Sloppy Thirds. Review on Once Upon a Time in Mexico Movie

With only its wonderfully caricatural final act and denouement as its principle virtues, one wonders if Robert Rodriguez is channeling only Sergio Leone's weave of showdowns and battles from his finales--and if by channeling we mean rendering homage yet again (in this third of his lone musician-cum-distraught gunslinger trilogy (?), after the fantastic El Mariachi and somewhat decent Desperado)--or is more concerned with upholding myths of the Latin identity/Latin Lover and attempting to achieve innovative heights under low budgets. However, preceding its conclusive blood-letting are strands of meandering plotlines and conveniences, none of which seem that interesting, developed, explicated or even well-connected, not to mention contextually plausible. As if plausibility played a factor within the fragmented yarn there wouldn’t be so much a single unjustified shot heard not to mention a meager emotional display and faux-espionage gratuity. Curiously, Rodriguez seems gratified with the film’s stillbirth of an execution (and its dunderheaded contention that shooting in high-definition digital is equal to film) while exuberant for its emasculated foundation in kinetic violence and exploring the regurgitated annals of (the well-done, similarly-structured, oft-evoked-here miniseries) Kingpin’s pretty cadaver.

Alarmingly jejune when required not to be, and presenting the doldrums of familial loss when inappropriate, Once Upon a Time in Mexico reeks wretched and inert in both its weak exposition of the damned protagonist and its considerable lack of Salma Hayek. The Johnny Depp appeal is instead utilized, in part to convert the leftovers that still haven’t discovered him despite the admirations over Pirates of the Caribbean and to suggest a kind of atypical humor that feels as comfortable in the elements as Willem Dafoe’s Mexican. Inundated with cavalcades of tired mimetic scenes and disposable sentiment, Rodriguez presents a disheartening caveat to the conclusion of his idiosyncratic grasp of cinema and his métier’s once remarkable proficiency. This exercise only reiterates that Rodriguez has cinematic talents but can only appreciate them when forced with nearly no budget at all.

Marginalized to the point of almost a supporting character, El Mariachi (Antonio Banderas) returns from the grave (er, retirement) again to avenge yet another beloved’s untimely and unjust demise, after trying to settle down to a normal life with the toothsome Carolina (Salma Hayek). Their brief happiness is ravaged by the evil General Marquez (Gerardo Vigil) and the musical Bandito finds himself being recruited by a lubricious and magic corrupt CIA agent, Sands (Johnny Depp, proving his ability once again, but why here?), to assassinate the general before a sadistic drug-king, Barillo (Willem Dafoe), recruits the general to assassinate the President of Mexico, in order for Sands to obtain the large cash payoff from Barillo to the general in order to do something, then to do this and that but not before a whole multitude of peoples try to assassinate our man El. Enter into the predicament, a retired FBI agent (Ruben Blades) unwillingly bent on getting revenge for the murder of his partner, a grizzled and shamed criminal (Mickey Rourke, in yet his third flamboyantly ambiguous, toy dog-stroking role of late) working to get out of Barillo’s employment, and the only female cop (Eva Mendes) in Mexico who also happens to be corrupt (among other things) as well as in cahoots with Sands for some reason. Then the President’s crooked minion’s also there, wandering around and vomiting in alleyways. Why, we’re also not sure.

Concurrent to a flourish of simplistic imagery and sloppily edited flashbacks (despite the efficiency of editing with digital, and the timely extension of the picture’s delayed release date), Once Upon a Time in Mexico is at its most intriguing in representing a contradictory exercise of the mythological notion of Latin Casanovas and, by extension, presenting a lame retort against such stereotyping by implementing unpleasant sociopolitical overtones to support Mexican nationalism, all done within the last few frames. While there’s nothing exceptionally wrong with expressing ethnic pride, it’s a dicey thing to communicate through film, as it will most likely be (mis)construed as the often random pretentious propaganda/narcissism/ignorance that it can be, which Rodriguez unfortunately necessitates as a possibility with all its casual posturing of a Mexican flag bannered Banderas and some arbitrarily benevolent money-throwing president. And it rivals only Bruce Almighty with broad generalizing of Hispanics through mostly inexplicable circumstances and silly action conventions that kinda-sorta want to be taken seriously. Populated with scenes that further idolize the Mexican renegade yet done entirely without aplomb via the derisive Enrique Iglesias and other equally appalling chestnuts.

As expected, the behemoth is structured as something of the typified Western but much is abandoned when the premise is envisaged and prodded far longer than actually developing it. Rooting its pros and cons in a thicket of half-schlock/half-not, Once Upon a Time in Mexico finds a companion in Freddy vs. Jason, with their frustrating twin dichotomies undulating between the sordid pleasure of the boondoggle and movies of external causal responsibility, though arguably Freddy vs. Jason comes closer with its ascension of horror camp (and its brethren Cabin Fever ups it even further). This bullet-riddled soap opera offers the disposable flash bangs and wafer twists of clever whimsy with more non-committal hubris than Rodriguez seems willing to pronounce with the resonating blows that occasional mired Desperado’s derivative quirkiness. I don’t object to digital photography at all but when it’s so obviously trying to ape film and so obviously can’t (particularly in the context of a kinetic action film) the compositional visage will appear most dispiriting. Here, the murky digital looks weirdly furry and cheap when the cameras are mobile and depicting things mobile within the mise-en-scène, apparently (perhaps rooted in his daddy sentiment developed since the Spy Kids series) to further obscure any brutal violence that Rodriguez tries to summon, or used to.