Though the herd may not acknowledge it, there's a minority of us who, the minute a billion-dollar special effects epic starts doing dizzying digital fairground tricks, lean to wondering whether we shut the fridge door before coming out. Just as the average male can't see household dust, even when it's pointed out, some of us don't get what the fuss is with this CGI lark. So they made someone fly, by cheating, by touching up the evidence. Whoop-ti-doo. While gawping at Monica Bellucci (now there's a miracle of nature) keeps us happily in our seats for half an hour, there comes a point where we pine for a story that says something. Anything. Yet, while the hype for the Matrix sequel is making Geri Halliwell seem reticent, the damn thing remains stylistically impressive, thanks to the time-honoured ploy of simulating futurism by having lots of skinny good-looking people wearing black. The demographic targeted, however, is given away by the soundtrack?Linkin Park, Marilyn Manson ("This Is The New Shit"), Rage Against The Machine. It's all beautifully designed and presented. After the first disc (also featuring Rob Zombie, Deftones, Oakenfold), there's a second, which gives you Don Davis' score. Plus! A bunch of "enhanced content", like documentaries and trailers for sister projects The Animatrix and Enter The Matrix. Sorry to come on like a muesli-knitting anarchist, but like Star Wars, the Wachowksi brothers' brilliantined baby has become such a corporate commercial behemoth that it's easy to admire, hard to love. The sheen's dazzling, the soul non-existent. And only the 15-year-old spods?"I hate you for not letting me go to the Korn concert, mummy!"?could consider this music radical or rebellious. Strip away the pretty lights?"wow! cool!"?and the Matrix "phenomenon" is a McWhopper with fries.
Though the herd may not acknowledge it, there’s a minority of us who, the minute a billion-dollar special effects epic starts doing dizzying digital fairground tricks, lean to wondering whether we shut the fridge door before coming out. Just as the average male can’t see household dust, even when it’s pointed out, some of us don’t get what the fuss is with this CGI lark. So they made someone fly, by cheating, by touching up the evidence. Whoop-ti-doo. While gawping at Monica Bellucci (now there’s a miracle of nature) keeps us happily in our seats for half an hour, there comes a point where we pine for a story that says something. Anything.
Yet, while the hype for the Matrix sequel is making Geri Halliwell seem reticent, the damn thing remains stylistically impressive, thanks to the time-honoured ploy of simulating futurism by having lots of skinny good-looking people wearing black. The demographic targeted, however, is given away by the soundtrack?Linkin Park, Marilyn Manson (“This Is The New Shit”), Rage Against The Machine. It’s all beautifully designed and presented. After the first disc (also featuring Rob Zombie, Deftones, Oakenfold), there’s a second, which gives you Don Davis’ score. Plus! A bunch of “enhanced content”, like documentaries and trailers for sister projects The Animatrix and Enter The Matrix.
Sorry to come on like a muesli-knitting anarchist, but like Star Wars, the Wachowksi brothers’ brilliantined baby has become such a corporate commercial behemoth that it’s easy to admire, hard to love. The sheen’s dazzling, the soul non-existent. And only the 15-year-old spods?”I hate you for not letting me go to the Korn concert, mummy!”?could consider this music radical or rebellious. Strip away the pretty lights?”wow! cool!”?and the Matrix “phenomenon” is a McWhopper with fries.
