That battle, which takes place in the last half-hour of the Wachowski Brothers’ (Bound) sci-fi marriage of Lewis Carroll and Philip K Dick, is a richly imagined and thrillingly executed triumph of adventure filmmaking.

Hang on though, because before Kenau delivers us to those 30 minutes of unbelieveably cool slow-motion bullets and freaky, digitally-animated kung fu fighting, he must battle his perception of reality itself. And that contestis an hour-long slog through a thick porridge of ponderous sci-fi homilies.

The trouble begins when computer hacker Neo follows a white rabbit (on a woman’s naked shoulder) down a gap in time where he encouters Morpheus, a pill-bearing Luddite who petitions Neo to help him battle the unseen technological forces that have taken over our lives. How did you do that, the messiah asks, stupefied. “It is not the spoon, it is only yourself that bends,” the tyke announces, emerging from a trance.

What’s so maddening about the hour-long exposition on the film’s theme is that it would seem to miss the whole point of movies. We’ve bought into the idea of a parallel universe the minute we plop in front of the silver screen. Only a churl would ask why Martin Sheen and company took a boat instead of a helicopter up river to look for Kurtz in Apocalypse Now. Or why victims don’t turn on the lights in houses in horror movies.

We accept The Matrix’s premise from word one, then have to wait, arms folded, for what seems like an eternity for Reeves to catch up. The Wachowski brothers actually make a joke about this near the end when they have a soothsayer remark that Neo is cute, but a little slow. It’s a good gag, but does little to soothe our fraying patience with the film’s torpid pacing.

Morpheus’ and Neo’s windy Socratic discouse also robs the film of screen time that would have been better spent heating up the slow-simmering romance between Reeves and fellow revolutionary, Trinity (Vancouver actress Carrie-Anne Moss); especially when that relationship turns out to be crucial to the film’s hellzapoppin’ conclusion. That ending, which is evry bit equal to The Wachowski Brothers’ debut film, the taut, racing thriller, Bound, is as perplexing as it is satisfying. For how could filmmakers who are so skilled and imaginative lose themselves (and us) in what feels like a college stab at Aldous Huxley metaphysics?

Perhaps because that’s exactly what the script is. Apparently, the brothers wrote The Matrix before Bound began shooting in 1995. They should’ve obeyed short story master Saul Bellow, who once said “stories are like flapjacks, and you should always throw the first one out.”

Retyped by Heather on April 27th, 1999. Printed exactly as previously printed by the National Post.