A killing comedy
The Matador is a winning combination of murder, comedy and heart
Ryan Simmons Volunteer Staff
On paper, the unlikely pairing of a middle class average Joe and a hardboiled corporate assassin sounds like the recipe for yet another stale Hollywood comedy. But The Matador is a comedy that, while not staggeringly original, offers us much more than we would expect.
Julian Noble (Pierce Brosnan), a burnt out veteran assassin and serial womanizer, is sent on a mission to Mexico City, where, on an unexpected birthday, he comes to the realization that he hasn’t a friend in the world. Late at night in a hotel bar, after unsuccessfully soliciting a local den of sin to pick up his spirits, he meets Danny Wright (Greg Kinnear), a desperate salesman from Denver who believes he’s just secured a contract that will put an end to his financial and marital troubles. The meeting doesn’t go terribly well.
Julian is suspicious of the genuine kindness and warmth Danny exudes, and after decades of living in solitary debauchery, he’s become incapable of carrying on a friendly conversation. After Julian responds inconsiderately and selfishly to Danny’s personal story of his young son’s death four years previous, Julian is left alone at the bar with two fresh margaritas, regretting his callousness and plotting strategies to win Danny over.
Once Julian is able to open up the next day, Brosnan is able to let loose with his charm; he’s completely unbound in contrast to his performances as James Bond. As he reveals his profession to Danny at a bullfight (exciting enough for a small-time businessman) and gleefully walks him through the steps of a well-planned hit, he has the exuberance and neediness of a child showing off his favourite toy.
As much as this is played for broad comedy, it comes across as genuine. These two broken men need one another’s company. The desperation and neediness Brosnan exhibits in his character’s darkest moments are finely balanced with his explicitly politically incorrect one-liners (“I look like a Bangkok hooker on a Sunday morning after the navy’s left town”). Indeed, true to the acclaim, this is Brosnan’s finest performance: a great deal of its effectiveness rests on its contrast with his James Bond persona, and he infuses his work with great depth of feeling and palpable energy.
Kinnear has made a career of either playing affable middle class Americans or playing against that image, the reason being that he’s simply born to play the part. As Danny, he shows why. He has a firm sense of earnest decency and an innocent naivety about him. His love for his wife, Carolyn (played by Hope Davis and nicknamed “Bean”) and his fear that she’ll leave him drive his need to reverse his financial fortunes. Even if such a reaction from her is unlikely, he becomes the object of our sympathy for worrying so much. Davis is great as well; her instant interest in Julian’s career and weaponry is fantastic.
There is some awkwardness in the way the film neglects the simple fact that Julian kills possibly innocent people for a living (his first job in Mexico City has an unassuming woman in his crosshairs). But for the most part, the film simply ignores the implications: Brosnan jokingly concedes that he’s a bad guy and the film cuts away from any gory footage works. But reservations were always in the back of my mind.
The Matador is smart and involving, featuring an extremely well-fleshed out, even poignant, relationship between its characters.
