Once Upon a Time in Mexico (2003)

2003 was a big year for Johnny Depp, if only because that's the year that Captain Jack Sparrow sailed into our hearts, propelling Depp to the top of the A-list. But Pirates of the Caribbean isn't until tomorrow, folks, so let's take a look at Depp's other 2003 film, Robert Rodriguez's Once Upon a Time in Mexico - which I predict will become a cult film (if it isn't one already) on the strength of Depp's performance alone.

Nominally, Once Upon a Time in Mexico is Antonio Banderas's film, the third entry in his and Rodriguez's "El Mariachi trilogy" (which began with El Mariachi and Desperado). In practice, though, it's Depp's: Depp plays CIA agent Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, who hires gunslinger El Mariachi (Banderas) to prevent General Marquez from successfully staging a coup against the Mexican president. But there are many other factors at work here: El wants revenge against Marquez for the murder of his wife Catalina (Salma Hayek), while Marquez is being paid by cartel lord Barillo (Willem Dafoe) and his henchman Billy Chambers (Mickey Rourke), and Sands is working the case from every angle - including police officer Ajedrez (Eva Mendes), one-eyed informant Bellini (Cheech Marin), and retired FBI Agent Jorge Ramirez (Ruben Blades).

If it sounds a little confusing, don't be alarmed. On first viewing, there are parts that don't immediately make sense; it's not that the film is intentionally puzzling, but the fast pace and the "crank it up to 11" sensibility toss the plot twists at the viewer faster than might be comfortable. What's more, the plot is the kind that lends itself to plot twists, with betrayals, double-crosses, and downright duplicity governing each principal character's actions; in fact, you'll have trouble enough just trying to figure out where Sands's loyalties lie (hint: like all great Depp characters, Sands is principally looking out for Number One).

But, in the opinion of this reviewer, none of the action-on-speed mentality hurts the film. Indeed, the film challenges itself to top itself, topping a rousing gun battle in the streets with an epic one in the presidential palace. Moreover, by beginning the story in media res, the film creates the suggestion that the plot is actually secondary to the exciting explosions and innovative visuals, that what these characters do is less important than how they do it.

Thank goodness Rodriguez has assembled a cast who can pull off a film that's all about flair. And rather than remain as mere straight action fare, Once Upon a Time in Mexico is often genuinely funny, adding a challenge to the actors, albeit a challenge they can all meet. Banderas is dynamite as the strong but silent type, but his character is crafted in such a way that it never feels out of place when he breaks his silence for a wry witticism. Hayek, who appears often in flashbacks and whose presence is acutely felt even though her character has technically died, is the perfect "straight man" to the occasionally ludicrous action sequences, and her screams of terror at the precarious situations Catalina finds herself in are genuine and hilarious at the same time. Of course, though, Depp steals the show (partially because it feels like he has the most screen time of any other character), because Sands is one of those ultra-compelling supporting characters that comes along once in a blue moon. As his loyalties flip and flop, there's something endearing at the heart of his character; it's quite possible that he's a bad guy (he does, after all, kill a cook simply for making a piece of slow-roasted pork that's too good), but the way Depp behaves makes us want to root for Sands, if only so we'll see him on screen more often.

This is an ensemble piece, and while the three leads are all doing fine work, they're backed up by a supporting cast that carries the rest of the film one piece at a time. Willem Dafoe is admittedly a strange choice for a Mexican drug lord, but once you see him as Barillo you'll either think, "Why didn't someone cast him as a Mexican before?" or "Well, Willem sure can act." Mickey Rourke isn't really acting so much as performing his trademark confident swagger on-camera, but his broad personality fits right in with the rest of the outlandish tone of the film. Eva Mendes finally gets to play a cop rather than a cop's love interest, and there's something compelling in that pout of hers where she's surprisingly believable as a hard-as-nails rookie. Cheech Marin floats in as embodied exposition (and recap for those who missed the other entries in the trilogy), and it's always a delight to see Danny Trejo chewing scenery as a tough guy.

