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Brosnan leaves Bond behind — far behind — in 'The Matador'

By ELEANOR RINGEL GILLESPIE
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

It's bye-bye Bond for Pierce Brosnan, and he's going out with a smile and a Speedo.

In "The Matador," the former 007 plays ignoble Julian Noble, a self-described "facilitator of fatalities." Or hit man to you and me.

Julian circles the world performing what he calls "corporate gigs." And one night in a hotel bar in Mexico City, a chance meeting changes his life.

The Weinstein Company

'The Matador'

The verdict: Mostly a lot of bull, but Brosnan has his moments.

Director: Richard Shepard
Starring: Pierce Brosnan, Greg Kinnear, Hope Davis, Adam Scott, Philip Baker Hall
Run time: 97 minutes
Release date: Dec. 30, 2005
Rating: R for strong sexual content and language.
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Changes salesman Danny Wright's (Greg Kinnear) life, too. He's sitting a few bar stools away, having gone to Mexico to secure an important contract. Danny is a fairly normal guy, with a fairly normal wife (Hope Davis) and a not-so-normal family tragedy. He and Julian strike up a conversation and become unlikely buddies.

Both are at a crossroads. Danny needs to make a good impression at his job, where he's losing traction ... and raises. Julian is getting old for his line of work. After all, there aren't pension plans for hired assassins.

After a few adventures — writer-director Richard Shepard is very coy about exactly what went on south of the border — they part. But what happens in Mexico City doesn't always stay in Mexico City. Julian turns up at Danny's house, where the heretofore mousy Davis asks enthusiastically, "Did you bring your gun?"

That sort of reversal is "The Matador's" stock in trade. The picture genre-hops from thriller to comedy to buddy movie to domestic drama without breaking stride.

Luckily, the stars are up to speed. Kinnear brings his particular brand of nice-but-not-dull quality to his nice-but-not-dull character.

Meanwhile, Brosnan cheerfully trashes his signature role (something he's done before, but not as broadly). Instead of tuxedos and martinis, Julian is partial to black Speedos and cowboy boots (which is all he wears as he marches through a fancy hotel lobby). Glancing at the female body sleeping next to him after a raucous night, he doesn't kill her. Rather, he steals her nail polish and paints his toenails.

However, their good work can't save Shepard from himself. His movie lacks depth or even danger — and when you've got this many balls in the air, you need to come up with something along those lines. Instead, the film feels like a series of sometimes interesting scenes randomly strung together. Last fall's "Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang" did this sort of thing infinitely better.

By the clunky third act, "The Matador" has copped out completely. What began as something with "Strangers on a Train" possibilities devolves into a wacky mishmash.

"Consider me the best cocktail story you ever met," Julian tells an initially standoffish Danny. Ultimately, that's what "The Matador" is — a colorful, freewheeling tale that never gets beneath its darkly comic surface.