yeah, this is the third day-and in Berlin for six months before that, filming nights and sleeping until midafternoon (he calls them vampire hours), and he’s just packed and unpacked without a stop at home, and, well, you sometimes lose track. No, it takes Keanu a second because he’s been in Paris for two days-no, wait it’s. Not because of the pandemic blur, where time and place bend and fold over each other so that daily life has sometimes seemed distorted to the point of being unrecognizable. “Anything else you’d like to talk about while I’m scrolling?” “It’s here somewhere,” Keanu says at the restaurant. Like when I asked him for those movies, it seems like a little thing, but he’s so busy, he’s exhausted, and took the time to write this very, very thoughtful list.” And while he was doing all of that for himself, he always had an eye out for me. His work ethic is unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and I’ve seen it up close: He trains harder, works harder, cares more, always asks more and more questions to understand the depth of what we’re doing.
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“It was never the feeling of, Oh, he’s the movie star. “In the Matrix movies, I’ve always felt like I was his partner, and he was my partner, in the execution of these characters,” Moss told me. Toward the end of filming Resurrections, Moss had asked him to recommend a few good movies she could watch with her teenage kids. Realizing that there will be a long dead space on my tape recorder, he leans down and says into it loudly, “I’m still looking up the list.” “This is very on-point for Resurrections.” “It’s weird going back through these,” he says, lost in the text messages the way you get when you scroll back in time. An apology, which is surprising because he is doing a favor, searching for a text message I’ve asked him to find-a message that contains evidence of him doing a favor for someone else, in this case Moss. “Sorry this is taking so long,” Keanu says. He scrolls through dozens of messages, a blur of alternating blue and gray text bubbles, the gray ones-the other person’s-punctuated sometimes with emojis and hearts. “It doesn’t all come off in the first wash.” “Oh, no, this is all movie blood,” he says, amused. He looks at me, momentarily confused, then realizes I’m the one who’s confused. This article appeared in the Winter 2021 issue of Esquire “I just woke up.” It’s 1:15 in the afternoon. “We’re filming nights now, and I finished at seven o’clock this morning,” he says, pulling back his hair, still damp from a shower. But the reason he’s in Paris is to film John Wick: Chapter 4, the fourth installment in his other gazillion-dollar movie franchise. Keanu is here talking with me to promote The Matrix Resurrections, the fourth installment in one of his gazillion-dollar movie franchises. “Oh, yeah,” he says, then gives a quick tilt of his head and smiles. He twists his hand around and looks down at it, showing a gash that extends from his pinkie clear down the side of his palm, all the way to the wrist bone. “That looks like it hurt,” I say after a minute. He’s still scrolling, searching for the thing. Today the woman sitting where Keanu Reeves sat in the movie she loves looked up and saw Keanu Reeves walk right past the booth where Keanu Reeves sat, and damn near choked on her escargot.
People always request that booth, so it’s always occupied. He passed the booth where the famous scene was filmed. He stopped to chat at a table where someone happened to have worked with his girlfriend, the artist Alexandra Grant. He was Meg Ryan stopping into Katz’s Deli for a pastrami sandwich. And he walked into the bright salon of a place, thirty-foot ceilings and big round bistro lights and brass railings and clinking glasses and waitstaff in clean white shirts and dark aprons.Īs he removed his mask and walked down the center of the restaurant, diners (a good percentage of whom are tourists and are here because of the movie), waiters, and bartenders watched him, a surreal, time-warp moment. He showed his proof of vaccination to the maître d’. He was wearing a surgical mask, a black knit cap over his long black straw hair, a black motorcycle jacket, and jeans. It’s called Le Grand Colbert, and he was last here for one very long night with Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton, filming the end of the 2003 movie Something’s Gotta Give. Keanu Reeves had appeared in the doorway of this restaurant exactly on time, on about five hours’ sleep, just a few minutes ago. He’s searching for a text message he sent to Carrie-Anne Moss, his costar in the Matrix movie franchise, almost two years ago.
“Let’s see, where is it,” he says, scrolling.
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He sits in the black leather booth of a Paris brasserie, a porcelain cup half full of cappuccino by his elbow, thumbing the screen of his phone with his left hand, which is caked with slashes of dried blood. NATHANIEL GOLDBERG PARIS, the Day Before Halloween
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