As the indentured servant of a crime boss, Jerry has one job left before he can leave the mob behind. His live-in, psychobabbling girlfriend Sam thinks that’s one job too many. She’s had it. But if Jerry doesn’t drive to Mexico to retrieve a legendary pistol, he’s a dead man. So he makes a run for the border. In a huff, she heads to Las Vegas. The Mexican chronicles those parallel, yet connected misadventures.
Trust the rating on this one, not the light-hearted TV ads. Audiences primed for a rollicking romantic comedy will find that the dead bodies on this violent road trip outnumber the laughs (several people are shot at point-blank range). Some of those kills are connected to a ruthless hit-man who nabs Sam as insurance. Oddly enough, hostage and captor bond over deeply felt relational "issues" (a perverse plot twist kicks in when she IDs him as a gay man and encourages him to pick up a companion for their trek, which he does).
This film’s dialogue is rife with profanity, including misuses of God’s name and frequent f-words. Frank conversations about sex and porn (one implying that sexual performance is a valuable way to judge a potential mate’s character) are joined by immodesty, alcohol use and romanticized suicide. The story itself may be interestingly constructed, but that’s like saying the Bates Motel has nice eaves.
A key sentiment here is that true love endures all things. Great. That echoes the Apostle Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 13:7. However, families that have established moral boundaries for entertainment will find The Mexican located south of the border.