Revisiting *Desperado*: A Unique Take on Modern Westerns
It’s kind of fascinating, in a way, that *Desperado* isn’t frequently discussed among modern Westerns. Maybe it was just so iconic at its release that people assumed it was standard. Or perhaps, after 30 years, the term “modern” feels a bit outdated. This Robert Rodriguez film, which hit theaters in the late summer of 1995, certainly doesn’t take place in the Old West and boasts weaponry that’s far heftier than you’d typically find in classic Westerns. Kevin Costner, often viewed as the torchbearer for Eastwood’s legacy, doesn’t really dive into this modern world—he tends to stick to sports when it comes to contemporary themes.
Perhaps that’s why *Desperado* isn’t regarded as a classic Western, as it got overshadowed by the Eastwood/Costner dynamic in the mid-90s. It was, without a doubt, a movie for the younger crowd. Rodriguez, at just 27, was balancing a sense of responsibility with a youthful flair, especially after the success of his self-funded action flick, *El Mariachi*. It certainly feels like a blend of styles, notably paired with Sam Raimi’s penchant for traditional Western storytelling, showcased in his violent shoot-’em-up Western that came out around the same time. Rodriguez, like Raimi, brings a glee to genre films, marking his territory with various shootouts and confrontations.
The director’s love for action evokes memories of Hong Kong films making their way to American shores in the 1990s. I think it’s worth noting that, despite the criticism thrown at Tarantino for his on-screen persona, he does bring some merit to discussions of both Rodriguez and himself. Often, people might portray him as a mere creep or a loser, yet his stylish take on action has remained surprisingly relevant, much like *Desperado*’s remix of genre conventions.
The film opens with a captivating simplicity that sets the tone perfectly. We see a nameless man taking a walk into a rather rough-looking bar—not quite the *El Mariachi* vibe yet. Instead, we encounter his somewhat sly sidekick, played by Steve Buscemi. It’s almost like entering another world where action is cloaked in mystique. Rodriguez takes the time to flesh out his characters, including a musical introduction with Banderas, who captures the bar’s essence. This leads nicely into a flashback involving the events of *El Mariachi*, where his love interest falls victim to the ruthless Lord Bucho, played by Joakim de Almeida.
After setting the scene, it takes about 30 minutes before Banderas finally arrives at the bar from the opening scene, following Buscemi’s casual prediction. What follows is a frenetic seven-minute shootout that feels more John Woo than Sergio Leone, showcasing Banderas’ skills and his last standing foe amidst the chaos. There’s something almost balletic about how Banderas moves during this sequence. While it’s easy to call these action scenes “cinematic,” Rodriguez brings his own flair to the choreography. Banderas’ spins, dramatic flourishes, and overall style become as crucial to the film’s appeal as the slow-motion shots and flying bits.
Not to mention Banderas has a stunning on-screen pairing with Salma Hayek, who plays Carolina, the bookstore owner. Their chemistry ignites during a tense standoff that, yes, includes a rather over-the-top steamy scene that’s a touch excessive. Yet, there’s something distinctly Western about the plot, even if the typical imagery of a classic cowboy duel is absent. It’s Rodriguez’s fondness for legends and myth-making that pulls through, further explored in his subsequent film, *Once Upon a Time in Mexico*, which adds layers to the ongoing saga of these characters, blurring the line between reality and storytelling.
Reflecting on it now, the mid-90s proved to be the ideal backdrop for a narrative that intentionally flaunted its loose continuity and the absence of modern high-tech tools—save, of course, for quirky artillery like a guitar case rocket launcher. I wonder if Rodriguez ever considered this crude indie might evolve into a more heavily funded Hollywood production. And he did continue making films for years; while not always in a literal sense, there’s a clear spirit that persisted. Even though he never quite developed a comprehensive worldview that elevates his films beyond the enjoyment of B-movies, this quality also makes him a notable Western director. Perhaps it’s not so much about the absence of depth in Westerns but about the simplicity that often gets lost in a cluttered cinematic landscape. That’s the charm of *Desperado*, and it’s something we can still appreciate after all these years.
