Friday, Film4, 6:20 pm
If ever there was a film to make one wistfully contemplate donning a mask and shouting “Viva la justicia!” while heroically dueling in candlelit haciendas, The Mask of Zorro is it. Directed by Martin Campbell—yes, the same chap who rebooted Bond not once but twice—this 1998 film is a lush, unapologetically fun adventure. It pairs the charismatic charm of Antonio Banderas as the dashing Alejandro Murrieta with the suave gravitas of Anthony Hopkins as the original Zorro, Don Diego de la Vega. Their mentor-protégé dynamic crackles with wit and drama, and Catherine Zeta-Jones as Elena delivers not only fiery chemistry but wields a sword like she’s auditioning for a spot in Middle-earth’s Fellowship.
The plot is classic pulp brilliance: vengeance, redemption, stolen gold, and a dash of mistaken identity. Campbell gives the whole thing the kind of kinetic energy that evokes the swashbuckling days of Errol Flynn but with a 1990s polish—think The Adventures of Robin Hood meets The Rocketeer. The action sequences are genuinely thrilling, with Banderas and Zeta-Jones’ dance of blades (and occasionally hearts) being an obvious standout. But beyond the flash of swords and flamenco-infused intrigue, there’s a surprisingly emotional core. Hopkins brings a Shakespearean weight to Don Diego’s quest for justice, making it feel less like popcorn fare and more like something that might’ve made Dumas himself crack a satisfied smile.
And then, of course, there’s the score. Oh, James Horner, you glorious maestro of the heartstrings! Horner’s work here is nothing short of sublime. His score is richly textured, drawing on Spanish guitar, triumphant orchestral swells, and percussion that practically smells of the dusty streets of 19th-century California. Tracks like "The Plaza of Execution" and "Zorro’s Theme" balance sweeping grandeur with playful rhythms, much like the film itself. Horner even sneaks in some of his signature tricks—those mournful, rising chords he also used to tear us apart in Titanic make an appearance, reminding us that behind every great hero is a bit of pain. The music doesn’t just accompany the film; it practically duels alongside it, adding layers to every slash of the sword.
In a landscape increasingly crowded with grimdark heroes and sprawling cinematic universes, The Mask of Zorro is a reminder of how satisfying a self-contained, swashbuckling romp can be. It’s a film that, like its titular hero, swings in with style, leaves you grinning, and disappears into the night—cape billowing and theme music soaring. A masterpiece of masked mayhem, indeed.
- Noel Chambers