Keanu Reeves Week: The Matrix (1999)

2 months ago

I CAN ONLY SHOW YOU THE DOOR, YOU’RE THE ONE THAT HAS TO WALK THROUGH IT.

by Katie West

The other day I was watching Transformers: Dark of the Moon. (Don’t judge me.) At the beginning of that movie, there’s a depiction of the first moon landing. Sure, in the movie the entire reason for going to the moon was to discover the crash site of a robotic alien race, but it was still amazing. The national excitement that the film portrayed—the excitement of celebrating a massive human achievement—was something I realized I didn’t know how to relate to. So, as I was watching the first ten minutes of a Michael Bay movie, I started to cry. (You can judge me now.)

But I didn’t cry because I was moved. I cried because of this potential future, this fantastic future of exploration and adventure—this future in which people would come together to imagine something beyond themselves. I cried because this future was denied to us. Unlike all those people in 1969 who have memories of where they were when Neil Armstrong said those famous words, I have no memory of where I was when the first person walked on Mars, or where I was when we achieved warp speed, because it never happened. I only remember where I was when terrible things happened. I know exactly where I was when planes crashed into buildings (in the darkroom at my high school developing pictures), or where I was when a tsunami almost wiped out an entire country I loved (in a bar in Los Angeles meeting people from the internet). So can you blame me for crying as the actors portraying young Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin bounded away over the cratered surface of the moon? Am I ever going to get to experience a future that is capable of such invention and inspiration? It used to be that almost every kid you knew wanted to be an astronaut when they grew up. I don’t know any kids who want to be astronauts now.

It’s hard for a person obsessed with fantasy and science fiction (such as myself) to get over the death of space exploration. Then again, something else happened in 1969 that would have an even more profound impact on our world than two men walking on the moon. On October 29, 1969, the Internet was invented. Well, sort of—the first packets of information were sent between two Californian universities. But by 1995, we were ALL OVER THAT SHIT. And with this new technology came new science fiction—and new fantasies.

The best thing about the Internet was its potential to be extraordinary. It could be endlessly explored, because it was endlessly expanding. Was it better than space? I don’t know, but it was a mighty fine substitute. I became consumed by it in the best way possible. By 1999, when I was 15, I could be found sitting in my basement building websites to forever commemorate my love for River Phoenix; finding inspiration on how to become more goth; and getting online boyfriends in vampire chatrooms, where I went by the name Lady Anabella. The internet really understood me, is what I’m saying.

So the day I found myself sitting in a dark theatre watching this beautiful, androgynous woman in skin tight black latex kicking the shit out of cops and running across rooftops like a badass—just because she liked computers—the only appropriate response was, “Whoa.”

Here was a future I could really get excited about.

It was a stunning visual bombardment of tangled religious philosophies and complicated allegories drawing from numerous futurists, theorists, cultures, and media, and it was mind-blowing.

For me (and others like me), The Matrix was a glimpse into our own potential, a pep-talk for humankind. For an audience of teenage outcasts, The Matrix was a handbook, a guide on making it to adulthood the way we wanted to. It encouraged us to seek out the extraordinary despite being born into a seemingly ordinary world, and rise up to impossible challenges; it told us love could save us all in the end.

Yes, love. The relationship between Neo and Trinity in this movie is subtle, but the little moments show they care. Trinity brings Neo dinner; Neo trusts Trinity whenever she asks him to; Trinity puts her life on the line to save Neo; Neo catches a helicopter to save Trinity. Okay, so maybe their signs of affection weren’t that subtle. It’s kinda “love at first sight,” but neither of them really acknowledges it—because this isn’t a goddamn romcom! It’s a badass futuristic action movie with one of the best shootout scenes of all time. Anyway, I’m pretty sure Neo already had a man-crush on Trinity when he thought she was a he, so as soon as he finds out he’s a she, he’s smitten. They pretty much want to make out the entire time … there’s just this little “freeing humankind from mechanic slavery” thing that keeps getting in the way.

