CINEMA is a study of contrasts. Take the face of Danny Trejo, star of Machete. If you don’t have a picture of him, you can easily make a model by acquiring some distressed brown leather, peppering it with birdshot and wrapping it around the steel prow of a Bobcat-size bulldozer. Take this face and place it next to the cosseted bare backside of a starlet he’s rescuing in a fireman carry, out of a burning garage, and that’s all you need to know of the play of light on varied surfaces.
I don’t want to overpraise Machete—sure I do. Visually, it’s like an explosion in a ketchup factory, but there’s effervescence in Ethan Maniquis and Robert Rodriguez’s use of Trejo: the solemn catalyst for a tale of urban rebellion and human rights. At the least, Trejo is the second coming of Warren Oates.
Machete is a Mexican federale, betrayed, widowed and exiled in Austin. Two women notice him. One is Luz (Michelle Rodriguez): by day a taco-truck proprietor; by night, revolutionary hero “Shé,” the long-awaited female incarnation of Che. Meanwhile, a Latina ICE agent, Sartana (Jessica Alba), also starts tracking Machete.
A villainous politico, Booth (Jeff Fahey), hires Machete to put a hit on a state senator (Robert De Niro) known for his racist rhetoric. It’s a setup, a Reichstag burning party. There’s also a Minutemen-like group, whose members shoot illegals crossing the border. We see them plug a pregnant woman to take out an unborn “anchor baby.” “If’n it’s born here, it’s gonna be a citizen,” is a resounding exploitation-movie line; note also the Glenn Beck look-alike in the hunting party. With affecting reluctance, Machete takes up his weapon against these racists.
The downside of Machete is the problem of any overcrowded party, the feeling that one doesn’t get enough quality time with people you came to see: Lindsay Lohan as Booth’s degenerate daughter, Daryl Sabara as wannabe cholo and Cheech Marin as an armed and ludicrous padre. People will say that De Niro is squandered—if you really want to see him squandered, rent a Fokkers movie. De Niro is doing what Brando would do; certainly, Brando would have bestirred himself to play a weaselly Southern senator if he agreed with the movie’s politics.
After so much rhetorical viciousness and discriminatory lawmaking, this counterblast—in a movie that really slops the gore hogs—has unimpeachable relevance. It’s weirdly cheerful, absolutely extreme and always seriously comic. And Trejo, clearly not just a pretty face, is the weirdly calm eye of this hurricane of mayhem.
R; 105 min.
Opens Sept. 3
