Once Upon a Time in Mexico (2003)

Starring Antonio Banderas, Salma Hayek, Johnny Depp, Mickey Rourke, Eva Mendes, Danny Trejo, Enrique Iglesias, Marco Leonardi, Cheech Marin, Rubén Blades, Willem Dafoe.
Written and directed by Robert Rodriguez.
Produced by Elizabeth Avellan, Carlos Gallardo, and Robert Rodriguez.
Distributed by Columbia Pictures.
102 minutes.

LVJeff's Rating: 9/10

Rodriguez's Epic

Mexico looks dry, sun-drenched. Its inhabitants appear weary, yet accustomed to their environment. Though easy-going at first sight, many of them also seem restless and sad, a contrast to the somewhat fussy, visiting CIA agent who is running around town meeting with various individuals. His activities indicate something big is about to happen, something that involves several characters, one of whom happens to be an ex-mariachi with a troubled past. All the while, Spanish guitars play wistfully on the soundtrack; flashbacks reveal what may have been a livelier time; and the camera obsesses with stark angles, close-ups, and flourishes.

If Robert Rodriguez, the one-man movie-making machine (director, writer, cinematographer, composer, etc.), has mastered anything with Once Upon a Time in Mexico, it's atmosphere. It's a good thing, too -- controlling a tone hasn't been one of the his strong points, since more often than not his penchant for goofiness runs amok in his films. This has mostly been forgiveable -- said goofiness is evidence of Rodriguez's spirit of fun, and while that aspect is usually welcome, how it affects the overall feel of any given movie isn't necessarily a desirable side effect. And for Once Upon a Time in Mexico, an intended tribute to Sergio Leone's epic Westerns and a direct parallel to his loose "Man With No Name" trilogy, which began with two modest movies before ending on an ambitious third, being able to set an atmosphere worthy of an epic final chapter of a trilogy is, to say the least, key.

Thus, how this movie successfully strikes a balance between the moods of its predecessors, the tragic El Mariachi and the silly Desperado, is notable. Mexico is generally somber and reflective, with just the right amounts of loony audacity thrown in. The multitude of characters, ranging from humorous to pitiful to vile, help set the balance. Antonio Banderas plays El Mariachi, casting the shadow of a legendary folk hero, as a man jaded by the weight of his fate, but who can become a force of nature when stirred into action. His personality is set against that of Johnny Depp's Agent Sands, a meticulous, impatient, low-volume psychopath, whose callous utterances and actions create an aura of black comedy. Defeated ex-FBI agent Jorge (Rubén Blades), calculating drug lord Barillo (Willem Dafoe), disgruntled-but-still-smiling expatriate crook Billy (Mickey Rourke), and the idealistic Mexican Presidente (Pedro Armendariz) are among the large cast who enforce the sense of an underlying regret masked by gestures of gradiosity and the proposals of ambitious schemes. Each of them have a past they are trying to escape and a promising future to look forward to; what they don't know is that each of their plans conflicts with the others'. They carry amusing personalities but they all paint one big, sad picture.

Bravo to Rodriguez for giving his viewers something they can feel, if not necessarily think about. As is usually the case with a Rodriguez flick, his new movie is held together precariously by a few solid elements, and is messy around the edges. This time, the plot is the part that gets frayed (or, as it may be, lost in the fray) as multiple threads wind and weave to the point where no one can tell what's really going on in the end, and no one really cares. All we know is the characters' destinies all lead to one big gun battle at the presidential palace. The individual fights that make up the big battle all ooze style, but this time they're backed up more with anger instead of the usual playfulness. Therefore, the mood pervades and prevails, despite the plot's dislocation.

Rodriguez appears to be making a plea for the welfare of mother Mexico. His movie depicts the country as run mainly by outsiders with self-interests, from the drug lords manipulating the politics to the rogue CIA agent who stands to gain financially from a coup d'état. Mexico is trod upon by people who care enough for their country to battle unwelcome invaders, yet is controlled by heartless villains. Nevertheless, the pride of the land does assert itself -- it influences the plans of a hired assassin through the innate goodness of its president; it redeems a scoundrel by sending a villager boy to lead him in his moment of weakness. From such an angle, Once Upon a Time in Mexico can be viewed as a work of patriotism.

Rodriguez may have marked his evolutionary path to this movie within the movie itself. It begins with a flashback to an outrageous (and funny) fight scene in the mold of Desperado. Plenty of jokes come by way of Depp's crazy Agent Sands, followed by another flashback action sequence that ultimately reproduces an El Mariachi stunt. The further the movie goes, though, the more the regrets begin to surface and the wounds begin to open, and something bigger than the individual characters' fates starts to emerge. By the time the movie ends, solemnity is the more dominant tone over lightheartedness. At this point, Banderas's El Mariachi expresses a wish to be free -- something that seems easy enough to obtain, but, in reality, is not. He may as well have been talking about the wish of Mexico herself.

©Jeffrey Chen, Sep. 14, 2003

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