Elvis-53

Whatever happened to the good old-fashioned beginning, middle and end? In The Matrix, the beginning, middle and end run side by side throughout the whole movie. I have never in my life seen a film that rips off other genres so blatantly, that damns its own audience so openly, and has left me leaving the cinema so empty.

Laurence Fishburne spends the whole movie talking pretentious scientific babble, Keanu Reeves spends the entire film asking dumb obvious questions, and Hugo Weaving gives us an example of the worst sub-Pulp Fiction acting I have so far encountered. The film is full of Japanese-style slow head-turning, Chinese style martial arts kicks and slow-mo high leaps, Western-style slow walks with the camera focusing on the feet, with Terminator 2 style special effects. Any film, no matter how fantastic the premise, will take as its reference point something that its audience can relate to and will have contact with at least something outside itself. The Matrix does not. In fact, this film is so far up its own a**hole it can see its earwax from the inside. And any film that spends so much of its time explaining itself is, by doing so, unsure of its facts. At one point Laurence Fishburne says that "there is a difference between knowing the path and walking the path." Well, matey, there is also a difference between reading the script and making the film.

The Matrix insults its audience on at least two levels. First, it tells us that we are all empty and faceless and it has come to save us, and secondly by masquerading itself as in any way stunning visually, intellectually or audially. And if I'm missing the point, well try making the point a little bit clearer next time. Plenty of explosions, meaningless special effects, horse-manure dialogue, cool shades, slow motion and leather coats do not make a good movie; in fact in this case they make a very bad one. And The Matrix is a very bad movie. It is hopelessly inept. Don't waste your money on this film. Or if you do, don't let it drag you down with it.

A genuinely frightening film from Michael Curtiz, jack of no trades and master of all. Many of the tricks of classic 1930's horror are here, including the opening scene set in a dark, rainy London street, the long shadows on the wall, lengthy periods of silence, and all timed to perfection. Only the faster-than-the-speed-of-sound dialogue of Glenda Farrell truly lets the film down. But other than that it is a gothic masterpiece, an underrated movie probably due to the fact that it lay undiscovered, thought lost, for over half a century. Far more inventive and imaginative than the majority of horror films made today.