Talk about putting the cart before the horse — and getting away with it. Robert Rodriguez’s Machete has the rare distinction of being a movie that stemmed from a fake trailer, the latter being something Rodriguez devised for Grindhouse, the terrific 2007 schlock homage he did with Quentin Tarantino. Thankfully, Machete proves its drive-in bona fides.
Featuring more dicing and slicing than Benihana, the movie isn’t so much a send-up of 1970s-era exploitation cinema than it is a star-studded (if kitschy) revival of it. The pitch-perfect cast includes Robert De Niro, Lindsay Lohan, Jessica Alba, Don Johnson, Jeff Fahey and Steven Seagal, whom we discover, if you put sunglasses on him, is a dead ringer for Jim Belushi. Oh, and Michelle Rodriguez’s bare midriff deserves a special credit of its own (and maybe even an Oscar).
The titular character, though (what, you didn’t know Machete’s a name?) is played by familiar character actor Danny Trejo, a big, thick slab of a human whose real-life travails (ex-con, ex-boxer), are etched on a face seemingly swiped from Monument Valley.
Machete is a former Mexican federale whose life has fallen apart after a drug kingpin brutally murdered Machete’s family. When an oily goon hires Machete to assassinate an illegal immigrant-bashing Texas state senator (De Niro, wandering in and out of accent), the scheme sets off a flurry of crosses, double crosses, bare boobs, slashing, gunfire and as much political subtext that Rodriguez can shoehorn in without incurring the wrath of Arizonans.
Machete maybe goes on a bit too long for its own good, but you have to respect its trashy heart. —Phil Bacharach
MACHETE had me as soon as he John McClaned out of a window using another man’s intestines.