The Matrix is everywhere, it’s all around us, here even in this room. You can see it out your window, or on your television. You feel it when you go to work, or go to church or pay your taxes. It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth.
In 1997, Van Sant was doing a reading at a bookstore from his novel Pink. (Dedicated to River, the book starred a thinly disguised version of him.) An audience member asked him who had hoisted River Phoenix’s body into the car.
“I was hoping that viewers would project themselves into the film and decide for themselves who it was,” he told her.
“Okay, then,” she replied. “Who picked him up in your version?”
Van Sant paused. “In my version … in my version, I pick him up.” (x)