The Two Sicarios

After seeing Sicario: Day of the Soldado, I thought I knew how I felt about it. I found it robust and muscular, if lacking the fluidity of its predecessor, directed with a Michael Mann-like panache by Denis Villeneuve. New director Stefano Sollima is no slouch, but his work behind the camera is comparably rudimentary, if solid.

I found Villeneuve’s film superior in almost all aspects. The pacing was sharper, the direction more dynamic and artistic. I didn’t even mind the most complained about element in the first film, Emily Blunt’s character, and to some, her performance. I looked at Blunt’s FBI agent as our window into the chaotic world of border/drug enforcement. Yes, she’s passive, confused, and uncertain. Just like we might be. Looking at her role though that lens, I found it effective.

Of course, the strongest part of the film was Benicio Del Toro’s title character. That of a haunted assassin working for the American government whose motivations are not merely mercenary, but vengeful. Del Toro specializes in the mysterious and mercurial. He says more with a tilt of the head than many actors do with several lines of dialogue. If any actor today could have been a silent film star, it’s Del Toro.

Benicio was well-matched by Josh Brolin’s casually cynical DOJ agent. Pairing those two was a masterpiece of casting. Del Toro and Brolin are such confident and charismatic actors, you might be riveted by watching them share pancakes at a greasy spoon at 7AM. They would barely have to speak.

The movie, as written by Taylor Sheridan, was a tough and ultimately horrifying look at the drug trade along our southern border. The lack of sentimentality in the writing, directing, and acting felt authentic. The moral ambiguity on point.

I was pleasantly surprised when a sequel was announced. The film was a bit of a sleeper hit and it got strong reviews. Still, it didn’t make a lot of money and while it scored three Oscar nominations, none were in major categories. It was also such a grim movie. Did moviegoers want to see the continuation of a story about a guy who murders an entire family at the end of the picture?

Apparently so.

The film resonated beyond the theatre, gaining a lot of traction in ancillary markets.

While I didn’t enjoy Soldado as much as the first film, I still find much to recommend. Del Toro and Brolin’s easy chemistry is again in full effect. The new story has an interesting hook in the use of a staged kidnapping and rescue of the daughter of a high-level Mexican crime lord by the American Government, with the intent to use her as leverage against the cartels by pitting them against each other by making her father think one of his competitors is behind the abduction.

Things quickly go sideways, and the movie becomes a bit of a version of Denzel Washington’s underrated revenge actioner Man on Fire crossed with Logan. In that the Sicario finds himself protecting the girl after the United States government decides she is too much of a risk as their original plan comes apart and garners too much attention from American bureaucrats (icily represented by the invaluable Catherine Keener).

Once set apart from the protection of the United States government, the film appears to settle into a redemptive road movie where the Sicario becomes more human and finds a trace of that which he lost when his own family was murdered, resulting in the dark turn his life has taken. Thankfully, that isn’t exactly what happens. Something the final scene makes clear when Del Toro takes a young protégé into his profession.

At the end of Soldado, one thing becomes crystal clear. This is the middle film of a trilogy. Second films often leave a certain level of dissatisfaction mixed with anticipation. They lack resolution while at the same time making you thankful there will be another.

When I titled this article “The Two Sicarios”, I was not referring to the fact that there are two films. Not in the literal sense anyway. I had intended to review Soldado shortly after its release. One thing lead to another, and other articles ended up taking precedence. I’m glad I held off.

Because what I have learned since then is there is a whole other view of this film that might be beyond my understanding. I had noticed a post on Twitter talking about how Latinx critics viewed the movie. While the article linked to the tweet didn’t report a high sample size, one thing was clear. The Latinx critics who they did survey, to a person, hated it. Found it racist. Fascist even. Perhaps the harshest criticism came from critic Kristen Lopez who stated “I remain convinced that Trump tweets fueled every narrative decision.” The other critiques tended to fall along that line.

There’s the way I saw the film and there’s the way they saw the film. Two different Sicarios.

Now, I’m as liberal as Oliver Wendell Holmes talking about taxes. I despise Trump so much that I consider it a sacrifice to capitalize his name in print. The extra keystroke annoys me. He’s not worth it.

So, what did I miss? Why did I not pick up on this? In short, what is wrong with me?

It’s possible the last question is the easiest to answer. I’m a middle-aged American white guy. Which is pretty much the most obtuse demographic on the face of the earth.

Let me explain first why I felt differently than the Latinx critics whose responses have given me pause and cause for my introspection.

The central thread throughout their extremely well-written concerns was that the Mexican characters are poorly formed, incidental caricatures. Upon further review, I can see that to a degree. Other than Del Toro, none of the Mexican characters has a true arc. Not the young “coyote” who goes into the business of smuggling immigrants over the border. Nor the young girl who falls under Del Toro’s protection – although I must say, she gets a killer introduction, in the form of a playground fight, followed by a dressing down of her head master.

Here’s the thing to me though. I don’t view the Sicario movies as necessarily character driven, but more an over the shoulder view of the situation involving drugs and immigration on our southern border. That was how I saw the film. As well, I found the Mexican characters – as thinly drawn as they may have been – to be routinely more sympathetic than the American characters. Who are mostly interested in the mission, but not the cause. They remind me of a guest character on the televised version of M*A*S*H. An Army commander with a high casualty rate who when asked why he wants to take the hill that is resulting in so much loss of life replies “Because it’s there.”

Perhaps what I’m getting at is I didn’t see any of the lead characters coming off all that well. With one notable exception, no one is a “good person”. Not even the young girl (although there are inklings of hope where she is concerned). There is however one character who supplies the bulk of the film’s humanity. Upon realizing that he and the girl are on their own, the Sicario and her come upon a deaf Mexican man named Angel (perhaps a little too on the nose), who provides them with food and shelter. It’s easily the best scene in the film. Del Toro’s Sicario knows sign language due to his deceased daughter having been hearing impaired. You can see that his ability to sign is rusty, but slowly, it comes back to him. The sequence is so well done, I almost wish the filmmakers had not chosen to run subtitles as it progresses. We may not understand, but we understand.

Anyway, that is my rationale for not noticing the demerits the Latinx critics took away from the film. Thinking on it now, I still can’t quite get there. Part of me wonders if it’s simply a lack of overall diversity in the portrayal of Mexican characters onscreen. I suppose if I had spent nearly all of my 47 years on earth seeing people who look like me more often than not being shown as criminals and victims, I might view the two films in another light. Maybe if Sicario – beyond the skill of the filmmaking – were more of an outlier, it would be seen differently by LatinX critics.

I suppose all of that is possible and probably a factor. But here’s the thing I must deal with. Maybe I just don’t get it. Maybe I need to look harder. To make more of an effort to put myself in the shoes of another. Maybe I’m the problem.

That’s not a comfortable thought. It is the one I’m wrestling with now. Mightily. Like Jacob and the angel. I don’t mind telling you I’m nervous about the outcome.