This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
Lily M’s review published on Letterboxd:
This review may contain spoilers.
"There's a part of me that feels like I have been waiting my whole life for you. And that part is like, 'what the hell took you so long?'"
"I don't have an easy answer. Maybe I was afraid of this. Afraid of what might happen. Afraid of hurting the only person I ever loved."
There are like six things to be talking about with any given moment in this movie but for now I just have a lot of feelings about the way the last 45 minutes of this is almost certainly the most fully-realized t4t love story I've ever seen onscreen. To me, it's inarguably the best iteration of the long-running Wachowski thesis statement that all we have is each other. In a world designed to sand off our edges and control us by way of pathologization, technofascism, and downright brainwashing in the hopes that we'll end ourselves before the world has to bother doing so, there is so little to hold on to, so little to trust. When hope and despair reveal themselves, after all, to be converse manifestations of the same misguided impulse, what else is there to drive us? Not much beyond the yearning to be understood, seen, and held by our kin, that keeps us clawing at the borders of this tomb. The only thing we can ever really control is the how we carry our hearts, so at the end of it all, what else is left but to find a safe hand to hold as you both dream of flight? As long as you're together, hell's the safest place on earth for you to be.
I find it so striking that the central image of this film is a murmuration. The sight of thousands of insignificant, independent movements that, when combined, form something beautiful, boundless, complex, free. This, I think, is what the Wachowski ouvre has always been trying to tell us about ourselves. It has rarely, if ever, felt more impactful or fully earned than it does here. I keep welling up, just thinking about that final scene of flight and all the possibilities it signals for us, so long as we allow our hearts to take us there.
It's a rote point but I do just feel compelled to reiterate how fucking special it feels to have a movie of this scale that is, at its core, solely interested in the experiences of people like the person who made it. People like me. We just never ever get things like this, and to have it here and now means so much. For it to come at a month where late-capitalist franchise cynicism has hit an all-time high, and to set that aside in favor of the earnest desire to choose love, makes it feel all the more remarkable. This movie shouldn't exist, and this version of this movie shouldn't exist, and I feel so lucky that it does. What a gift. What light to come, for as long as we believe in the possibility of it.
"We can't go back."