Sometimes it seems that I carry within me a near bottomless appreciation for a few certain things. Things like camp, for example, or cheese, in both the comic and the dairy sense of the word. I also carry within me a near bottomless revulsion for things like philosophy and shrimp, although that last one refers solely to the crustacean, a.k.a. the earthworm of the sea.
I think this is why I was able to fall so completely in love with the most recent installment of The Matrix. I honestly think that this movie was tailor-made expressly for my brain. Its every nuance, heavy-handed nuances though they may have been, was form-fitted to wrap snugly around each and every satisfaction center in my cerebral cortex. I knew what was coming, I directed the action in my head before it ever appeared on screen, and when the movie echoed the scene inside my skull, I grinned like a madman and actually pumped my fist in the air. It had, if I may be so bold, everything.
A Quick List Of What This Movie Had, Without Revealing Too Many Details:
--a crusty general
--an adorable little girl
--Starship Troopers
--an inspiring, rousing battle-speech
--a quest
--screaming
--Star Wars
--miracles
--mechanized battlesuits fighting with swarming robotic killers
--beefy muscle-boys in latex making out with each other
--Dark City
--high-speed chases
--insurmountable odds
--Starship Troopers
--a grimy lesbian with a rocket launcher
--grimacing
--superheroes
--a plucky kid who believes
--Starship Troopers
--a haute couture rave
--love
--sacrifice
--revenge
--cookies
--fourteen and a half fuckloads of bullets
As soon as the movie was done, the people around me started talking about the imagery and the philosophy and the gnosticism and the yin-yang-nature-of-the-universe, and all I really wanted to do was lie back in my seat, spent, reflecting happily on the memory of the way his coat twirled, and just how big all of those fucking EXPLOSIONS were.