One final character in the film bears mentioning - the gaudy and vibrant action sequences. There's a shootout in a marketplace, replete with exploding fruit and sudden auto collisions, that is impossible to watch without getting a little keyed up. Blame the soundtrack, too, which is filled with catchy Latino tracks that you'll be humming until you run out and grab the CD (which stands on its own very well, indeed). But even when the characters are simply sitting around and chatting - as Sands does for most of his screentime, until he picks up his guns and joins the fight against the coup (with a bonus twist, extra-cool, that it'd be criminal to spoil) - there's still a sense that firecrackers are going off. The dialogue, equal parts Rodriguez and ad-lib, positively crackles, with quirky mannerisms and stylistic turns of phrase that might make Diablo Cody sit up and take a few notes; perhaps the best of these come about due to Sands's apparent refusal to swear, substituting "screw the pooch," "sugarbutt," and "oh, gosh" at markedly incongruous moments.

But the intentional flashiness and the quest for spectacle make the film a dazzling vision that doesn't even require a viewer's cognitive powers to be switched on. Indeed, the film practically asks the viewer to switch off, kick back, and enjoy the ride. Typical rules of science no longer apply, and the film doesn't need to be understood so much as it needs to be absorbed. And that is the film's greatest strength - it's engaging, with performances and action pieces that are just plain fun.
Once Upon a Time in Mexico is, naturally, rated R "for strong violence, and for language." Most every character uses F-bombs quite liberally, in English and Spanish; you can't swing a bat without hitting some bloody violence in this film, so leave the less mature kiddies at home.

Depp Week continues into Thursday with The Cinema King's take on the role you've been looking for - Captain Jack Sparrow in 2003's Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (sequels to follow). Stay tuned!

The Other Guys (2010)

Let's have a few more laughs and one more cop film before Depp Week kicks off. Here's the movie that dethroned Inception from its perch at the top of the box office. And while I'm certainly not going to suggest The Other Guys is the stronger film, it's got a lot of laughs, and it's a solid choice for a trip to the theater if you've already seen Inception (sorry, Cats and Dogs 2).

Writer/director Adam McKay continues his series of collaborations with Will Ferrell (a series which began with Anchorman and continued into fellow funny flicks Talladega Nights and Step Brothers, the latter two introducing John C. Reilly to the mix) here, with Ferrell as desk cop Allen Gamble. After the spots for "top cop" are made vacant at the precinct (thanks to clever surprising cameos by Samuel L. Jackson and Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson), Gamble and his partner Terry Hoitz (Mark Wahlberg) find themselves in the running to fill the open celebrity shoes - much to the consternation of their stressed captain (Michael Keaton). Gamble and Hoitz find their big case when a scaffolding permit violation leads them to Gordon Gekko-esque David Ershon (Steve Coogan) and an investment scheme that's skimming money from... well, somebody.

It's been MUFMW [(Mostly) Unintentional Food Metaphor Weekend] here at The Cinema King, and so I'll keep it going by saying that The Other Guys is, like many of Adam McKay's other films, a root beer float: two things at once, both tasty and cohabiting without overpowering each other. We have the root beer of a comedy film here but the ice cream heart of a cop film. And if I can stretch the metaphor a little further, the comedy part (the root beer) runs out first; about halfway through, The Other Guys becomes more of a straightforward police movie (ice cream) without losing sight of the comedy roots that make the first half of the film a gutbuster. That's not to say that the second half is less funny; it's just more cop conscious. Perhaps the best example of this divide is Sam Jackson's presence in the early scenes of the film, providing some of the deepest laughs ("Did someone call 9-1-Holy s**t?") but exiting quickly, leaving the film to be something a little more earnestly police-centric.

Fortunately, all the performers are well-equipped to handle the switch. Though Ferrell is obviously more comfortable with the funny stuff, moments when Gamble grows serious are reminiscent of his stellar turn in Stranger Than Fiction, proving that he's a little better than Michael Cera at switching off the "goofy" setting. Wahlberg, conversely, is more at home as the cop, but he wisely draws on his role as Sgt. Dignam in Scorsese's The Departed (which, if you haven't seen it, is pretty much the greatest movie ever made) to create a compelling police character with a prominent funny bone. Though Coogan is finely restrained (a far cry from Tropic Thunder and Tristram Shandy), the master of comedic timing in the film is Michael Keaton, who's already earned high marks from me for his role as Ken in Toy Story 3; Keaton is fantastic as the exasperated Captain Gene, juggling punchlines about a bisexual DJ son at NYU and a side job as a manager at Bed Bath & Beyond without ever feeling forced. I'm not saying this is an entirely compelling character, but Keaton's delivery certainly prevents the character from feeling like a mere receptacle for outrageous subplot after outlandish character trait. (One final note - is it a rule that Eva Mendes can only appear in cop movies? She's plenty funny as Gamble's "plain" wife, but it's a little jarring that I've only tagged her name in posts about cop movies.)

