The Mexican is the cinematic equivalent of a game of Boggle - it feels as though the people responsible for this film threw together a bunch of disjointed pieces of a puzzle, shook them up and then used what stuck together to make a movie. Even some of the leftover bits were used as well, filling the film with not only a half-baked plot and under-developed characters, but also a healthy dose of unrelated, non-sequitur scenes. The Mexican is so arbitrary and aimless that one of two things must have happened: a) the projectionist played a few reels out of sequence, or b) director Gore Verbinski and screenwriter J.H. Wyman made a sprawling mess of a movie. And since the movie would make little sense (regarding both plot and character development) no matter what order it was shown in, it seems obvious that the second option must be true.

But, as everyone knows, a lame script and poor direction can be swept under the carpet just so long as you have two big name stars to divert the audience’s attention from such inconsequential factors as dialogue or visual ascetics. Enter Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts, two marquee names that are guaranteed to rake in the bucks; this would be borderline excusable, provided the two stars did their portion and brought something tangible to the movie, such as, say, good acting.

Alas, this is not the case, and on the odd occasion that the two actually share screen time, they have about as much chemistry as a deserted country road and a traffic light. They come across as more lackluster than blockbuster, and the film might have worked much better if the key players were portrayed by two lesser-known actors. As it is, Pitt (usually a brilliant young actor) and Roberts (who’s popularity continues to baffle me - would it kill her to play a half-way pleasant character once in a while?) are outshined by a number of supporting characters, including, but not exclusive to, a rabid dog.

The plot involves two young lovers named Jerry (Pitt) and Samantha (Roberts) who are in over their heads with botched larcenies, kidnappings and double crosses. Dopey and reckless, Jerry gets the two of them tied up in what appears to be a Mafia deal involving a legendary pistol called, aptly, The Mexican. Jerry is assigned the seemingly simple task of locating the gun and its courier south of the border and bringing them both back to the States. But what starts out as a promising Tarantino-Peckinpah homage rapidly escalates into a haphazard exercise in Murphy’s Law, with Samantha taken hostage by a supposedly psychotic hitman (James Gandolfini) as Jerry runs into one pitfall after another.

Much has been said about Gandolfini’s effective performance as the enigmatic hitman Leroy, and rightfully so, as his layered portrayal saves The Mexican from being a complete waste of time. But hasn’t it occurred to anyone that the reason he’s so good is because he has a lot of practice, playing almost the exact same character on HBO’s “The Sopranos?” In the end, this signifies everything that is wrong with The Mexican - it’s little more than a photocopy of superior works and characters that we’ve seen a hundred times before.

*Originally published in the March 10, 2001 edition of the Lodi News-Sentinel

Copyright 2001 Jason Wallis