The Mask of Zorro

Director: Martin Campbell
Cast:
Antonio Banderas
Anthony Hopkins
Catherine Zeta Jones
Stuart Wilson
Matthew Letscher

There's a time and place for everything—even schmaltz, it seems—so it looks like it's time for a swashbuckling thriller with little or no redeeming cultural value. Foisted upon the screen in the grand olde style of heroic filmmaking, "The Mask of Zorro" probably would have been a classic if it was made in black-and-white in about 1937, but today, it's a pretty durned serviceable adventure with enough swordplay to keep things interesting. Anthony Hopkins is the original Blade, a man devoted to keeping Mexico/California free from the horrors of Don Rafael (Stuart Wilson), a particularly slimy Christopher Plummer-style Spanish villain who has chosen to murder random Mexicans to prove some sort of arcane point about European imperialism. Zorro swoops in on his faithful steed Toronado and saves the day, natch, all the while performing the sort of rhythmic gymnastics that would have even the East German judge giving scores of 9.9 across the board.

But this Zorro is a little old for this s@&t, to borrow from another current release, and he is captured, his wife killed, his daughter kidnapped. Flash forward 20 years and Don Rafael is back in action, but this time he's pissed off Alejandro Murrietta (Antonio Banderas) who must then receive training from the old Zorro to seek revenge for his brother. Simple stuff, really, and not a whole lot different from "Star Wars" or any other motion picture that adheres directly to the chapters of "The Hero's Journey."

There's some interesting stuff afoot here; the legend of Zorro is a powerful aphrodisiac to an enslaved populace, but the movie never concentrates on the peasants enough to get a feel for the land. Instead, we are treated to the idiocies of Don Rafael's idea of a royal court, summarily ignoring the very hoi polloi this movie purports to save by finale's end. And Catherine Zeta Jones, while certainly very pretty, is given so little to work with that she may have ten lines in the whole thing; content to let her breasts flop around as she fights, it's movies like this that keep women in the celluloid Dark Ages.

So like I always say, forget about the important stuff and watch the big explosions. The choreography of the fight scenes is worth the price of admission alone; Banderas cuts a fine figure with blade in hand, and Hopkins belies his age by being incredibly agile. His presence here validates "Zorro" almost completely, and turns what could have been Pure Cheese into something a little more firm and fulfilling.

—Ian Williams

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