On the other hand, it may just be the first fully-realized Surrealist work in mainstream cinema to date. The Matrix is a shamanic journey in dramatized form, fit to stand up alongside Alice in Wonderland and destined, perhaps, to someday overthrow The Wizard of Oz as the ultimate cult-psychedelic movie. The Matrix is all this and a fair bit more, but it’s also undoubtedly not for everyone. Unless you are prepared to accept its premise-that reality is a dream, controlled by secret forces to enslave us with, and that only through conscious dreaming can we escape our bondage and reclaim our divine nature (a truly Gnostic premise, as I say)- then the movie will be so much hokum and mayhem and no more. Doubtless, millions saw it and enjoyed it as such. But The Matrix is considerably more than just a piece of first-class entertainment: it’s a runaway artistic experiment, an experience that bends our concepts of what is real and what is not, and leaves us in a very tight spot indeed. The plot of the film holds together admirably, even if we may not notice it at the time. The directors don’t have the time to take us through their maze step by step, they simply hurl us into it headfirst, and leave us to put things together as we go through. The movie starts off at full tilt, and gives us no time to get orientated; it is already exploding our sense of "what is real" before we have even established the vaguest idea of such, to the point that, for the first half hour or more, we can’t be sure if we are watching dream or reality, or something else altogether. This is a perfectly effective disorientation device, since it is the way that Thomas Anderson (played by Keanu Reeves) himself feels, as his existence suddenly goes beyond the bizarre—into the appalling. But at the same time, this is perhaps the movie’s biggest weakness. The fact that we are never given time to settle into Thomas’s false reality before we get to see it torn apart, and exposed as the computer simulation fantasy that it is, denies us the full brunt (both the horror and the pleasure) of his initiation. The Matrix might have been more than just a great sci-fi movie, it might have been an authentic masterpiece, if it had eased off a little on the action and given us an extra twenty minutes (at least) to establish the character, his dream world, and the slow, steady encroachment into the dream of a hidden, higher reality, one that will eventually break through and drag him literally screaming back to the Other Side. Despite the intricacy and ingenuity of the plot, the film lacks subtlety, it lacks characters, and as a result it lacks any real psychological depth. Its depths—which are truly giddying—are all subtextual, they aren’t textual depths, because there are no shades or nuances to the characters or to their actions, all of which are inevitably overwhelmed by the sheer scope and breadth of the story. As a result, despite being head and shoulders above every other movie of its kind, The Matrix suffers from the same deficiencies: the vacuity and banal surfaces that characterize the ’90s blockbuster.

Since this may well have been necessary to ensure the movie was a success, however—and The Matrix simply had to be a success or it wouldn’t have been made at all—this may not really be a valid criticism so much as a major regret. The miracle is that the movie was made at all; but still, I can’t help but imagine a Matrix three hours long, with a muted, toned ’70s feel to it and a real actor at its center, the measured pace and attention to scientific detail of Alien, the human depths of Kaufman’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and perhaps a little more of the anarchic spirit of Brazil. It might have been a Godfather for the ’90s: a sci-fi classic for people who don’t like sci-fi movies. As it is, it’s strictly for cyberpunks and Gnostics. The story is briefly as follows: Thomas Anderson is a pallid and lifeless employee for a computer firm (“Metacortex”) who also has a “secret” life as a hacker who sells illegal software like it was a psychedelic substance. What he is involved in we can only guess at, since the film hasn’t the time to tell us. Somehow, along the way, he has been brought into contact with a man named Morpheus, a notorious “terrorist” whom he has never actually met but has been seeking for some time. Thomas (the doubter[2]) is given hints and clues first of all by the mysterious Trinity, who sends him messages on his computer that predict coming events. Shortly thereafter, Thomas is hurled bodily into “the game,” and there left to run, hide, make the leap or plummet to his death. His engagement in this game begins when he is at work and receives a call from Morpheus, warning him that “they” are after him. Sure enough, the sinister men in black (government agents) are at that precise moment being directed to his desk. Following intricate instructions from Morpheus (who appears to be able to see the entire layout of Thomas’s world like he is looking at a map, or like a god from on high), Thomas sneaks past the agents into an empty office. There he is told to make an improbable leap to safety. He fails to make the leap, does not even try in fact, and allows himself to be captured by the government agents instead. He is taken into custody and there offered a deal: cooperate in the tracking of Morpheus, in return for a clean slate. When he refuses the deal, his world without warning warps into a Surrealist nightmare, as the agent whose name is Smith literally wipes Thomas’s mouth off, leaving him speechless and writhing in horror. The other agents hold him down as a metallic but definitely living parasite-like cyber-organism is inserted into his body, through the naval. At this point, Thomas wakes up, as though from a dream. Little respite is allowed him, however, as he is promptly picked up by Morpheus’s team (also dressed in black), held down in the back of the limo, and subjected to another bizarre procedure, as the parasite implant is removed. Thomas yells out in horror: “That thing is real?!” He may well ask. By now we have no more clue than he does. As it turns out, it isn’t real, but then nothing else in his life is, either. (And from personal experience I know exactly how he feels.)