Desperado (1995)

reviewed by
James Berardinelli


                                     DESPERADO
                       A film review by James Berardinelli
                        Copyright 1995 James Berardinelli
RATING (0 TO 10):  5.4

United States, 1995 U.S. Availability: 8/25/95 (wide) Running Length: 1:46 MPAA Classification: R (Extreme violence, nudity, sex, profanity) Theatrical Aspect Ratio: 1.85:1

Cast: Antonio Bandaras, Salma Hayek, Joaquim de Almeida, Steve Buscemi, Cheech Marin, Quentin Tarantino Director: Robert Rodriguez Producers: Bill Borden and Robert Rodriguez Screenplay: Robert Rodriguez Cinematography: Guillermo Navarro Music: Los Lobos U.S. Distributor: Columbia Pictures

When we last saw him, he looked like Carlos Gallardo and spoke Spanish. Now, some two years later, the mariachi has returned, toting his weapons- filled guitar case and extracting sighs of longing from dark-haired Mexican beauties. Only this time, he looks like Antonio Bandaras and speaks English. The reason is obvious: Columbia Pictures gave writer/director/ producer Robert Rodriguez a budget to work with, something he didn't previously have. The results might lead an observer to judge that there's an inverse relationship between money and quality. For, while EL MARIACHI, the so-called "$7000 wonder", was an energetic, thrill-a-minute ride, DESPERADO is bloated and overlong.

Gone is the guitar-strumming mariachi. He has been replaced by a cold- hearted, steely-eyed killer who goes from town-to-town blowing away drug lords who have any connection to those who killed his beloved Domino. Most of the action in DESPERADO takes place in and around the Tarasco Bar, where Cheech Marin's bartender serves the worst beer in Mexico, and where lowlifes like the pickup guy played by Quentin Tarantino come in to tell long-winded jokes before getting shot. The Tarasco Bar is not known for its drinks; it's a front for the operations of drug kingpin Bucho (Joaquim de Almeida), the latest target of the mariachi. After learning from his friend Buscemi (played by none other than Steve Buscemi) that Bucho is in town, the mariachi takes his guitar case to the Tarasco and shoots up the place. This incident gets Bucho's attention and he sends out an army of hitmen. Meanwhile, the mariachi is hiding out in a bookstore run by the beautiful Carolina (Salma Hayek), awaiting an opportunity to strike the final blow in his war of revenge.

Violence abounds in DESPERADO, with a shootout roughly every five to ten minutes. Rodriguez has an undeniable flair for choreographing bloodshed, and his stylish gunfights give nods to the likes of Sam Peckinpah and John Woo. The same vein of sardonic wit that ran through EL MARIACHI is in evidence here; Rodriguez is simultanously satirizing and paying homage to this sort of film. Unfortunately, DESPERADO is twenty minutes longer than the director's debut, and the added length results in a stagnant pace. Also, the crude look of EL MARIACHI (which was part of its charm) has been replaced by something more polished. At times, DESPERADO almost has too much atmosphere for its own good.

The cameos are the most interesting element of this film. Cheech Marin has the best of them, playing a foul-mouthed bartender. Steve Buscemi is the mariachi's only friend, and Quentin Tarantino is briefly on-hand doing his usual shtick. The stars of EL MARIACHI are not forgotten -- most of them appear in a dream sequence/flashback, and Carlos Gallardo, who was the original title character, shows up as one of the mariachi's gun-toting cohorts.

The real problem with DESPERADO, however, is that this sequel is without purpose and may be the most unnecessary follow-up since the second CROCODILE DUNDEE. The entire story was told in EL MARIACHI; adding another one-hundred six minutes is excessive, especially considering that there's nothing noteworthy about the continuation. Yes, Antonio Bandaras and Salma Hayek are pleasant to watch, and the movie is never boring, but that's the best Rodriguez can offer in his sophomore effort. And, sadly, for all but those who glory in cinematic bloodletting, it's not enough.

- James Berardinelli (jberardinell@delphi.com)


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