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The Matrix Revolutions: "I don't have time for this shit."

A moment of very visible writing.

I’m not in the category of people reclaiming The Matrix Reloaded or The Matrix Revolutions. I love the ideas; like many, I have particularly come around on the central twist of Reloaded, that Neo’s status as The One has actually been accounted for and incorporated into The System in order to improve it. Aside from tying into how capitalism tends to absorb its criticisms, I enjoy the way it ties into how the most effective use of conflict is self-improvement; you get into a fight, and whether or not you win or lose, you learn something (this is how I approach redrafts). I also enjoy many individual scenes – I’m one of those people defending the Burly Brawl (which is visually imaginative and spectacular) rather than the highway chase scene (which is like five times too long), and even better, the scene before it when Smith declares his intentions on Neo, slowly closing in on him.

But the two movies together are shaggy and often pointless; there’s one particularly galling scene smack bang in the middle of Reloaded, where Neo is cornered by a member of the Council who blathers on, then admits at the end he was dribbling shit – a complete waste of the audience’s time and not funny or weird enough to get away with it. If I want to listen to an old man ramble, there’s about ten bars within walking distance of me.

Notoriously, the Wachowski sisters only wanted to make one sequel to The Matrix and were asked to make two. I do think they bear far more responsibility for the story being stretched so thin than is usually claimed; nobody asked them to make a video game or a series of cartoon shorts expanding the universe. Regardless, their ideas were stretched somewhat thin, and the result is far less polished and dense than the original film. But this does lead to one moment I really like in Revolutions.

Plotwise, Trinity and Morpheus have been hunting for Neo, who has disappeared somewhere in the Matrix and is in a coma in reality. Their search has brought them back to the Merovingian, a rogue program, who is holding Neo hostage and will give him up provided they can get him something he always wanted: the eyes of the Oracle. Now, in the moment after he says that, I get this vision in my head. One of the Wachowskis is sitting at the computer, typing the script; the other is at her shoulder, looking over. They type the phrase “Bring me the eyes of the Oracle, and I will bring you your savior.”

Then they stop, look at each other, and ask “What the fuck are we doing?”

In the film, this is immediately followed by Trinity growling “I don’t have time for this shit.” Then she pulls out a gun and points it directly at the forehead of the Merovingian, causing everyone in the room to pull out their guns in an elaborate Mexican standoff, and she threatens to kill everyone right there, right then, to get Neo back. It’s a brutal moment of ownage that works because it’s fully in character; Trinity’s love for Neo is, at that point, the only thing motivating her, and it skips the plot right along without a question.

Now, the sensible thing as a writer would have been to go back over the script and rewrite it so you don’t go down a stupid wild goose chase, but I always loved this as a naked moment of writing, and indeed what I’m usually doing as a writer. I very rarely redraft as much as other writers because I always know where I’m going; I rewrite sentences, sometimes paragraphs, but at this point I know the overall structure well enough to know what I’m supposed to be doing right now.

With storytelling, the structure is “the character chases after what they want”, and in this moment, the Wachowskis realized that was not happening. There’s no way Trinity, of all people, would mess around with the Merovingian’s stupid games when Neo’s life was on the line. It’s a vivid and lively moment when she pulls her gun, risking everything to get him back; the first Matrix is one scene after another of this, and indeed this specific moment recalls when Neo did the same thing for Morpheus; choosing, despite the danger, to rescue his mentor.

This is what I aspire to in my own dramatic storytelling. Genre writers often assume scale of action and elaborate interconnected systems of worldbuilding and story construction; the fourth and fifth seasons of LOST successfully pull off this kind of storytelling. But generally, the greater power comes from following your characters as they make decisions chasing what they want. One thing I want is every scene I write to have the unbalancing effect of this scene, which requires leaving the direction of a scene up to the character.