Foiled Again

Maybe it's time for this blade to stop swinging.

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The Legend of Zorro
Shhh. Lets keep the tequila worm to ourselves.
Shhh. Lets keep the tequila worm to ourselves.
It's been 85 years since Douglas Fairbanks slashed his way into the top tax bracket as the masked hero Zorro, and Hollywood still can find no reason to shut down the franchise. Technically speaking, The Legend of Zorro, starring Antonio Banderas as the guy with the sword and Catherine Zeta-Jones as his lady fair, is a sequel to their 1998 hit, The Mask of Zorro. But those who take the long view may choose to see it as Zorro 56 -- or Zorro 156, so durable has "the Robin Hood of Spanish California" proved to be to the movies since before they could talk.

In terms of film history, this new Legend may rate as something less than legendary. It's a workmanlike adventure yarn, intermittently reverent to the canon but not very inspired, and it must be said that Banderas is starting to show signs of wear -- particularly in his close-ups. It may not be long until this Z-Man must pack the black cape in mothballs, back at the hacienda. For the moment, though, Tony and his stunt doubles can still buckle the old swash. Part acrobat and part Batman, he's 100 percent showoff, and he provides some dazzling tricks here -- knocking an entire platoon of grizzled villains off a wooden bridge; jousting with a polo mallet; galloping his faithful steed across the top of a speeding train as the low mouth of a tunnel fast approaches. Martin Campbell (who also handled The Mask of Zorro) is a director of the Incessant Action School: Even when the lovers pause to kiss, they seem out of breath.

The movie, written by Robert Orci and Alex Kurtzman, is set a decade after its predecessor. The year is now 1850, and California is on the verge of statehood. Land baron Don Alejandro de la Vega (Zorro's day job) is at home with his wife, Elena (Zeta-Jones), and their bratty son, Joaquin (Adrian Alonso), a little whirling extrovert who could use a stiff shot of Ritalin. When civic duty calls again -- some bad guys want to block statehood -- Don Alejandro reaches for mask and sword. But his wife objects; Dad hardly knows his boy, and Mom wants him to stay home awhile.

Buena suerte! Beset by marital troubles, the Don goes middle-age crazy. He haunts the local saloons till the wee hours and sleeps all day. In one memorable scene we find him -- no kidding -- lolling in a hot tub with his mustachioed amigos. "My whole life is a party," he informs us. Not even in the inspired 1981 spoof, Zorro, the Gay Blade, did we sense such smirkiness. But then, so many decades have passed since Fairbanks reveled in his derring-do that only low-camp humor can serve Zorro now; too bad it comes off as embarrassment. "No one leaves my tequila worm dangling in the wind," Big Z announces. Unfortunate writing, no?

Oh, well. Before long, the hero is back in action, doing battle with a band of desperadoes led by a scar-faced degenerate named McGivens (Nick Chinlund) and with his wayward wife's new boyfriend, a haughty French count called Armand (Rufus Sewell), who's gone into the vineyard business.

By the time of the finale -- a spectacular train explosion with the arch-villain lashed to the cowcatcher of the locomotive, à la Buster Keaton -- you may find yourself exhausted by the whole business. As exhausted as a movie genre that played itself out a long time ago.

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