

All of this quarreling aside, I’m very happy with the films on Blu-ray, and the long-requested deleted scenes alone will have many of Lucas’s detractors lining up to shell out for the new set. The sound is fantastic, the picture is much-improved (while not perfect) and the supplements are rich. Not all of the deleted scenes from previous releases have been ported forward, so if you have the original DVD releases, you will need to hang on to them. Those original DVDs also contain fantastic documentaries (especially the superb Empire of Dreams: The Story of the Star Wars Trilogy which was included in the 2004 DVD box set) that haven’t been included here either, though there is a wealth of new documentaries to compensate for their exclusion.

Lucas has always been conscious that the Star Wars films were derivative of the B-movie serials of his youth. They have never been fine art. They are melodrama. They are fantasy. They’re certainly not Biblical texts to be handled with reverence, though that’s another classic saga that’s seen numerous revisions over the years, and has had extremists lose the plot for the trees. No, Star Wars is entertainment. Ask yourself: Did you love Star Wars because of Vader’s silence at the end of Jedi? If you did, then truly — it sucks to be you.

For all the other aspects of Star Wars that I love, it is a very good time to be a fan. I watched nine Blu-rays worth of material over the weekend and I assure you I enjoyed every minute.

The following is carefully considered comparison of 1982’s “Tron” and the 2010 “Tron Legacy,” written by new Scene-Stealers contributor Michael Bird. Enjoy! – Eric

Anthropomorphism — that is ascribing human characteristics to entities that would not normally carry them — is a constant in the history of literature and art and especially film. It is the method by which the human animal has always sought to understand that which he or she does not. It is a method of comparison and contrast. It is a form of critical thinking as expressed by the naive.

Comparison of Tron old and new from Technabob.com

That naiveté is found by the bucketload in 1982’s “Tron.” For many of us raised outside the dusty aisles of Radio Shack, it was year zero for the home computer in our lives. We knew what computers were but it was impossible to wrap our heads around just how capable they were of integrating into our existence.

“Tron” threw shiny lights at us and dazzled us into envisioning our lives as adventures in a digital landscape, represented by over-serious avatars who play games that are meant to pacify and distract us from the dirty dealings of a corrupt corporate interest’s overreaching technology. Man, how far-fetched can you get, right?

Whether it was art predicting life or instead dictating it, no one can say. Science fiction is largely perceived as the means by which we seek to envision our future, and though few saw it at the time (and indeed few would agree with my proffering now), “Tron” had an insane accuracy percentage over the long game.

People from around the world band together in complete digital worlds to do everything from socialize (Second Life) to wage battle (WoW, etc.). Though the skin looks different, the skeleton for it remains firmly rooted in “Tron.”

In the world of the movie: Even the most cursory look at Encomm feels a little Microsofty, when you think of the manner in which it evolves from a garage-spawned start-up into a conglomerate that swallows and appropriates lessor technologies. The Master Control Program’s limiting of communication from within a network reaching outside into a broader worldwide network completely predicts the battle against net neutrality. So much so, Comcast should think about integrating the familiar conic face into its corporate logo.

Kevin Flynn (Jeff Bridges) rescues the log files that were to prove his authoring of Encomm’s most successful games. Perhaps he should have asked for Julian Assange’s help with that.

The most implausible failing of the original, then and now, is the presumption of a massive level of artificial intelligence, which simply does not exist even now, despite our efforts. At our dead best, we have achieved something on par with a hamster; not quite the level of sinister, old men with professorial beards and English accents.

But yes, “Tron” as a film has many problems and many corny moments. After all, it is a children’s adventure film made by Disney (potential world-record holders for most things anthropomorphized in a body of work). No one needs to point them out as they’re obvious to even the most casual viewer.

Still, you have to admit that for science fiction and fantasy films, “Tron” is as much a reference point in 1982 as “Voyage dans la Lune” was in 1902, even if it was nowhere near as successful as “Star Wars” or “Star Trek.”

The mind-blowing digital effects that were given much more laborious interest over character development were surprisingly predictive. Who knew that “Avatar” would be possible come 2009? Steven Lisberger, “Tron’s” embattled director, that’s who. When you are essentially using computers for the first time to envision what a digital landscape looks like, within those parameters character development should take a backseat. If you get the computer landscape wrong, you have failed. The rest is ultimately forgivable.

“Tron” succeeded; so much so that a sequel for a cult film from 28-odd years ago is the biggest, budget-busting tentpole film of the entire fourth quarter. And mine is probably one of the last reviews you will have read of it. But here we are. And with much of evaluating the original facilitated by the space and time that has gathered in the wake of it, how then are we to evaluate the new film?

To that end I think the prescient aspects of the original are largely coincidental. The ambiguity of it left a lot of room for interpretation and over a long enough timeline in a technology-obsessed culture, something was bound to fit the story. There are themes that run through the new film that we could, indeed, make much of and do our best to fathom how these components will look through the prism of some future history. But by doing so, we would consume ourselves with the question of how a film fits into a culture that does not yet exist. Occupied with busily carrying out that task, we would overlook what there is to evaluate in the here and now. So, by all means, let’s do that.

