If real hit men had as many emotional problems as they do in movies, no one would ever get killed. "The Matador," another film featuring an assassin struck with fits of blubbering, self-doubt, and anxiety, seems itself to be in crisis. Writer/director Richard Shepard doesn't seem to know how he wants to handle his own material, and ends up lurching between comedy and hammy melodrama. The result is a clunky, poorly-paced retread of any number of similar films that tries to squeeze hipness from visual gimmickry. In other words, a typical product of Sundance.
Shepard shoots his action in bold, sharp primary colors. It's true his film looks good, but what there is to look at can't measure up. Instead of a standard title card informing us of the film's various locations, Shepard lets us know we're in DENVER, say, with a full-screen neon advisory. It's a bit too cute. Anyway, while in Mexico CITY on business, white bread Danny Wright (Greg Kinnear) strikes up small talk in the hotel bar with the smarmy Julian Noble (Pierce Brosnan), who looks like a "Saturday Night Fever" extra, and who alternately buddies up to and offends Danny, who was just being polite. They're both in town alone, though, so end up at a bullfight together where, after much cajoling, Noble finally consents to show Danny what he does for a living. He prepares the scene for a hypothetical hit on a stranger, walking Danny through exactly how he would do it. Danny is equally thrilled and horrified. He's just horrified, though, when Noble asks him to act as a confederate on a real job. All he has to do is trip in front of someone for $50,000. Danny, who appears to have lost a key business pitch to a competitor, could use the money.
Cut to six months later (not, please note, SIX MONTHS LATER). Julian shows up at Danny's door, wanting something. The lives of both have changed in the interval. "The Matador" keeps rolling, continuing through what seems to be one set up after another. Shepard's problem is that he provides little actual action, and hence no payoffs. Just when it seems that Brosnan and Kinnear are about to hit a nice rhythm of comic banter, Shepard throws in some buzz-killing human interest elements. A visually flippant move featuring slimy hit men might aim for screwball comedy, but doesn't need solemn talk of dead sons and financial worries. "The Matador" seems to be aiming for the comedic drama of something like Ridley Scott's "Matchstick Men," but is clueless about how to balance its sensibilities even as well as that deeply problematic film. I'm sure Shepard is trying to give his characters depth, but Brosnan and (especially) Kinnear may as well go through the film wearing "Character Attribute" placards around their necks.
"The Matador" is so bogged down by this thematic schizophrenia - is it a dramatic comedy, or vice-versa? - that nothing actually happens. The little action that does occur is treated in such broad strokes, and so strains plausibility, that we almost wish to return to the dead kid talk. There's certainly nothing wrong with trying to present fully-formed characters, but it amounts to very little if they're given nothing to do.
Shepard shoots his action in bold, sharp primary colors. It's true his film looks good, but what there is to look at can't measure up. Instead of a standard title card informing us of the film's various locations, Shepard lets us know we're in DENVER, say, with a full-screen neon advisory. It's a bit too cute. Anyway, while in Mexico CITY on business, white bread Danny Wright (Greg Kinnear) strikes up small talk in the hotel bar with the smarmy Julian Noble (Pierce Brosnan), who looks like a "Saturday Night Fever" extra, and who alternately buddies up to and offends Danny, who was just being polite. They're both in town alone, though, so end up at a bullfight together where, after much cajoling, Noble finally consents to show Danny what he does for a living. He prepares the scene for a hypothetical hit on a stranger, walking Danny through exactly how he would do it. Danny is equally thrilled and horrified. He's just horrified, though, when Noble asks him to act as a confederate on a real job. All he has to do is trip in front of someone for $50,000. Danny, who appears to have lost a key business pitch to a competitor, could use the money.
Cut to six months later (not, please note, SIX MONTHS LATER). Julian shows up at Danny's door, wanting something. The lives of both have changed in the interval. "The Matador" keeps rolling, continuing through what seems to be one set up after another. Shepard's problem is that he provides little actual action, and hence no payoffs. Just when it seems that Brosnan and Kinnear are about to hit a nice rhythm of comic banter, Shepard throws in some buzz-killing human interest elements. A visually flippant move featuring slimy hit men might aim for screwball comedy, but doesn't need solemn talk of dead sons and financial worries. "The Matador" seems to be aiming for the comedic drama of something like Ridley Scott's "Matchstick Men," but is clueless about how to balance its sensibilities even as well as that deeply problematic film. I'm sure Shepard is trying to give his characters depth, but Brosnan and (especially) Kinnear may as well go through the film wearing "Character Attribute" placards around their necks.
"The Matador" is so bogged down by this thematic schizophrenia - is it a dramatic comedy, or vice-versa? - that nothing actually happens. The little action that does occur is treated in such broad strokes, and so strains plausibility, that we almost wish to return to the dead kid talk. There's certainly nothing wrong with trying to present fully-formed characters, but it amounts to very little if they're given nothing to do.