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Toothy twosome dodge a whole lot of bulletsPitt, Roberts add luster to lacking 'Mexican'
(CNN) -- Sheer star power very nearly saves the day in "The Mexican," the first big-screen pairing of those taut-and-toothsome dazzlers, Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts. Director Gore Verbinski (whose last picture, incredibly enough, was 1997's "Mouse Hunt") isn't afraid to show off his mega-watt co-stars; the focus of the story continually bounces between Brad and Julia, who supply healthy doses of their celebrated magnetism. It's easy to see why these two are such popular performers: You and I simply don't exude this much appeal, and neither do our friends. That, and not paying attention in school, is why we don't make $40 million year. Heading southPitt plays Jerry Welbach, a likeable but fumbling errand boy who works for a vicious mobster named Nayman (Bob Balaban). Though Jerry told his girlfriend, Samantha (Roberts), that he's getting out of the business, Nayman wants him to travel to a small Mexican village and retrieve a highly collectible antique pistol. If Jerry refuses this final, simple task, he'll be rolled up in a carpet, doused with gasoline, and set on fire. After quickly weighing his options, Jerry chooses Mexico. Samantha, however, doesn't want to hear about possible bonfires. She tells Jerry that their relationship is over if he leaves, and she thinks she really means it.
The argument leading to their breakup is the only scene between Pitt and Roberts until the last half hour of the movie. Though it's nothing to write home about, it's pretty amusing. And there's no denying that they both look terrific. For reasons that are more fun to discover on your own, Jerry ends up chasing el pistola (which is supposedly cursed) all over Mexico. The Mexican stuff is more overtly comic than what Roberts experiences, but a lot of the humor is close to racist. Jerry is the nervous gringo who has to deal with packs of sweaty Mexicans. He encounters all kinds of corrupt people who swill tequila and are apparently unfamiliar with the benefits of brushing and flossing. Pitt consistently squeezes laughs out of Jerry's oafishness, even though his best scenes take place immediately after crossing the border. Back up north...While that's going on -- virtually the entire picture is constructed of "meanwhile back at the ranch" cross-cuts -- Samantha finds herself violently drawn into Jerry's circle of criminal acquaintances. She's about to be murdered in a mall bathroom when Leroy (James Gandolfini), a second hit man who was dispatched to kidnap her, shoots the attacker. Again, there's a lot of twisty plot that explains why Leroy is interested in Samantha. But it basically takes a back seat to their developing relationship. Leroy turns out to be a sensitive gay man who has all kinds of advice for Samantha on how to deal with her troublesome love for Jerry. Gandolfini is a sharp actor; he and Roberts have a lot of chemistry together, and he can be intimidating when necessary. This is also the first movie in which a man and a woman bond while urinating next to each other ... unless, of course, you don't count especially obscure porn. There's fun to be had here, but it's unfortunate that J.H. Wyman's erratic screenplay keeps Pitt and Roberts apart for so long. Since they're seldom involved in the same situation, it's difficult to maintain story momentum. This isn't like cutting between two character actors. Both performers have a way of turning their appearances, no matter how mundane, into artificial showcase events. Five minutes with Roberts means she has to buckle down and do something cute, then the story has to shift back to Pitt, who does the same thing. They're not showing off, exactly; they're just giving the people what they want, though it's only part of what makes watching a movie interesting. Too much shootingBesides, once Pitt and Roberts finally get to play a handful of scenes together, an unexpectedly ugly series of killings has curdled much of the goodwill they've generated. One death, in particular, almost kills the movie itself. By now, it's a cliche for critics to cite Quentin Tarantino (the director of 1994's "Pulp Fiction," in case you've forgotten) every time a violent-sarcastic film featuring scads of gunplay makes its debut, but there's no escaping it. Several elements of Tarantino's screenwriting style are apparent in "The Mexican," the most obvious being perceptive, well-considered dialogue delivered by vicious hit men. The deja vu effect is blunted a bit by Verbinski's relatively restrained shot selection. He doesn't wallow in sudden violence the way Tarantino does; it mostly takes place off-camera. But, for the most part, "The Mexican" is Tarantino Lite ... or maybe even McTarantino, given its intended market. A relatively whimsical time-killer really shouldn't contain this much death. There's profanity and lots of shooting in "The Mexican." Everyone gets to blast somebody at one point or another. There's also a strange fascination with toilets. People are repeatedly shown using them. Rated R. 123 minutes, which is about 20 minutes too much. RELATED SITES:
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