BY ABGRABER

In print | Published November 3, 2005

The critic received “The Legend of Zorro” at approximately 4:20 p.m. on Saturday, Oct. 29, 2005. From the franchise’s entrance into the movie theatre, it was apparent that the end was all too near. Though the film made a bold effort to assume some of the bravado of its former self, the critic could see past the ridiculous posturing and blustery language, revealing the sad, limping shell it had become. With great regret, the critic was forced to diagnose an acute case of Failing Film Franchise Syndrome. Estimated remaining life-span: Two hours, ten minutes.

FFFS is epidemic in the current atmosphere of Hollywood, which has been made toxic by the depletion of vital creativity vapors from the Los Angeles air-conditioning system. “Zorro” exhibited one of the worst cases in recent memory. Symptoms were advanced beyond the hope of treatment and had invaded all parts of the system. Character, dialogue, plot, music — none were without severe cases of infection.

The critic was shocked by the franchise’s decline since they last met in 1998. (Those records may be found under the name “The Mask of Zorro”). In the seven years that elapsed between checkups, the “Zorro” franchise developed a virulent strain of Cloying Character Development, often one of the first warning signs of FFFS. The primary organ, Zorro (Antonio Banderas), became grossly bloated and terminally angsty, its mode of fighting reduced to manfully adjusting its costume while genteelly acknowledging the simpering adoration of its fan club. A botched plot device caused Zorro’s counterpart, Elena (Catherine Zeta-Jones), to deteriorate from a feisty, independent wench to a sulky housewife in constant need of care and rescue. Most alarmingly, the franchise developed a malignant growth that appears to have taken the form of a small, annoying child (Adrian Alonso). The critic suggested immediate amputation.

The behavior of the franchise’s component parts suggests severe mental regression. Serious signs of Verbal Diarrhea joined forces with a sudden, violent attack of Contagious Melodrama and resulted in dialogue the like of which this critic has only seen in extreme cases of middle-school, student-written drama. When Elena desperately inquired, “What happened to the man I married?” and Zorro replied, “What happened to the woman who used to fight by my side?” the critic feared that she, too, might be ill. It was all she could do not to vomit on to her notepad. With a plot too weak and confused to fight back, the histrionics soon spread to the acting as well.

As the syndrome progressed, delusions of grandeur began to surface in what was, in reality, a frothy plot that called upon such nonsensical devices as occult orders of knighthood and religiously fanatical psychopaths. Despite obvious problems with claiming that perfect American freedom existed in the decade leading up to the Civil War, “Legend of Zorro” nevertheless insisted that it was a giant metaphor for the greatness of America and the American Dream. Slavery and racism went unmentioned in a plot that revolved around conflict between a city of Mexican-American Californians who were very, very happy (suspiciously happy: perhaps the franchise has been self-medicating) to join the Union and the villains who wanted to stop them. The delusions persisted until the patient fully lost control of its soundtrack, which spiraled away into soaring crescendos, saccharine romantic themes and adventurous bangs, heedless of the damage that was being done to "Zorro’’s integrity, reputation and vital signs.

Just when all hope seemed lost, the film rallied for a final spurt, expending all of its energy on a few action sequences of note. For a moment, the critic thought that her proposed remedies had taken hold, and ‘Legend of Zorro’ might indeed be spared a horrible end. However, after these short scenes were spent, the film malingered on far past the point of dignity, grasping piteously at clichés as they floated by in the franchise bloodstream. At last, it came to the closing credits, where the critic pronounced the franchise dead on arrival. Time: 6:30 p.m. And on a personal note for all fellow mourners of the ‘Zorro’ franchise, the critic would just like to add, Rest in peace, my fine, sombreroed friend. Rest in peace.

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