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The principal challenge facing The Matrix: Resurrections its director Lana Wachowski and her fellow screenwriters, David Mitchell and Aleksander Hemon, is to justify its own existence. Alert readers will know that both main protagonists, Neo (Keanu Reeves) and Trinity (Carrie-Ann Moss) were dead, at least in theory at the end of Revolutions (2003), the second of the two underwhelming sequels spawned by the original Matrix in 1999. As well, the story arc, such as it was, that began in the first film seemed complete.  Unfortunately, the fourth most recent instalment in the franchise largely fails to rise to this challenge. This is a real shame, because Resurrections has within it the makings of a truly interesting film, potential that sadly goes unrealised.

As the film begins, we find that Neo, in the guise of his original “character” in the first film Thomas Anderson, is a burnt-out middle-aged interactive game designer whose singular claim to fame is the creation of the original Matrix trilogy, which in this version of events is a trio of immersive ‘virtual reality’ -style computer games.  A reluctant and seemingly chronically depressed Anderson finds himself under pressure from his business partner (Jonathan Groff) and their parent company Warner Brothers (not coincidentally, the studio from which the “real world” Matrix franchise originated) to produce a follow-up to his original trilogy. Herein we get an insight into Anderson’s tormented mindset; he is haunted by recurrent lucid dreams which are actually key episodes from the earlier films. So immediate and vivid are these dreams that Anderson can scarcely distinguish them from reality, as he discloses to the audience and to his therapist, (Neil Patrick Harris) who will assume a much more pivotal, if predictable, role as the film’s plot unfolds.

It is easy to forget, especially now at a distance of more than twenty years, just how impactful and genuinely ground-breaking the first Matrix film was in 1999. I can personally vouch for this fact; at the time of its release, I worked in a software development company, and for many of the twenty-something IT professionals among my colleagues the first Matrix film was a well-nigh religious experience. Its use of advanced CGI such as the super slow-motion (commonly known as “bullet time” and referenced as such in Resurrections in one of the screenplay’s several ‘mega’ moments) was truly revolutionary and quickly became a new standard in contemporary cinema. Which soon became a problem, because what was new and innovative in 1999 quickly became a hackneyed cliché in the four years that elapsed between the original film and its two sequels, Reloaded and Revolutions, in 2003. In the interim it seemed that every Hollywood ‘blockbuster’, even the dire Charlie’s Angels reboots of the early 2000s, were relying heavily on ‘bullet time’ and similar CGI in which marquee cast members featured in elaborately choreographed fight sequences; so commonplace was the use and abuse of this form of CGI that by the time Reloaded was released in 2003, it looked like little more than a pale imitation of itself.  The provocative ideas that propelled the first film had been exhausted by the first of the sequels. A hallmark of the first film was that the celebrated CGI sequences are actually few and far between, which served to maximise their impact. In both the sequels, the filmmakers seemed to have adopted the time-honoured Hollywood mantra that ‘nothing succeeds like excess’; the CGI was at saturation level in virtually every frame and often seemed to exist for its own sake, serving little if any narrative purpose. Regrettably, the Matrix franchise has earned an unwanted reputation as one where the sequel(s) are so undistinguished and lacklustre that they diminish the reputation of the original that inspired them.

The new film, Resurrections, leans heavily on the same CGI trickery that the original film made famous, but it has become so familiar that where it once had freshness and originality, its sole appeal has more to do with nostalgia. Early on, Resurrections seems to be heading down a more daring and compelling path by suggesting that the events of the trilogy existed purely within Neo/Thomas Anderson’s fevered imagination and are in fact part of a deep-seated psychosis. The screenplay actually goes to some lengths in preparing the ground for this scenario.  Neo/Thomas Anderson offers this self-diagnosis to his therapist, who concurs and suggests that Anderson has integrated various elements from his real life into his alternate Matrix reality in a fictionalised form.  Thus, his mistrusted and manipulative business partner is transformed into the malign Agent Smith, the friendly yet unattainable woman who he encounters in a coffee shop becomes Trinity, his paramour and soulmate, and the therapist’s black cat, whom Anderson despises, finds its way into the Matrix as the cat in the iconic ‘deja-vu’ episode.  Even the mute impotence that Anderson feels when trying to voice his opinions to his business partner is given expression in the notorious CGI torture interrogation scene in the Matrix during Neo/Anderson’s first encounter with Agent Smith. This interpretation would seem to tie in with the famous quote from Morpheus in his first meeting with Neo/Anderson in the original film:

Have you ever had a dream, Neo, that you were so sure was real?

This theme is even explicit in the name chosen for Morpheus’ character: the god of sleep. Frankly, Resurrections would have been a far more interesting and watchable film if the screenplay had chosen to explore this theme, of the indistinct overlap between Neo’s dream and reality, in a more definitive way.  As it is, most of the film is given over to a predictable CGI heavy re-run of the first Matrix film, with seemingly the only narrative objective being the restoration of the supposedly epochal, Matrix-overwhelming romance between Neo and Trinity. 

This might have been more compelling had the screenplay in any of the four films had allowed for even the slightest spark of chemistry between them, their ‘grand romance’ (despite being seemingly ‘divinely’ ordained by the Oracle) always had a distinctly perfunctory feel.  Even more problematic is the re-casting of the iconic roles of Morpheus and Agent Smith.  Yahya Abdul Mateen II as the new version of Morpheus is colourful and dynamic in an underdeveloped role, but Lawrence Fishburne had a cool elegant gravitas that was crucial to the first film’s success. And Hugo Weaving as Agent Smith conveyed a singular, refined malevolence that made him into one of the great screen villains. Jonathan Groff toils valiantly as the ‘new’ Agent Smith, but his role in the narrative seems unclear at best.  In the 2003 sequels he was the ‘unplugged’ wildcard with his own agenda who ultimately inspired the uneasy alliance and truce between humans and the machine world. Now he is – what, exactly? A contractual obligation, perhaps? The occasional appearance of both Weaving and Fishburne in ‘flashbacks’ from the first three films only underlines how sorely their presence is missed in the new iteration.

The lack of clarity surrounding the role of Agent Smith is one of the many underdeveloped elements that leads one to conclude that the creation of a fresh instalment in the Matrix franchise owed, in common with so many big-screen sequels, more to economic imperatives than the needs of cinematic storytelling. This is a genuine shame because there does exist within the Matrix universe, teased by Resurrections but never quite delivered, the promise of a far more interesting and engaging story that goes sadly unfulfilled.