Once Upon a Time
Last night, I caught a sneak preview of Robert Rodriguez's Once Upon a Time in Mexico, his final installment in the El Mariachi trilogy. Reflecting a bit more on the idea of time invention as discussed in the last SYMBOLIC entry, it becomes clear that Once Upon a Time in Mexico is a fable, an invented tale both entertaining and nostalgic in its design.
Myths are meant to be told around a campfire; they come from oral traditions and, as such, aren't intended to be overly complex and involved. They are simple stories that distract and educate; they make you laugh and show you something about how the world works. By their very introduction -- "once upon a time" -- they aren't meant to be taken literally (at least, not by our jaded world-weary 21st century cynicism), but rather their existence is buoyed by your willingness to suspend disbelief.
Okay, this all sounds like an explanation, a pre-apology for a film which will probably get savaged by critics and will die a quiet death at the box office. It will only happen because people will approach this film as if it were an important piece of cinema or that their time is so valuable -- "so many films, so little time" -- that their impatience will overcome the simple act of having a good time.
Which is too bad because everyone onscreen is having a grand old time. Especially Johnny Depp who, I believe more and more, can deliver any line of dialogue ever written and imbue it with enough gravitas that it overcomes any inherent affectation. Johnny "Balancer of Forces" Depp scampered off with Pirates of the Caribbean and does the same in Once Upon a Time in Mexico and why not? He plays the Trickster in either film and when does the Trickster not steal the show? Unemcumbered with the necessity of heroic action or dastardly villainy, the Trickster gets to willfully partake of either extreme in his pursuit of shaking the order of the universe.
Once Upon a Time in Mexico is a simple tale of Death and Redemption. Each of the players is seeking resurrection into a new body, a new lease on a wasted life. (The climax of the film takes place on the Day of the Dead, a useful cinematic event which allows for lots of visual flair but is really just a thorough bludgeoning of the audience as to the underlying point of the tale.) "What do you want in life?" Carolina asks El Mariachi. "Freedom," he says -- Libertas -- and her one word response to that answer isn't as simple as it sounds. Each of the characters knows the difficulty of freedom, and Rodriquez smartly gathers together a group of thespians who all have such a history associated with them that the lines and textures of their faces all speak of a clear understanding of the tiring complexity in striving for the simplicity of freedom.
Depp looks younger than everyone else, somehow tapping into the innocent baby face which made young girls scream with delight during the 21 Jump Street years. It isn't until he is made "real" by events in the third act that he becomes like the others -- a tired soul seeking redemption. Up to that point, he is a capricious figure, manipulating events and characters towards their inevitable and violent conclusion.
The intricacies of the subterfuge between characters are more byzantine than necessary and the film bogs down a bit with the unnecessary double-turns, obscuring the small poignancies to be found in the stories of Mickey Rourke's exiled assassin and Rubén Blades' retired FBI agent. The archetypal weight that El Mariachi is saddled with is handled in a nicely understated way by Antonio Bandaras, and Salma Hayek's turn as the Mother Protector could have been given a bit more screen time. Minor quibbles though. As a story which is really nothing more than a roaring campfire tale, Once Upon a Time in Mexico is entertaining, distracting, and ultimately bittersweet.
"Who are you guys?"
"We're the sons of Mexico."
I mean, come on. We all wish we could have heroic enough lives that we could stand tall and utter lines like that.