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The narrative opens upon a Mexican political landscape teetering on the brink of absolute chaos, threatened by a bloody coup d'état masterminded by the ruthless drug cartel kingpin Armando Barillo (Willem Dafoe) and a corrupt military official, General Marquez (Gerardo Vigil). At the center of this swirling conspiracy emerges Sands (played with an exquisitely manipulative yet charismatic touch by Johnny Depp), an eccentric and amoral CIA rogue agent. Sands has infiltrated Mexico not to enforce justice, but rather to maintain a careful equilibrium of chaos that keeps his home country's geopolitical interests secure.
Sands' web of intrigue leads him to recruit the legendary, grief-stricken recluse El Mariachi (Antonio Banderas), the guitar-case-toting marksman who harbors a deeply personal vendetta against General Marquez. The story then moves with a raucous, bloody localized globetrotting dynamic, bringing together various factions—including an undercover FBI agent, a corrupt former federal officer, and a military defector—before all competing agendas violently collide amidst the sacred celebrations of the Day of the Dead (DÃa de los Muertos).
The absolute success of this film rests squarely on Johnny Depp's performance as Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, creating one of the most cultured, sociopathic, yet comically brilliant anti-heroes in modern action cinema. Unlike traditional secret agents driven by nationalism or morality, Sands is motivated by bureaucratic megalomania and a profound love for interpersonal manipulation. Depp delivers the character with a calm, cynical articulation, a fondness for wearing t-shirts bearing bizarre slogans, and ridiculous disguises, creating a chilling contrast whenever he casually orders a political assassination just to maintain the stability of his mission.
Sands' ambition to pull the strings of the Mexican coup from behind the scenes serves as a deeply dark satire of imperialistic foreign intervention. Ironically, to smooth the path for this grand political maneuver—which he refers to as a "work of art"—Sands is ultimately betrayed and suffers a tragic blindness after his eyes are brutally gouged out by his enemies. His presence in the third act, completely blind, provides a powerful narrative dynamic; the mastermind who once controlled every variable must now fight through the chaotic streets relying purely on hearing and instinct, offering a poignant visual metaphor for how the arrogance of power ultimately blinds the ruler.
In terms of aesthetics and entertainment, Once Upon a Time in Mexico is celebrated as one of Robert Rodriguez's most ambitious technical achievements, as he single-handedly served as director, screenwriter, cinematographer, editor, and composer. His early adoption of high-definition digital cameras vividly brings the Mexican landscape to life with highly contrasted, grand, and theatrical color saturations. Rodriguez masterfully orchestrates several of the film's most thrilling and memorable action sequences, including El Mariachi and Carolina (Salma Hayek) escaping a hotel by rappelling down a high-rise building while chained together, and the symphonic gunfights inside the presidential palace.
The audio aspects of the film also play a crucial role in building an atmosphere that is both melancholic in its heroism and intensely gripping. The musical score, composed by Rodriguez himself, seamlessly fuses fast-paced traditional flamenco guitar plucking with driving modern rock beats. This accompanying soundtrack successfully anchors several scenes that risk becoming overly confusing due to the massive ensemble cast, providing a dramatic weight that elevates this explosive fantasy into a grand and poetic cinematic saga.
However, this drastic shift in narrative focus acts as a double-edged sword, making Once Upon a Time in Mexico one of the most polarizing films among the trilogy's purist fans to this day. For some viewers and critics, the overly convoluted plot packed with too many subplots feels absurd and sprawling, betraying the tighter, more intimate, and purely revenge-driven roots of Desperado. Johnny Depp's dominant, scene-stealing performance frequently overshadows Antonio Banderas as the lead, leaving the guitar-slinging hero feeling like a supporting character in his own film.
Furthermore, the pitch-black, theatrical humor—such as Sands using a fake third arm to conceal a hidden pistol—frequently undercuts the narrative tension of what should be an intense national tragedy. Overall, if you are looking for a gritty, tactical Western with a neatly linear storyline, this film may prove disappointing. Conversely, if you can shed conventional narrative expectations and enjoy it as a highly stylized, luxurious, gunpowder-fueled political satire that serves as a prime showcase for Johnny Depp's peak eccentricities of the early 2000s, this film remains a highly entertaining masterpiece of pop culture.