In more ways than one, The Matrix: Reloaded is hung all wrong. It tends to blow its wad too early, and yet it drags out the act far too long—and left me no firm resolution.

The two real pleasures in the film are the horde of supplicants and the Keymaker (and of course, the Oracle). This is where the Wachowski brothers show their gentle gift for character, casting, design, costume, location, and even film stock (or whatever knob it is they turn to get those colors). The rest of the film consists of endless, repetitive fighting, which devolves into the Keystone Kops, sans slapstick. Pity the brothers haven't the sense of humor to fill in such moments as the private one wherein Neo mumbles, "Trinity. [pause] There's something I need from you. And I don't know how to ask it." The obvious bawdy comeback would be a consolation for the lack of any romantic or even erotic connection between the too.

Dispensing with the old-fashioned nicety of setup and surprise, the film cuts right into an action without offering us the pleasure of a thing unfolding. When Morpheus reaches for his sword (machete?) in the middle of a fight, I got teared-eyed for the high drama of moments like those in Return of the Jedi where Luke pines for his lightsaber, and you actually wonder whether he'll get it. The Wachowskis should take a tip from Lucas, and for that matter, from Hergé, who may have known more about adventure than any of them.