the ramble dump

[This is part of a convoluted series looking at the Matrix trilogy of films from the perspective of immersive storytelling--where they worked, where they didn't, and how this might have affected their success as films. Fair warning: I am making it my mission to be mind-numbingly specific. This is a complete rewrite of an older, now obliterated Part 2. Part 1 can be found here.]

The Matrix in fact consists of two 'rabbit holes', in the sense of worlds operating by a certain set of rules; one, the Matrix, that exists inside the other, the real world. It is the existence of this 'real world' that allows the Matrix to function in the way it does, namely as a virtual world created in, and accessible from, an actual physical space. The big premise that serves as the reasoning for all the weird and novel stuff we see in the Matrix is precisely this virtuality--the fact that it's not real; but this platform for spectacle would have no justification, no grounding, were this virtuality to be everything that there is, because it would lead to a potential breakdown of everything up to and including the characters themselves and the fact that there is a world presented by the Matrix films at all.

The whole twin-rabbit-hole set-up, however, allows for a lot. To begin with, the virtual realm means that there are no necessary limitations in how different the laws of physics can be, though the Wachowskis choose to have the Matrix such that fairly normal physical rules have been put in place and a certain mentality is required to overcome them. Basically, though, anything that is supposedly defined by the Matrix itself is free to be different.

By this token, it follows that the Matrix and the real world can be very different stylistically, as there's no reason why they have to be the same in this respect either, beyond perhaps requiring things like continuity in the personality of characters that exist in both worlds, so that a wildly disparate style of dialogue, say, would make no sense. In another context, such a difference between the style of two spaces in the same fictional universe might have the result of literalising stylistic aspects, or making them seem like nonsensical changes in the behaviour of that universe, because they would no longer serve as part of its stylistic texture (the interrelation of things that make up precise way that we get a feeling for a world on a stylistic level, and an interrelation that can't function effectively if these things don't remain constant). But the nature of virtuality is that to a great extent it allows for a whole different texture of reality in the Matrix, for as long as this change is applied only to things specific to that virtual world.

Nevertheless, a lot of problems arise in that various stylistic conventions falter for trying to function across the three films in what is arguably a shifting aesthetic context within each of these worlds, a shift that does interfere with stylistic elements.

The Matrix films in general are highly stylised films, and something so stylised is naturally going to bring more attention to itself, above all when it goes wrong. Scenes that take place in the actual Matrix potentially face more difficulties than others by virtue of the fact that, as a stylistic decision in itself, the Matrix world is simply more sharply stylised than the naturalistically presented real world, though both have their problems. The very specific neo-noir approach to the Matrix of the first film has already been mentioned: we are shown what is a very limited range of gritty, urban locales, specifically degenerate areas and bleak corporate spaces, with the ever-present sickly green filter enhancing this feeling of decay very effectively.

But though this is repeated to a large extent in the sequels, it does not carry over completely. Perhaps in part because of the expanded scale of the sequels, though also simply due to the decisions made to use particular locations, we are taken out of this very specific aesthetic and given something that is, in Reloaded especially, somehow cleaner and shinier and comes in flavours more pronounced in their distinction: the modern-industrial look of the freeway and the nuclear power plant, the gothic dungeons, sewers and jarringly grand chateau, the teahouse, the hallway of backdoors, and so on. Some of these locations have their own problems and I'll talk about these later, but the main thing is that, whatever the reasons might be for why such places were used, it creates what can at least be perceived as something of an aesthetic incongruity between the films.

However, something like this expansion of location types is logically surmountable, and something we can get used to, though it may feel very different and to a certain extent replace an experience to which we had become attached, when we realise that we were only ever shown a very small part of a whole world in the first film. Unfortunately, it's not always the case that we can just teach our brains to accept that what we are shown in the first film simply isn't everything, as there are some stylistic factors that prevent this from quite working out because they would appear to contradict the stylistic rules already put in place.

