I liked the idea that the machine world was a swarm mind that could coalesce into a tron-like hive face, and spoke in basso profoundo---but seen through Neo's blind vision as pure light---the product of the DuraCell humans. Of course I would have skipped the long drawn out love-death scene for Trinity, getting that over in about a quarter of the time, and spent longer on the terrorizing details of the machine city. It was a nice touch to see little insect machines and vermin machines in the erector set debris of the machine city---the viewers gaze should be allowed to linger as it beholds its future.
Too bad they called it peace when it should have been called the stalemate of collaboration. Personally I would have preferred to watch the victory of the machines, followed by the empty realization that their entire telos was foreclosed in a fluttering quiver as the last human resistance was extinguished forever. They had won, but what?
I also liked the Smith matrix world (self-replicant security agent) where it rained on all of the buildings and all their windows were filled with Smiths, Smiths as far as the eye could see. I was even expecting it to rain little Smiths, filling puddles with tadpole Smiths, wriggling to create the illusion of watery ripples of Smiths, Smiths everywhere, an entire fractal universe of Smiths. John Ashcroft's dream.
``So, how do you like what I've done with the place?'' Agent Smith asks.
The Right joined to Capital is the swarm mind that coalesces into the seething hate-filled visage of George W. Bush Jr, mask of the machine Medusa, backed up in tier upon tier with fantastic towers of weapons of mass destruction clear to the horizon, while the grand overseer of a world of perpetual night and pure malevolence imagines itself the giver of light.
Meanwhile the aging Terminator, with hennaed hair drags his titanium hunches toward Sacramento to be re-tooled as a giant mining machine of the Right. After the Inaugural penetration, there will immediately follow an onslaught of the capitalist pig sentinels, swarm after swarm of machine locusts pouring into the last crumbling shelters of humanity, ravaging every scrap of life in a fantastic insect orgy of greed, avarice, and destruction. In this world as in the Matrix the only organized resistance is the stalemate of a collaborating Neo liberal legislature, while the DuraCell humans feeding the machines, sleep on in their cocoons dreaming they are some where else.
Chuck Grimes