#gore verbinsky
The Mexican (movie review)
What do you get when you cross a bumbling mob-thug slapstick with a cheeseball relationship story? Surprisingly enough, in the case of “The Mexican,” you get an entertaining, if unexceptional, romp through all the conventions that make both genres work, with a few surprises to boot.
“The Mexican” is a low-budget storyline accompanied by a star-celeb cast featuring inimitable bad-boy Brad Pitt (seen most recently in “Snatch”) as Jerry Welbach, a mob heavy trying to back his way out of the business. Sent on a final mission to track down a legendary pistol, Pitt stumbles and bumbles his way through Mexico like a modern day Keystone Kop. Meanwhile, his on-again off-again partner Samantha (the oscar-nominated Julia Roberts) sets out towards Vegas with dreams of starting anew, only to get hijacked by mob hitman Leroy (“The Sopranos’” James Gandolfini in a stellar performance). Held as an insurance policy, Roberts and Gandolfini find themselves fast friends as they make their way to Sin City.
What emerges are two completely separate movies, intertwined, held together by a few consistent threads – the call of destiny, the role of fate, the power of love and so on. Hackneyed all, but there’s still a sort of sweet charm in the movie’s attempt. And when they finally merge in the movie’s last thirty minutes, it all comes together a little better than it likely should.
Gandolfini, in his turn as a gay hitman slowly emerging from the closet, is the real showstopper in the midst of a clutter of stock characters. With some fabulous depth, Gandolfini has just enough edge to make the mob act believable and yet throws on some serious doe-eyes when bonding with Roberts’ character. Unfortunately, the writing doesn’t hold up for the rest of the cast – Roberts’ new-agey overanalyzing bitchy girlfriend is a little too genuine Brandeis for my escapist-fantasy wantings, and Pitt’s can’t seem to figure out whether he’s supposed to play Jerry as dumb or just unlucky. And aside from the principles, there’s nobody who puts in a performance worth mentioning (kind of sad for a 120 minute movie, actually).
Director Gore Verbinsky, in his second time out on the big screen (the acclaimed commercial director, perhaps best known for the Budweiser frogs, made his directorial debut in 1997’s “Mouse Hunt”), thinks big but lacks the skill to capitalize, especially in his stretches at some serious metaphor (like the recurring traffic “light in the middle of nowhere” theme). And while he goes too subtly into the deep moments, he also comes off as way too obvious in other moments (how many scenes of Mexican street-partiers shooting off fireworks do we really need in one movie)? That and an underlying succession of wicked Mexican stereotypes (there’s probably two or three characters for every stock Mexican type in the book) brings down what is otherwise an enjoyable flick.
And there’s no question it is enjoyable – while nothing falls together quite right, it still feels pretty good in the end. “The Mexican” emerges as a sort of weird amalgam – it’s a chick flick with brawn, a dick flick with heart – and while the two storylines don’t go together so well as chocolate and peanut butter, the combo tastes pretty darn good nonetheless.
originally written 3/10/01