I want to go back briefly and reexamine the root beer float claim. No, I'm not going to strain the metaphor any more (though you'll probably see the phrase come up several times more on this blog), but I do want to talk a little bit about how movies can be two things at once - and do that well; failure to do so is, after all, one of the most frequently recurring complaints on this blog. I claimed that Anchorman, Talladega Nights, and Step Brothers all do this; Anchorman begins as a slapstick frat pack flick but becomes a commentary on the battle of the sexes, Talladega Nights changes gears between egotistical satire and satire on the cult of celebrity, and Step Brothers lampoons conventional sibling rivalries before metamorphosing (or, as the phrase goes, taking the shape of a unicorn) into a thoughtful meditation on growing up. For some, this can be jarring, but I think McKay's screenplays do a decent job of handling the left-hand turns that I've come to expect - and appreciate - from his work. Kudos, then, Mr. McKay, for doing what I've often said might be impossible. Now if you can get Megan Fox to actually act, then we're in business.

Until then, just keep making funny movies; I'll be in the front row until my sides split.
The Other Guys is rated PG-13 "for crude and sexual content, language, violence and some drug material." I thought it was all pretty tame; there are a few lines between Ferrell and Mendes that push the envelope, and a few sexual jokes crop up, but the most omnipresent objectionable content is the coat of cocaine that envelops Ferrell's red Prius.

Training Day (2001)

Before we begin Depp Week 2010 here at The Cinema King, we're going to flashback to 2001 for a look at the performance that netted Denzel Washington a much-deserved Academy Award: dishonest cop Alonzo Harris in Training Day.

The film is pretty much a Denzel Washington performance with a plot and a few other actors around it, but there's a formula to a Cinema King review, so let's remain consistent: It's Jake Hoyt's (Ethan Hawke) first day on the job as a narcotics officer, and he's assigned to veteran Alonzo Harris (Washington), who's got a mean streak and a penchant for dispensing brutal "street justice." Over the course of 24 hours, Jake has to decide what side of the law Alonzo is on - and what side he himself wants to be on.

I really liked this movie - in fact, I fully expected to - so I'm not going to kid around about it. I've never met a Denzel Washington movie I didn't like, and Training Day is no exception. To keep the food metaphors going, it's a little like a steak - I'd been interested for a long time but was waiting for just the right moment; it didn't disappoint but rather is now something I'll be ready to revisit later (just not every day). It's just delicious. If I have a complaint about this movie, it's that there are scenes where Denzel isn't on camera, and when it's a performance this fine we feel cheated when he's not the permanent center of attention. (Of interesting note: an early choice for the role was Samuel L. Jackson; not sure how that would have compared to what we have here, but it makes me long for a prequel crossover between this and Lakeview Terrace.)

I've said before that the hallmark of any Denzel Washington performance is the way he conveys the fun that he's having into the audience. Maybe it's his infectious grin, or maybe it's his discreet naturalism - whatever it is, it's working. Alonzo Harris is fascinating in a way that a lot of crooked cop characters aren't; where most are fairly one-dimensional, Alonzo is unique in that he's deceptively sympathetic. Like Milton's Satan in Paradise Lost, Alonzo is compelling to the extent that the audience might actually begin sympathizing with him - coming from Alonzo, taking drugs and setting up a dealer for a fall all sound like good ideas until we remember that this is the bad guy talking. It's not difficult to see, then, why Jake begins to be seduced by Alonzo's ideas; Hawke's performance doesn't hurt, either, since here he's as good as he was in Lumet's Before the Devil Knows You're Dead.

It's part of the trivia surrounding Training Day that its screenplay was written by one man and one man only, with no team of rewriters - David Ayer, who does a taut job introducing plot aspects and tying together loose ends which seem at first to be disconnected. The dialogue is sterling, too, realistic while still presenting itself as quotable: Denzel's closing monologue is already a staple for Denzel impressionists, and you'll be riffing a few of your favorite lines in the days to come, I'll bet. Fuqua's direction is on top, too, particularly in a grueling scene in which Jake finds himself at gunpoint in a room full of angry gang members.

