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We tell ourselves stories constantly. Sometimes it’s the big story of our life in which one event leads inevitably to the next. Other times, it’s a story about how we fit into world events. We situate our circumstances within the larger narrative that comes to us via the media, the internet, conversations with friends, family and coworkers. In 50 years, perhaps we will tell our grandchildren about the pandemic. It may seem incredible or even vaguely heroic to them. Or perhaps they will think it merely pedestrian. After all, to them, most of us who aren’t frontline or critical workers just spent a few months indoors.
The stories that are most powerful are those we hear as children. The plasticity of young brains and the relative newness of the world as seen through young eyes grants the tales we hear as children an indelible, unforgettable quality and insulates them from the cynicism and critical view we maintain as adults. (At least that’s my theory.) This is why people remember fairy tales and nursery rhymes even as they forget what they had for lunch the day before. Many people of my generation can still recall minute trivia about books they read over and over again growing up —Harry Potter, for instance — despite being unable to recall many of the basic lessons of elementary school.
Simple tales with heroes and villains, monsters and mayhem make an impression, and children are especially susceptible to them. Mother Goose and the Brothers Grimm feel as real to a child as stories told by their parents about family history that could be just a few years in the past. More incredible than our ability to recall stories from childhood, however, is the fact that these same stories can still invoke feelings in us adults. Tales heard as children still stir similar feelings in an adult, like muscle memory or a scent smelled for the first time after many years.
Today’s Film: The Mask of Zorro (1998)
One of the wonderful things about movies in the late 1990s is that they could fully, earnestly embrace stories that in any other era would seem melodramatic, simpering or unsophisticated. Yet in 1998, the economy was booming, the Cold War was a (somewhat) distant memory, and 9/11 and the Bush era wars in Iraq and Afghanistan hadn’t happened yet. There was no need for cynicism in Hollywood because — by and large — things were great. Or at least that was the zeitgeist. In short, it was the only era in American history that could have produced a film like The Mask of Zorro.
The Mask of Zorro, directed by Martin Campbell and boasting five credited writers, revivifies a classic action hero: Zorro. Originally created in 1919 by pulp writer Johnston McCulley, Zorro was a prototype for later action franchises created by comic books and massive blockbusters such as Star Wars. Batman — another wealthy vigilante dressed in black with a mask and incredible abilities — owes a particular debt to Zorro, AKA, Don Diego de la Vega. Along with Tarzan — another early pulp creation — Zorro was the original American action hero.
Over the years, the masked vigilante protected the poor citizens of 19th century Southern California from all manner of government goon and greedy marauder. While the first Zorro story went into print in 1919, it had reached the silver screen and radio waves by 1920, where it remained for decades. By the 1990s, though, Zorro was largely out of circulation. I have fond memories as a wee child of watching bootleg VHS tapes of the old Disney half-hour TV series from the late 1950s. The masked crusader for good who left a Z scratched on all manners of surfaces with his sword was captivating.
All of this is to say, when The Mask of Zorro reached theaters, I was instantly hooked, and rewatching the movie last week, I was pleasantly surprised by how well it holds up. The all star cast — Anthony Hopkins, Antonia Banderas and Catherine Zeta-Jones in particular — carry the film, and while the dialogue certainly had the potential to be cheesy, it is remarkably sharp. But no one really watches Zorro for the wordplay. Instead, he’s all about swordplay and derring-do. The film doesn’t disappoint. Banderas swings from chandeliers, leaps onto and off of horses, does flips and acrobatics and waves his sword around so vigorously that even Errol Flynn might have been impressed. Point is, the movie is a lot of fun.
If I’m being completely honest, The Mask of Zorro isn’t exactly a great artistic work. It’s all bombast and color and purple prose, but that’s always what makes it worth watching. It’s a spectacular relic from a short moment in time when a movie could aspire to be nothing more than pure fun. There’s swordplay and sex appeal and just a hint of an “important moral” in the story that makes it feel worth while. In our particular moment in time, maybe this is exactly the sort of escapism we need.
The Mask of Zorro is streaming on Netflix.
Reading List:
Have you been wondering how the paparazzi are holding up during quarantine? It’s been a mixed bag. The Times has the details.
This one is a real New York City deep cut, but some of my readers may remember Taste of Persia, the literal hole in the way Persian restaurant that rented space within a pizza parlor in the Flatiron district. Guess what? It’s back for delivery!
Benjamin Reeves is an award-winning screenwriter, journalist and media consultant based in Brooklyn, New York. Follow him on Twitter @bpreeves or write to him at breeves.writer@gmail.com.