Long flights will make you do weird things to stay sane. On the flight home from my honeymoon I decided to rewatch the entire Matrix trilogy, followed by the new one I’d sworn to avoid. What followed was cinematic whiplash: from the jaw-dropping brilliance of the original to the reboot so limp it made me long for Reloaded’s dialogue about water filtration systems and Revolutions’ sweaty mech suits. So I decided to do a retrospective on the entire trilogy: from the lobby scene to the sweaty cave rave, to the awkward coffee date that was most of The Matrix Resurrections.
This is part love letter, part eulogy, and part exorcism. Jump down the rabbit hole with me as I chart The Matrix saga’s rise and fall: why the original still shreds, why the sequels are messy but ambitious, and how Resurrections feels like the zombie of a franchise doing meta stand-up about its own demise.
It’s time to rewatch, reconsider and release some feelings—because if Resurrections taught me anything, it’s that even a franchise corpse deserves a proper burial… or at least a respectful roast.
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