But the film's greatest strength is turning Denzel loose and letting him work his magic. That alone - the opportunity to see one of the greatest living actors work his magic in a role that isn't exactly the type he's known for. Training Day is a far cry from John Q (the film that introduced me to Denzel), but it's as compelling a performance as any other one he's given... and maybe it's even his best (I'm still enamored with Malcolm X as the topper).
Training Day is rated R "for brutal violence, pervasive language, drug content and brief nudity." Definitely one of the more in-your-face violent movies, without shyness when it comes to gore or intensity; of course there are F-bombs galore and some heavy drug use in a few scenes, as well as an attempted rape and a fleeting scene of out-of-focus nudity.

Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans (2009)

Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans is everything I love about Nicolas Cage movies - exuberantly over-the-top, bafflingly heavy on unsubtle characterization, and riddled with loud bursts of unnecessary shouting.

Werner Herzog insists that this Bad Lieutenant has nothing to do with Abel Ferrara's 1992 Bad Lieutenant, starring Harvey Keitel - it's not a remake, a prequel, a sequel, a midquel, an update, et cetera. Perhaps it's simply a variation on a theme: the bad cop. In any event, Cage is that bad cop, Terrence McDonagh, navigating his way through post-Katrina New Orleans. He's got a prostitute (Eva Mendes) for a lover, a nasty cocaine/Vicodin habit, gambling debts up the wazoo, and persistent hallucinations of iguanas. In the middle of a five-homicide case, McDonagh's life starts spiraling out of control as he crosses the line more times than one can count.

The main attraction at this carnival of movie magic is, of course, Nic Cage. Readers of this blog know that there's a very strange love-hate relationship between Cage and myself; that is, I've been burned on a lot of his movies (The Wicker Man, Next, and Ghost Rider chief among them), but his movies are irresistible. Most of the time they're terrible to the point of being infinitely rewatchable - The Wicker Man, with its shouted epithet of "HOW'D IT GET BURNED?!" and the delightfully campy "Nic Cage in a bear suit punching women" scene, for example - but every once in a while he turns in a star performance. And I'm just not sure which of these Bad Lieutenant is. On the one hand, Cage is McDonagh, unbreakably intense and (according to my father) nearly pitch-perfect in portraying a man suffering from back pain, at least as far as posture is concerned. On the other hand, he does some very strange things in this movie that I couldn't reconcile with really anything I'd seen before; sometimes his drug-addled stupor simply resembles confused myopia, and for twenty minutes his character slips for no apparent reason into a bizarre voice resembling Jimmy Stewart with lockjaw. The other performances are entirely negligible, then, in the wake of this wholly odd character Cage creates.

But win or lose, for better or for worse Cage is entertaining, perpetually on the brink of insanity. Where I've seen Cage phone in performances before (Next, the last third of Lord of War), here he's completely entrenched in the character's shoes, from his slumping shoulders to his unrelenting fearlessness when it comes to cutting loose. I can't count the number of times McDonagh snaps in the film, either hurling profanities at characters who are "in his way" or cackling hysterically after taking hit after hit from a crack pipe. This is Cage at his most unrestrained, but it's certainly not a fantastic film by any stretch of the imagination. It is, simply, fascinatingly bizarre.

Most of that strange quality is Herzog's fault, and I use the word "fault" with all its negative connotations because Herzog's interventions are deliberate, distracting, and detrimental. For starters, the narrative is tangled and fragmented, jumping in episodic format from vignette to vignette with only a loose thread tying it all together. For a fair amount of the second half, McDonagh is pursued by a group of hoodlums, though it's unclear until the last few minutes (at which point it's already too late) who these cats are working for. The most distracting and problematic shots in the film are ones in which Herzog's camera lingers fetishistically on lizards, with iguanas and alligators in particular getting their close-up. These scenes are almost impossible to fit into the narrative of the film - it's implied that the iguanas are hallucinations and therefore represent moments of unreality - and seem overly indulgent, calling attention themselves while grinding the narrative flow to a halt. (Herzog's greatest sin, though, might be his failure to pull Cage aside and ask, "Hey man, what the heck is up with this voice you're doing all of a sudden?"

For one of those "What the heck did I just watch?" movies, this Bad Lieutenant is all good. For high cinema (Ebert put it on his Top Ten of '09 list), I can't say it's a great film. You may, however, find it highly entertaining.

Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans is rated a hard R "for drug use and language throughout, some violence and sexuality." McDonagh abuses pretty much every drug in the book, swears like a sailor (as do other characters), is lovers with a prostitute, and accepts sexual favors as bribes (rear nudity is seen once). Leave the kiddies at home; this ain't National Treasure.