* * *

The first of these entails one of the more predominant stylistic decisions in the films, the use of colour biases: the blue, slightly more natural bias of the real world and the sickly green of the Matrix that has already been mentioned. These colour biases serve as the primary visual way of defining these worlds as different from each other, marking their separation by contributing to the distinctive style and texture of each. These aren't the only two colour biases employed in the first film: we are also shown a number of non-Matrix constructs that are either stark white (the loading program) or yellow-biased (the dojo), but they serve the same purpose of signifying that these are different 'worlds'.

In the sequels, however, the use of such colour gets a little more ambitious and complex, such that the dividing line between these different worlds, created by the distinctive styles of each, is no longer so clear. In fact, it chops things up in a way that prevents such an interpretation of an ontological shift (that is, the interpretation that each 'style' represents a different space of reality) from being possible. Stark white places like Zion Control, Mobil Ave, the Architect's room or the hallway of backdoors are all acceptable for being virtual realms operating outside of the Matrix and therefore free of that decaying environment, and at a push the same reasoning could be given for the yellow-biased chateau or teahouse, both of which might be said to exist as manipulations of the Merovingian and Seraph respectively and as constructs not wholly integrated into the Matrix proper. But the yellow colour is apparently still too busy fulfilling other literal functions to make this work; namely in code-vision, in which Seraph, for example, appears gold, as do Smith-in-Bane and everything else in the real world after Neo goes blind.

Whatever the reasoning behind this is, it is no longer the case that such colour contributes so effectively to the stylistic texture of a specific 'world' because this function is interfered with by its role as something primarily symbolic.

In the first film it could be said that the Matrix was green-biased because it was a decaying place; the real world was more natural because it was real; the loading constructs were white because they were empty (given some continuity with the Matrix through the use of wintery skies); the dojo was golden-yellow because it was just that kind of environment, and constructs that simulated the Matrix were also green-tinted for that reason. There is, obviously, stylistic exaggeration here--we don't have to think that the Matrix is really that green for the characters, and as something stylistic it does not ask us to--but there is nevertheless a natural logic to this exaggeration. Certain aspects of the Matrix environment which are already there are brought out by the use of the colour on a purely visual level, such that the green makes it seem even more decrepit. It also hints at its status as a computer simulation, but, importantly, without this additional meaning overriding its other effects.

In the sequels, however, the decision to use specific colours for certain things is done less sensically when we try to view it in terms of this logic of natural enhancement, and this seems to be because, as mentioned, a primarily symbolic logic is being used instead.

This symbolism mostly takes place within the code-vision, in which different colours appear to represent different kinds of virtual presences inside the Matrix. In the context of code-vision alone, this might be considered perfectly natural. But even if we try to separate the significance of colour bias and colour in code-vision to make sense of what all these different colours mean (which we would seemingly have to do anyway, as they are not entirely consistent; for example, the teahouse appears in green code and non-code Seraph does not remain yellow-biased when he ventures outside of it), there are still times when colour is used blatantly in non-code vision such that it seems clear that some kind of symbolism is intended, overriding the function of stylistic texture. The yellow bias of the Zion rave and sex scenes certainly seem very deliberate in this way, if not inconceivable non-symbolically, and places like the hallway of backdoors and the chateau feature noticeable chunks of green to deliberately remind us that we're still sort of in the Matrix. (The green overlay in the freeway scene also brings attention to itself at times by not fulfilling its intended effect of stylistic exaggeration, but only because they obviously tried to do it over a very blue summer sky, resulting in a not-so-subtle turquoise.)

It also can't be ignored that these biases, being so particular, feel like they're supposed to correlate with the same colours we are shown in code-vision.

The result is a kind of cluttered, confused visual onslaught where, in shifted purpose, such use of colour bias is not the same effective stylistic aid it had been previously. Instead of contributing to the distinctive 'texture' of a world, such use of colour bias as demonstrated in the sequels does precisely the opposite by breaking up and interfering with this distinction. Even if the Wachowskis had meant this process to be deliberate for whatever reason, it does the rabbit holes no good when overly abstract symbolism or literalisation comes to intrude upon something that had had an immersive function.

[to be continued...]

Labels: cyberpunk, i am the ramblemaster, rabbit-hole theory, the matrix

# posted by Chris @ 11:29 PM 0 comments