The Matrix (1999)
Directed by The Wachowskis 

I got my first desktop computer when I was in high school. Thinking about it now, it’s astonishing that I went thirteen years of my life without immediate access to the Internet. It was a used Acer computer with a large black monitor. A loud swoosh would occur every time I pressed the Power button as the comp eked its way into sentience. We couldn’t afford DSL so instead we used a monthly NetZero service that permitted free, dial-up Internet use for 10 hours a month. Ten hours to update your Xanga, decide between “The District Sleeps Alone Tonight” or “Existentialism on Prom Night” as your MySpace song, lose a game of StarCraft on Battle.net, etc. As the computer aged, so did its capacity to do even the most basic functions. Downloading an image of pornography would take several minutes, the image revealing itself line by line in approximately 30 second increments. I went by awesome_possum on AIM and thought that was a mark of originality. Seemed that way when you’re thirteen. 

What can be said of The Matrix? It’s one of the biggest, most discussed, most successful, most most films of my lifetime. What it means to you is a totally different beast. Maybe it’s a trans allegory. Maybe it pulled the wool over your eyes and got you thinking about simulation theory. Maybe it conjures images of Columbine and about someone you senselessly lost. So few pieces of art have the loaded cache that The Matrix does and ultimately, this film about a kind of future speaks more to our collective pasts than any other film of the past 30 years. To me? It’s all those things and more. But when it comes to formative memories, it’s the poster that served as my Acer’s wallpaper for years, the image stretched out to cover the whole screen. A low-res, distorted image of Keanu Reeves, Carrie-Anne Moss, Laurence Fishburne , and Joe Pantoliano holds a permanent residence within the entorhinal cortex and will survive there til the simulation ends.