James who?
Pierce Brosnan vanquishes all traces of the secret agent he used to be with a terrific turn as an edgy hit man in The Matador.
By STEVE PERSALL
Published January 26, 2006
The groggy guy in bed looks a lot like James Bond, right down to the naked woman sharing the sheets. Even the background music sounds like 007 on alert, leading his eyes to the woman's polished toenail. Could it be a sign of trouble?
No, just an appealing shade. The face is familiar but Bond wouldn't paint his own toenail to see how it looks. Her Majesty wouldn't approve of a lot of things Pierce Brosnan does in The Matador as he demolishes his suave image. Filmed months before Brosnan lost his 007 gig to Daniel Craig, The Matador plays like a poison pen letter from someone who sensed what was coming.
Any other resemblance between paid assassin Julian Noble and Brosnan's secret agent persona is entirely satirical. Julian drinks too much and thinks too little of himself these days, spends too much time with underage girls and underground sex clubs. He can still "facilitate fatalities," as he calls it, but Julian is losing his grip in a job where death is the only severance plan.
Julian is desperate enough for normality that he strikes up a cantina conversation with Danny Wright (Greg Kinnear), a businessman in Mexico City for blander business. Danny tells Julian how his son died unexpectedly and Julian responds with a dirty joke. The hit man is so emotionally detached that Danny's deep offense comes as a surprise. It's a shaky start to a friendship that makes The Matador one of the quirkiest comedies around.
Writer-director Richard Shepard has more in store than a spin on The In-Laws - although Danny's fear and fascination with his new pal's profession is comically similar. Julian shows Danny what he does for a living during a dry run - possibly - on a random target picked from a bullfight arena crowd. The salesman gets spooked and thinks he has seen the last of Julian.
Six months later, Julian appears, uninvited, at Danny's Denver home. Whatever edge Julian hasn't lost, he has gone over. Danny's wife, Bean (an underutilized Hope Davis), is mildly fascinated by their jittery guest and during an all-night drinking binge anything seems possible. What occurs is an offer Danny should refuse but can't for reasons that, when they become obvious, turn The Matador on its ear.
Shepard's handling of this twisted tale recalls the films of Pedro Almodovar with splashy colors, kinky distractions and bold red letters identifying the global locales. Film critic Roger Ebert recently commented that he was surprised The Matador was invited to the Sundance Film Festival with a seemingly recycled premise and those stars. That is, until he saw it. This movie has a brazenly independent spirit that will surprise you.
The Matador has a few dry passages when Shepard covers his bets with pat humor, or lingers a bit too long before expanding ideas. But it also contains deliciously dropped clues about its characters' inner feelings: the mustache Danny grows after Mexico City mimicking Julian's, his framed bullfight ticket, and peeking through too many chinks in Julian's armor to mention.
Like Transamerica, this is a film succeeding almost entirely on one terrifically crafted performance. Brosnan's egoless investment into this seedy role can't be underestimated yet never seems like a sacrifice for attention. He believes in Julian at least as much as he believed in Bond, or any Thomas Crown-style facsimiles into which he was pigeonholed. Early in The Matador Julian orders a margarita and watches the bartender make it shaken, not stirred. The zoned look on his face says it all; a farewell to Bond and greetings to a new, completely unexpected buzz.
- Steve Persall can be reached at 727 893-8365 or persall@sptimes.com
The MatadorGrade: B+
Director: Richard Shepard
Cast: Pierce Brosnan, Greg Kinnear, Hope Davis, Philip Baker Hall, Dylan Baker
Screenplay: Richard Shepard
Rating: R; strong profanity and sexuality, violence, alcohol abuse
Running time: 96 min.