The Unbearable Disappointment of Sequels
It’s a near-universal phenomenon: the sequel. In theory, it should be a joyous reunion, a chance to rediscover characters and worlds we love. But for me, the word “sequel” sends a chill of dread straight down my spine. I have no shortage of examples to support this stance, from cinematic classics like Terminator to the revered literary sagas like Dune and Hyperion. Even in those rare cases where the follow-up is deemed “superior,” I find myself stubbornly—some might say irrationally—preferring the original. Why? Let me tell you a long and somewhat tragic story about childhood betrayal, a traumatic sequel, and the eternal inability to love that followed.
Every time I confess that I hate sequels, I brace for the inevitable counterargument that surely I can’t despise all of them. People invariably trot out what I’ve come to call the Holy Trinity of allegedly superior follow-ups: Terminator 2, The Dark Knight, and The Empire Strikes Back. Each of these is revered as a masterpiece, a sequel that easily surpasses its original. But I’m here to say: Even these can’t win me over. My cynicism runs deeper than you might imagine—and its roots trace back to a traumatic fiasco called The Matrix Reloaded, where my childhood dreams went to die1.
The Matrix Reloaded: The Origin of My Sequel Trauma
Let’s start with that cataclysmic event that set me on the anti-sequel path. I was a hopeful (some might say naively optimistic) kid when The Matrix came out. I’d never seen anything so mind-bendingly cool: the bullet-time dodges, the philosophical “red pill” question, the heavy electronic soundtrack that vibrated the walls of my bedroom. It was cinematic electricity, and I loved it wholeheartedly.
Then came the hype for The Matrix Reloaded. I was so ready to be thrilled—to have my mind further blown, to revisit that glitchy techno world. Yet the moment I left the theater on opening night, I felt as though a cosmic betrayal had occurred. The sequel was a bloated mess of tedious exposition, interminable fight scenes, and an “Architect” who made me question my grasp of the English language2. The heartbreak cut so deep, I decided: All sequels are suspect. From that day forward, a dark cynicism started pulsing in my chest whenever I saw “Part 2” in a movie title.
The Holy Trinity: Why Even the “Better” Ones Fail Me
Despite my jaded viewpoint, film buffs and devout fans persist in pointing to a trio of untouchable sequels as “exhibit A” in the case for second installments. Let’s examine them, shall we?
Terminator 2: The Arnie Dilemma
Conventional Wisdom
T2 is bigger, louder, has groundbreaking CGI, and transforms Arnold Schwarzenegger from villain to lovable father-figure cyborg. It’s the sequel that allegedly outdoes the original in every possible way—more emotional depth, more epic scale, more box office clout.
My Take
Terminator 1 is a raw, borderline horror film3 where Arnie’s menace is bone-chilling. That relentless, lo-fi dread resonates with me far more than the polished CGI shapeshifting of the T-1000. I like Arnie best when he’s the unstoppable mechanical bogeyman, not your friendly unstoppable mechanical bodyguard. T2 is slick, sure—but I mourn the savage simplicity of the original.
The Dark Knight: The “He’s Batman” Revelation
Conventional Wisdom
Heath Ledger’s Joker, the moral complexities, the question of how far one can go to fight evil—this is cinematic gold. Many say it’s not just a great sequel, it’s the pinnacle of the superhero genre. The “dark,” “gritty,” and “realistic” approach is praised ad infinitum.
My Take
I prefer the sense of discovery that any original Batman film offers—like 1989’s Batman, with its gothic stylings and that wonderful “I’m Batman” moment that’s more comedic than hyperreal. Or even Batman Begins, where we watch Bruce Wayne become Batman. The Dark Knight might be an objectively brilliant film, but for me, it lacks that first flush of revelation: “Wait, so the creepy guy in a bat suit is the hero?” Sometimes, the best plot twist is simply the unveiling that the hero is the hero, no frills attached4.
The Empire Strikes Back: Is the Darker Tone Really Better?
Conventional Wisdom
Everyone—everyone—cites The Empire Strikes Back as the finest Star Wars movie. It’s darker, the heroes lose, and it reveals the infamous paternal twist. All the stuff that supposedly gives it a richer emotional core.
