The Matador is better upon reflection because at the time one is watching it, it seems so light. The humor is always medium-gauge, never unfunny but never gut-busting. The story is a very simple thread. The characteristics of the plot are often recycled features, namely the unscrupulous bad guy in need of a pal and the straight-laced glass-wearing good guy in need of security in life team up and learn from each other and somehow complement each other's lifestyles. I also find the bullfighting parallel to the story unnecessary, as it is a simply cruel thing and the symbolism is hardly potent enough to carry itself. However, it really is a good film, because though it seemed so thin and unaffecting at the time, it wasn't. It has a subtle way of connecting with the audience.<br /><br />I believe the reason it slowly but surely gives the audience something to take with them is because though it's a formula that is nothing new, even most of the humor, both main characters, virtually the only characters in it, are somehow met and gotten to know. Forget calling them real. That's not at all what I mean. What I mean is that though Pierce Brosnan's filthy, womanizing, boozing hit man is a detached comical character, he's grasped firmly by the writer and definitely by Brosnan, who is aggressively communicating how much he enjoys his breath of fresh James Bondless air. Greg Kinnear's character seems quite the same in his detached scriptedness, but he's given certain very unexpected footnotes that for a moment due to the film's lightfootedness pass us by but then hit us only a moment later. We then realize the film is not simply Analyze This or Planes, Trains and Automobiles told stalely over again. Its truly saying something.<br /><br />The film's climax is of a sort that wants to partially be a thriller with twists. But with its lightness, how can that possibly be the focus of the film, though the plot has been leading up to it? No, the focus is what Brosnan and Kinnear get out of their unlikely relationship to each other. Strangely, The Matador is a film about regret and loneliness. Brosnan deals with loneliness and regret every day, and though we don't understand why Kinnear is so lenient and accepting with Brosnan continually interrupting his life, it's slowly understood that Brosnan is salvaging Kinnear from a more down-to-earth version of his own feelings as a means of redemption. The very last scene of the movie stays with me. It, I think, is where the film's subtle side-stepping impact finally begins to seep.