Everything was spectacle, dressed now in an entirely black suit, hand in hand with Carrie-Anne Moss. The worldwide premiere season shone brightly. The black screen and the binary code through which society functioned; Billy's image, stark white, sweat streaming down his face. He had been completely unwell at the time due to the relentless Australian summer heat. He remembered waking up drenched in sweat whenever he rested on the leather couch. Neo, his character, looked utterly exhausted, and he was surprised to see himself on screen so different from how he would appear in his other films.
-—At least my acting range went up a bit.— he whispered, trying not to take it too personally.
The first scenes were his: delivering packages, watching the news, the name Morpheus appearing, followed by different words that made everything feel as though it was moving toward a revelation. Very unlike his other works. The force with which he entered those roles, and why it felt perfect to see himself in a different kind of film—even if it was fantastical. Neo's muteness, the long silences he copied and adapted, later refining them into his own personality, while never ceasing to look like a man plagued by existential doubt.
Suddenly, an agent in a suit appears, seemingly an ordinary man. Well-groomed, arrogant, filled with malice. Carrie-Anne Moss appears as a femme fatale: her leather suit, her pearly, angelic face making her look even more beautiful than she already is, dark glasses on, moving from side to side through countless action scenes.
The epic entrance of Morpheus, the question of what the Matrix is, and the pills draw everyone toward a different way of understanding the film. Everything they had seen was not real, and the dramatic twist is captivating. It makes everything else—even the smallest movement of the first forty-five minutes—gain a new retrospective meaning. The magic of watching something three or four times, and now even thinking there might be a third layer. The plot falls silent, filled instead with pure brilliance, as we see how and why they live, after the philosophical journey that gives it life. A devastated world of cold machinery, humanity enslaved, machines ruling everything, an era in which the real world is a simulation, and everyone is harvested, asleep within their small, empty ideas, unaware of it all.
His muscles are completely knotted from how much he practiced the scenes. Sometimes he practices them again, sometimes he simply recreates movements that took a full week of repetition, burned into his mind. Both bodies move quickly, and then—
The fight. Neo's journey to becoming what people call the Chosen One. The way everyone seems to know the destiny laid before him. And that destiny is what he fears. It leads to betrayal, to seeing characters die, to seeing Neo die and revive. Then he rises. He becomes what he was not, what he seemed destined to be: a mind that transcends the human plane.
Billy watches the applause that follows the ending, the curtain, the promise of Matrix Revolutions. The green code, the pounding music, and then the image of Neo—a brief image—stopping bullets with his hands, fighting a group of gangsters.
-—Oh damn.—Somee whisper as they watch. Pens begin to scribble. Everyone is perplexed by the idea of yet another Lux Animation success. It seems the luck never runs out. They see a complex script, a rejected script turned into a masterpiece. The limits of creativity, because cinema—the so-called seventh art—brings together everything that can be seen and loved in the world. The idea of seeing people fully willing to fight with force against productions, mega-productions.
Cinema becomes an uproar. All screens are guided by a single person, and that person is Billy, who simultaneously opens a theater, thousands of events, all showing one film in a single afternoon. It becomes a kind of bazaar, then opens itself so everyone can visit and live within it.
-—Welcome to the world of the Matrix.— Anne commented, happy, her dimples betraying how much she enjoyed her role.
-—Now I'll be more famous, and you'll be more famous too. Everyone will have their outfit ready for next Halloween.— Billy added.
-—I like to think that when you make the animated Matrix series, it'll be a total success.— Anne replied, still amazed. She seemed eager to see everything the trilogy would set in motion, and now that Billy was building something even bigger, filling spaces and giving people plenty to talk about, about those living series.
-—Do you want to be part of it? I'll narrate the first human to master the Matrix and why everything was created, in fifteen episodes.— Billy said.
-—I want to be part of it.— Anne whispered.
-—Fifty thousand per episode, and of course, the support of the Lux Films machinery, if you want to land new roles.— Billy replied, extending his hand, almost as if to say everything is settled, you're part of the group. Anne considered animation, but being part of that world would bring money, lighter schedules, and a lasting face in cinema—being part of a series that would become famous. Her visibility would grow with it, and so would her opportunities.
-—That sounds perfect.— the woman replied.
…
-—Holy shit, this is insane. This is exactly what I always wanted to see. I think I recently wrote something about a guy who lived in a dream, woke up, and realized everything was a lie. Now I can say—— Michel breathed in— —that this film is a true work of art.—
-—Billy Carson.— another whispered from a few meters away. It was Cameron, a Star Wars addict. Farther back was Kathy, a hopeless romantic who loved her book and her role in Titanic. Now all were silent, watching what might be the greatestsuperstarr of all time.
-—I mean, I like Tom Cruise, but not even close—he hasn't had as many roles in the last decade as Billy has.— Thomas said.
-—Shut up, he's had good movies.— Cameron replied, still unsure what to say about Billy, since he hadn't seen Billy's latest film yet.
-—Yeah, but not that many.— Thomas answered. —I think he's the biggest superstar now.
-—I really like that he can always be loving. His eyes are made to express love.— Michel joked, interrupting Kathy, who had wanted to say those exact words. The boy's teasing made it worse.
-—Hey.— Kathy hit him lightly.
-—The English Patient, Fight Club, and Titanic. Three works of art made in two years. Anyone who says otherwise is completely insane.— Kathy said.
-—I think we're leaving Will Smith, Sylvester Stallone, Mel Gibson, Denzel Washington, and Arnold behind. They're all great, but they're a step above now. It's small, but Billy just got lucky with three films.— Cameron commented.
-—Shut up. I can accept you saying Sylvester, Mel Gibson, Arnold, and Denzel, because they're the new guard that's grown up. But the rest aren't where Billy is. And he doesn't have many awards—just two BAFTAs and a Golden Globe. I still think he's a good actor, but Jim Carrey and Bruce Willis are above him in everything.— Michel said.
Even though he loved Matrix, he knew there was still a long way to go.
-—Totally agree. The old ones are and always will be legends. Billy is the handsome idol who makes great movies to watch on a Saturday night with your partner.— Cameron replied.
-—What an idol.— Kathy said flatly. —I'd watch Matrix a thousand times just to look into his eyes for one second.—
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