My Take
I’ll take the wide-eyed wonder of A New Hope every time. That moment when Luke stares at the twin suns, dreaming of adventure, hits me right in the soul. Yes, Empire is grand, but the original gave us the scrappy farm boy, the roguish pilot, and the wise wizard in a battered galaxy. Once the sequel tries to go deeper, it inevitably loses the magic that comes from discovering an entirely new universe for the first time. The emotional heft of Empire can’t replicate that spark of initial enchantment.
The Roots of My Dislike: Novelty, Discovery, and the Burn of Disappointment
So, does my prejudice against sequels stem purely from The Matrix Reloaded fiasco? Partly, yes. But there’s also a conceptual component:
- Discovery is thrilling. The original of any film offers a gateway to a brand-new world, new characters, and (if we’re lucky) an entirely new aesthetic.
- Sequels often trade that wonder for “bigger budgets” and “expanded lore.” That can be cool5, but it rarely matches the emotional high of the first experience.
- Overexplanation can kill mystery. Sequels tend to explain everything. That’s not always a good thing if the original was compelling partly because of unanswered questions.
- Personal Emotional Baggage. Once you’ve been badly burned, you tend to approach all follow-ups with a scowl, arms crossed. It’s not exactly fair to the sequel, but that’s how heartbreak works.
“What About the Good Sequels?” You Ask
Some might say, “But come on, Aliens is better than Alien!” or “What about Godfather Part II? That’s basically film school royalty.” Sure, they’re great. But guess what? I remain that stubborn curmudgeon who generally prefers Ridley Scott’s claustrophobic horror in the Nostromo halls6 or Brando’s original gangster mystique7. It’s not that I can’t see the brilliance of these follow-ups. I acknowledge it rationally. But my enjoyment is hampered by the lack of pure discovery.
Plus, rational analysis lost the day the credits rolled on The Matrix Reloaded. From that moment forward, a part of my cinematic soul decided: “We can’t open ourselves like that again.” Which means every subsequent second installment is swimming upstream against the deep psychological current of my sequel betrayal.
Conclusion: Let Me Live in My Precious Original Worlds
So yes, you can hail Terminator 2 and The Dark Knight and Empire all you want. They stand as the crown jewels of sequel-kind, guardians of the argument that “Sometimes, the second time around is better!” And yet, for me, they don’t surpass the originals. I still prefer the raw, unstoppable T-800 as a villain, the naive unveiling that he’s Batman, and the scrappy innocence of Luke discovering the Force for the first time.
Is my stance somewhat irrational? Sure. Is it unshakably tethered to my scarring experience with The Matrix Reloaded? Absolutely. But that’s how heartbreak works. It rewires your capacity for trust. So I’ll keep cherishing Terminator 1, Batman Begins (or even 1989’s Batman), and A New Hope, ignoring the claims that the sequel is oh-so-better. Because in my mind, no sequel can replicate that first brush with magic, and none can ever heal the scar left by a long-anticipated follow-up that failed me so bitterly.
1 I’m capitalizing it for dramatic emphasis. When something wrecks your innocence so thoroughly, it deserves capital letters.
2 “Ergo, vis-à-vis, concordantly…” If you know, you know—and if you don’t, you’re probably better off.
3 It’s downright nightmarish if you re-watch it, especially the tech-noir nightclub scenes and the relentless “Can’t be stopped, can’t be reasoned with” vibe.
4 I know it sounds silly, but the pure satisfaction of “Oh, the hero is literally the hero” does wonders for me.
5 Explaining lore never makes things better. Lore belongs in the background, keeping your new world ticking neatly over, I don't need a 25 minute recap of how the magic of this universe works explicitly. It's all made up anyway.
6 The set design alone in Alien has me enthralled, not to mention the unknown terror. By Aliens, I’m more than aware of xenomorphs and by the end of the movie I'm not even afraid of them.
7 I didn't enjoy the Godfather to begin with.
© Alexander Cannon – All disclaimers disclaimable, especially if a they decide to make my proposed sequel to speed 2, set on a lawnmower.
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