The Matador

Though I hate to make a Bond reference when writing about a Pierce Brosnan movie, truth is that in a strange circuitous way main character Julian Noble in The Matador is closer to the literary 007 than Brosnan was ever allowed to be in the four official James Bond films. He’s a burnt-out, womanizing, boozing, existentially lonely assassin, one step away from the psychiatrist’s couch. Strip away the comic layers from the character and what you have is Ian Fleming’s James Bond. And, wouldn’t you know it, Brosnan plays it perfectly. But I promise not to mention the secret agent again; Brosnan will have to live with that tuxedoed shadow from now on, so I’ll drop it.


In all good comic narratives, at the heart of the comedy lies a serious story. So it is with The Matador. Greg Kinnear plays Danny Wright, a business owner in Mexico City to close a much-needed deal. Also in town is Julian Noble (Brosnan), a hitman (or “facilitator of fatalities” as he prefers to be known). Danny and Julian meet up in a bar, and a friendship drunkenly stumbles to life. Though this is a very funny film, at its core is the idea of a lonely soul realizing he has no deep connections with any other human being on the planet, and reaching out to forge his first genuine friendship.

Brosnan has a blast, playing the ironically-monikered Noble to the hilt. Walking with a stiff-assed swagger, swathed in an unbuttoned loud shirt, gold chain dangling, the drunken, chain-smoking, solipsistic Noble is the ’80s hedonist turned on his head. Some of Noble’s dialogue (written by Richard Shepard, also the director) is priceless. “I’m as serious as an erection problem” and “I’d be interested if she lost 20 pounds and 20 years” are two memorable lines. When Noble strides through the hotel lobby, clad only in briefs and boots, beer can in hand, gut hanging out, you can hear the sound of Brosnan’s film persona being torn up and tossed aside. Lurking inside Noble’s chintzy bravado, however, is an insular, friendless cardboard cut-out of a man lacking a family, a genuine companion, a home, or any sort of genuine connection to anyone or anything. Noble’s relationship with Danny is probably the first actual link he has had with another human being, and the film turns out to be surprisingly tender and subtly moving in showing how genuine feeling grows between them, and especially in how superficially straight-laced and timid Danny ends up helping the burnt-out hitman (Danny also owes an emotional debt to Noble, revealed in a flashback, that I will not disclose here).


Kinnear’s role could easily have been the dull straight man to Brosnan’s loud uncouthness, but the script and performance add depth. Danny has had bad luck, and is afraid of losing his wife, Bean (Hope Davis) because of his inability to pull himself out of the gutter before he gets kicked back in. But he also has everything that Noble’s numbed soul yearns for: a home and someone to genuinely love him. As Danny’s wife, Hope Davis contributes a quirky and memorable character, in another part that in a lesser film would have been disposable. Particularly amusing is her eagerness to see Noble’s gun, like a schoolgirl excited by doing something forbidden. The script and performances work to build emotional connections between the characters, and it is this care and attention that set The Matador apart and raise it far above the pallid sitcom it could so easily have become.