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In Once Upon a Time in Mexico, El Mariachi (Antonio
Banderas), the protagonist, jumps from a moving motorcycle into a pink convertible and
races away. A lesser film would be destroyed by such hokey acts of action absurdity, but
this is the world according to Robert Rodriguez. Rodriguez, renegade writer, maverick
director, and self-proclaimed "rebel without a crew," makes such ridiculously implausible
scenarios appear cooler than cool.
The film is a
hyper-accelerated-ultra-violent-western-folktale that acts as a kind of
eye-candy-laden-live-action-cartoon, as vivid and colorful as the culture that serves as
its context. The plot centers on the continuing adventures of El Mariachi, the "Legendary
Guitar Gunslinger" from Desperado, a
vengeance-seeking-poetically-brooding-bad-ass-archetypal-cowboy cross between Pancho
Villa and Mad Max,
armed with an arsenal of fully automatic guitars. Here, El is hired by Sands (Johnny
Depp), a quirky, psychopathic, caricature of a CIA agent who represents U.S. influence
over the country. His job is to take down a corrupt general who, in turn, is in bed with
Barillo (William Dafoe), a ruthless drug dealer, who happens to be engaged in a coup to
overthrow the presidency (and the green grass grows all around, all
around).
This cartoon quality builds as a Day of the Dead parade sets the
stage for the coup -- igniting a confrontation between the corrupt soldiers and a
resistance of militant Bobbles with oversized papier-mâché heads. Meanwhile, main players
rush around tying up all the story's loose ends. In these elaborately choreographed
shoot-outs, guns defy the laws of physics; most victims are catapulted through the air,
rendering gravity irrelevant, while main characters are struck with gravity-enhancing
bullets that drag them to the ground in melodramatic stop motion displays. Regardless,
the result is a cross-genre storytelling masterpiece.
The evolution of the
"El" mythos is also the evolution of the filmmaker. El Mariachi, a $7,000 flick
that put the indie back in the oft-overused term "independent," placed Rodriguez on the
map. The sequel, Desperado, turned Rodriguez into a Hollywood player and his
character into a bona fide action super hero, complete with the requisite vendetta and a
knack for concealing heavy artillery. This final installment with slick styling maneuvers
reminiscent of Hong Kong action guru John Woo has been refined to an elaborate, stylishly
savvy, and surrealistically sophisticated film that shows Rodriguez, like his hero, has
become cooler than cool.
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