What's astounding (bordering on miraculous, really) about 1999's The Matrix is that it's at once a distinct work of a singular genre talent and a sublimely structured action film that combines lightning-in-a-bottle synchronicity of craft, subject, and thematic resonance with trailblazing visuals and iconic. . . almost everything really.
What's admirable about the sequels is how they refuse to let such an impossibly large shadow loom over their philosophical interests, their metatextual examinations of systems of control and self actualization, or their huge beating hearts. And as someone who's gone on a bit of a journey with regards to my feelings on this series overall, this is something I was dearly hoping would stay intact for Lana Wachowski's return to the titular computer program with The Matrix Resurrections.
Fortunately, this four-quel is defiantly romantic hope-punk sci-fi adventure that's 100% My Shit.