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.
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.
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.

What a great word "re-imagining" is. Isn't that what they call Dawn of the Dead MMIV (2004)? A clever word indeed - it disguises the term that everyone has grown to hate, "remake" that is, and makes it almost sound as if the process of making one was creative and involved the imagination. Well, damn, was I misled. At least I was seduced more by the thought of countless gore and unbridled violence than by the idea of "re-imagining," though it played a role.
Still, why make a remake? Directors do it for only a few reasons really: to update a movie for a modern audience, or because they personally love the original and want to make a tribute to it. An homage, if you will. Nonetheless, it all generally (I do admit exceptions) boils down to one thing: stealing someone's idea and reshaping it (or "re-imagining" it) so that those who would never see it or understand it would pay money to see it. It's like Coles'/Cliffs' notes; dump everything in a blender, purify all that is more puzzling and curious and throw in a few artificial flavors. In other words, a great marketing scheme.
So what's wrong with this one? Well, I'll start with what I liked. I liked the opening scenes. Thanks to CGI and a bigger budget we could actually get a grasp of the chaos of the zombie holocaust Romero tried to communicate in the original through minimalist means. We see the city in ruins, thousands of zombies: chaos and death. Two words that look beautiful on screen. Then it all falls apart.
This set-up leads nowhere. The movie does what almost every remake does. It adds more of everything except character, atmosphere, and story. It's noisier, (in some sense) bloodier, and more full of main characters who appear only to die in nonsensical subplots. The setting, the mall which played a crucial role in the original film's story and theme, is purely coincidental. The idea communicated in Romero's film, the pure ecstatic joy of having "a mall all to yourself as a fortress," is gone here. Further, this "re-imagining" has no moxie, no spirit, no balls. It assumes (probably quite rightly) that the audience has no attention span and doesn't bother to get us interested in the characters or the story. The film is rushed and misses the quieter interactions of the four characters of the original. You actually grew to care about those people in Romero's version because there was a certain realism to their existence despite the insanity outside the mall. Here, you don't care when or who goes: what matters is how they go.
What else is their to say? The film is not scary. It has one or two "jump" scenes and it tries to make up for the rest with gore and loud special effects. As a story it's really too choppy to be followed and the conflicts between the characters are too underdeveloped to save it. The humor is also reduced to a few one-liners (and one really good character: Andy). After that, what remains? An ending that is plainly ridiculous and far inferior to the subdued, inevitable ambiguity of the original film. But, despite it being a pretty bad film (though not quite as bad as some other remakes), it should be remembered for one thing: it kicked The Passion of Christ from it's number one spot in the box office. Well done zombies.