Ten years before James Cameron, the Wachowskis populate the world with avatars. They concoct a new and spectacular cocktail of video games, kung fu and New Age philosophy.
Neo (Keanu Reeves, pale and bearded) is just an old man nerd tiredness. The former hacker, now a beloved and weary video game creator, passively attends the brainstorming of his team who phosphorus on a new version of Matrix, “The game that changed the rules of the game”, whereas “Warner Bros wants to extend the trilogy”. Geeks are excited like (electronic) chips. “Matrix is cerebral porn, philosophy, not hard hype”, said one. “It is a metaphor for capitalist exploitation”, another exclaims.
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The scene is at the start of Matrix Resurrections. It is resolutely “meta”. This mise en abyme, under the guise of self-mockery, recalls the DNA of a cult saga that was initially a dystopia as Hollywood occasionally produced. Matrix imagines Thomas Anderson, a depressed office worker who surfs the net at night under the nickname Neo. His meeting with Morpheus opens his eyes. The world in which he lives does not exist, it is a simulation …
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