But Trinity can handle that, because Trinity is about ten times more awesome than Neo. She’s the first character we see in the movie, and she sets the tone for the entire film. Thank you, Wachowskis, for choosing to put such a wicked strong female character into your movie—who also happens to save the whole freaking day. Remember when Neo dies and Trinity is all, “No problem, babe, I know you can’t die because I love you,” and he wakes up and, armed with the strength of Trinity’s love, becomes 100 percent badass? Yeah, me too. When I was 15, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to be Trinity, or marry Trinity—and I think that was the point. The Matrix is at least part love story, and nothing suffers for it. It’s not cutesy, or romantic, or distracting. It just happens to be a science fiction story in which two characters fall so necessarily in love.

If The Matrix is part love story, then the other, more dominant part is action blockbuster, complete with hero. Enter Mr. Anderson. Mr. Anderson is not an Everyman. He’s not average. He’s a loner outcast who doesn’t say much, has a problem with authority, is brilliant, and hates his life. At home—which is an apartment he shares with no one—he falls asleep at his computer, surrounded by computer parts and dirty dishes, waiting. At work, he sits in his empty, banal cubicle, with his screen turned off, waiting. The first interaction he has with people? They mention that he doesn’t exist. And truthfully, Mr. Anderson doesn’t know how to exist, so he spends his time searching for Morpheus. Sound familiar? All of us are looking for something like Morpheus to thrust a sense of purpose into our lives. And this character especially appealed to a lot of people in 1999. Not only was Mr. Anderson embodying a universal dilemma, but he was also a perfect hero for the end of the millennium: a computer hacker. How badly did we need a hero like that in 1999—the year of Napster, the first Blackberry, and the release of Star Wars Episode 1? Very badly.

You know how after Morpheus and his crew pull Neo out of the matrix, he’s confused and upset for all of two seconds? He’s all, “No, I don’t believe you!” one minute, and then, “Mmm, this single-celled protein combined with synthetic aminos, vitamins and minerals is deeelish!” the next. What the hell? Why hasn’t he lost his mind, considering his entire life was a lie and never really happened?

Because Mr. Anderson was a nerd.

Neo rises to the challenge of being declared The One because he’s spent his entire life as an outcast, waiting to become extraordinary. Fans of science fiction and fantasy know what I’m talking about. We walk down dark streets imagining scenarios of being attacked by a werewolf and stabbing it with the only silver thing we have on us—our limited edition Star Trek 45^th Anniversary commemorative pen. We are always anticipating the arrival of aliens in our backyards. We’ve spent so long imagining our reactions to the extraordinary that, when it happens, how could we do anything but accept it as ordinary? Neo has thought about a world where something beyond his understanding exists so often that, when it becomes reality, he’s able to deal with it.

Perhaps it was Keanu Reeves’ one-expression-fits-all acting here, but Neo doesn’t seem too perturbed by a future run by sentient robots once he realizes he can learn kung fu in a matter of minutes. But none of this keeps him from being a wonderfully accessible hero—a nerd, like I said. It could be a side effect of Reeves’ questionable skills, but Neo is so awkward. Saying stupid shit, being clumsy, getting distracted by a super hot woman in a red dress. When he can’t hit Morpheus the first time they fight; when he doesn’t make the jump his first time; when he doesn’t completely dodge all the bullets the Agent fires at him—these moments make him enjoyably flawed. It doesn’t matter if he’s weak and awkward; in the matrix, the only limitation is your own mind.

Which means that the only savior is your own mind, too. This is the Wachowskis’ most brilliant move: to force Neo to discover his purpose on his own. It wasn’t Morpheus or the title of The One that convinced Neo he could be a badass hero, it was Neo’s own realization that he could be, his overcoming of all that self-doubt. When Neo stops the Agent’s bullets by lifting his hand and saying “No,” he’s not just saying no to bullets and death—he’s saying no to anyone who tries to put restraints on the potential of human beings, anyone who tries to stop us from becoming totally awesome, anyone who tries to tell us we can’t be fucking astronauts when we grow up.

Oh my god, did The Matrix save my life? Maybe. Maybe it did. Don’t judge me.