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How 'The Matrix' Built a Bullet-Proof Legacy

WIRED

One day in 1992, Lawrence Mattis opened up his mail to find an unsolicited screenplay from two unknown writers. It was a dark, nasty, almost defiantly uncommercial tale of cannibalism and class warfare--the type of story that few execs in Hollywood would want to tell. Yet it was exactly the kind of movie Mattis was looking for. Only a few years earlier, Mattis, in his late twenties, had abandoned a promising legal career to start a talent company, Circle of Confusion, with the aim of discovering new writers to represent. He'd set up shop in New York City, despite being told repeatedly that his best hope for finding talent was to be in Los Angeles. Before that strange script showed up, Mattis was starting to wonder if those naysayers had been right. "I'd only sold a few options that paid about five hundred dollars each," Mattis says. "I was starting to think about going back to law. Then I get this letter from these two kids, saying'Could you please read our script?'" The screenplay, titled Carnivore, was a horror tale set in a soup kitchen, where the bodies of the rich are used to feed the poor. "It was funny, it was visceral, and it made it clear that whoever wrote it really knew movies," Mattis says. Its writers were Lilly and Lana Wachowski, two self-described "schmoes from Chicago" who, in later years, would be referred to by many colleagues and admirers simply as "the Wachowskis." By the time they contacted Mattis, the Wachowskis had been collaborating for years, having spent their childhood creating radio plays, comic books, and their own role-playing game. They'd been raised in a middle-class neighborhood on Chicago's South Side by their mother, a nurse and artist, and their father, a businessman. Growing up, their parents had encouraged them to discover art, especially film.


"The Matrix Resurrections," Reviewed: The Reboot Picks Up Where the Trilogy Left Off--Alas

The New Yorker

When a star's variety of hair styles is the real star of a movie, you know it's a sign of trouble. So it is, unfortunately, with "The Matrix Resurrections," which makes poignant use of hair cuts and color to mark the eighteen years separating the new film from the last installment in the "Matrix" trilogy. Little else in the new film is as moving. The action picks up where the last one left off. There, Neo (Keanu Reeves), having saved the last human city, the underground realm of Zion, died from the effort.


em The Matrix Resurrections /em Takes Back the Red Pill

Slate

As the millennium was about to turn, The Matrix arrived in theaters like a speeding bullet--or maybe a very slow-moving one, filmed with the then-novel extreme-slo-mo special effect that would become known as "bullet time." Digital technology played a much smaller role in most people's lives in 1999. The internet was still a novelty, used by most people mainly for sending and receiving email. Smartphones were nonexistent, music was still mainly listened to on CD, and Netflix was a two-year-old company primarily in the business of mailing movies on DVD to people's houses. The idea that all of humanity was trapped in a simulation, our physical bodies parked in life-sustaining pods while our daily lives unfolded in a virtual space run by distant evil overlords, still sounded like a cool science-fiction metaphor, not a description of banal everyday reality.


"The Matrix Resurrections" Is a Crucial Keanu Reeves Movie

The New Yorker

In "The Matrix," from 1999, Keanu Reeves plays Thomas Anderson, who pops a mysterious red pill proffered by an equally mysterious stranger and promptly discovers that his so-called life as an alienated nineteen-nineties hacker with a cubicle-farm day job has, in fact, been a computer-generated dream, designed--I swear I'm going to get all this into a single sentence--to keep Anderson from realizing that he's actually Neo, a kung-fu messiah destined to save a post-apocalyptic earth's last living humans from a race of sentient machines who've hunted mankind to near-extinction. Neo spends the rest of the film and its two sequels bouncing back and forth between the simulated world, where he's a leather-clad superhero increasingly unbound by physical laws, and the bleak real world, laid to waste by humanity's long war with artificial intelligence. Like "Star Wars" before it, "The Matrix" was fundamentally recombinant, unprecedented in its joyful derivativeness. Practically every cool visual or narrative thing about it came from some other mythic or pop-cultural source, from scripture to anime. And, like "Star Wars," it quickly became a pop-cultural myth unto itself, and a primary source to be stolen from.


Alleged 'Matrix 4' leak suggests a new title: 'Matrix Resurrections'

Engadget

The last Matrix movie came out before Engadget even existed, but this year the film series is back. The Matrix 4 is one of the movies WarnerMedia is premiering on HBO Max and in theaters at the same time, however fans are still wondering what the official name of the flick will be. While a recent trailer suggested it might just be called Matrix, fans on Reddit and Twitter are passing around screen captures of an (apparently now deleted) Instagram post that reveals it will be called Matrix Resurrections. Without any way to pull up the original post and verify the name, we're taking that one with a huge boulder of salt, but it's certainly plausible. It's so plausible that Slashfilm used almost the exact same title in an April Fool's post in 2009. Still, with stars like Keanu Reeves and Carrie Anne-Moss returning from the fates shown in earlier movies, it certainly fits, but who knows if it's real or just something whipped up by a forum posted in between stonk trades.