To my earlier criticisms of the original, character development remains thinly but dutifully considered. For the few characters that have succeeded in bridging the two films, the ones still in play definitely show an evolution, but with the lengthy docket of creating a present and a task to achieve for our players, there isn’t much elbow room to elucidate the passage of time. Nonetheless, “Tron Legacy” is well-acted with full-commitment from its major players.

At this point in the review, let me step aside from the usual outline most film reviews follow, and instead hearken back to something I suggested earlier. “Tron Legacy” is a children’s adventure film made by Disney (no really, go check the rating). Just because those of us who saw the original in 1982 have grown up and evolved and developed marginally more complex lives does not change the fact that what “Tron” was in 1982 is all that it is likely to be in 2010. That you may currently be a network engineer, every day fighting off an army of Chinese DDoS attacks does not make you any more the owner of this story than the 10 year who sees the new film and immediately goes out and beans his or her little brother with a frisbee.

For the 10 year-old, he or she is well-sated with this film. The effects and animation are brilliant and bring the classic 8-bit world of the original into the multicore-processed reality of the present. The action sequences are equally evolved and the visual space is brilliantly played in, with shifting gravity and peril never failing to deliver. Viewed in 3D at Wichita’s new IMAX theatre, the imagery was rich and the artificial depth believable. I even noticed that as I tilted my head, where the 3D effect normally falls apart, it only gave some of the imagery an extra layer of Tron-ness. Just as with “Avatar,” 3D was clearly intended as an integral component of this film and you are encouraged to see it in that setting.

For the 40-year old, you haven’t been left out. In fact, this film was very much made with you in mind, though the makers are aware that you probably brought your own 10-year olds. The story is arguably about how the pursuit of perfection confuses the reasons for reaching for that perfection (a golden oldie of fictional archetypes). Is it to be hubris or altruism? Do the two concepts have a relationship?

The Legacy in the title refers equally to the grid universe defined in the original film and Sam Flynn (Garrett Hedlund), Kevin Flynn’s supposedly inexplicably abandoned son. Alternately, it also refers equally to the question of what we are versus what we are to become, and of conservation of ideals versus adapting those ideals to the progression of time.

The theme of “removing self” is given significant play here (the attachment to self is considered a delusion among Buddhism’s Four Noble Truths), and probably carries a large component of the film’s moral weight. The father, removed from the son, literally swallowed entirely by his work, is reminded that he only ever worked to achieve for his son. Where he fought for principle before his son, principles were partnered with responsibilities after the birth, and thus, the principles were given new meaning. The self, mortal and failing, is supplanted by a sense of responsibility to the coming, successive generation.

Stasis is weighed against action. Is the point the life lived, or death avoided? Ultimately the reckoning resolves in recognizing that the ideals of perfection are only as perfect as those who envisioned them. Given enough time, the old ideals fall away and are replaced by the progression of new ones. Generationally, we are to recognize that the father is to be respected for his wisdom and the son is to be recognized for his ambition. The two of them, when viewed in symbiosis, advance the story, and indeed our society.

You could counter that these aren’t exactly new concepts. You could counter that the film doesn’t exactly handle these tasks artfully and you would be right on both counts. Indeed, the actors flat out tell you what the story means, rather than leave any narrative ambiguity. But again, I remind you, it is a children’s adventure film made by Disney. Broad entertainment reaches to tell its story to all in the audience — I urge you to go dust off your gold leaf-gilden copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare should you doubt me.

Would these concepts be better suited in another film that could more directly address the question? Maybe, but then this film actually did it. And it does so within a context actually relevant to not only the original story, but our own cultural story: observing that a given technology leverages one generation against the previous one. To extrude these concepts through a children’s adventure movie and to come out with an indictment against the delusion of self… Man, that’s not low-hanging fruit. That’s the stuff of inspiration.

If you managed to cram haughty circumspection into a two-hour adventure film and made it appealing to a 10-year old, well, you’d really have something. To this end, I think “Tron Legacy” gets as close as is reasonably expected. And to say that the moral of the story is unimportant in the modern era would be utterly disingenuous. Throughout our culture, you see the debris of overly-proud baby boomers struggling against conceding control to a new, whip-smart generation (Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was repealed while I sat in the movie theater). The disconnected audience knows that it’s going to happen anyway, but the players are oblivious. The end of the film is only as predictable as the story we live.

“Tron Legacy” is a sequel, a retro-conversion and a reboot. This film, if a franchise is to be supposed here, would be three kinds of transitional in nature, though I am pleased to report that I did walk away from it satisfied. It is capable of standing alone, but fits modularly within the universe created and could play well with expansion. As with the last film, here again, the universe is wiped clean. And the old universe lives now on a thumb drive around the lead actor’s neck. One only hopes he doesn’t pass too closely to a high-powered magnet.