It would be easy to simply write off The Matrix as a forgotten byproduct of Y2K hysteria and anxiety over the vague level of existentialist thought that had bled into mass media in the two decades prior to its release. The first Matrix, released in 1999, was quite naturally perfect. It was a work of art, flawless, sublime. Keanu Reeves was carefully subdued in his brilliance, paralleled by the aloof sheen of Carrie Anne Moss at her cultural height. A triumph equaled only by the monumental failure of its sequels. The inevitability of The Matrix’s doom is as apparent to me now as a consequence of the imperfection inherent in every human being, despite Netflix updating their posters based on your viewing history to more accurately reflect the varying grotesqueries of your nature. I have since come to understand that understanding the beauty of The Matrix required a lesser mind, or perhaps a mind less bound by the parameters of perfection. But perhaps the typical human mind was too ‘lesser than’. To a being not built to understand just how this movie changed the cultural direction of science fiction, this film may come off as limited. There is little the enlightened can do to change the minds of these lower vibrational beings; much like the average Joker viewer, we have ascended to a higher plane of existence, now that we understand society in its totality. It is up to you to decide whether you wish to join us in our intellectual paradise.
10/10: To be redpilled is be true to yourself