Did y’all see that video of a bull jumping into the stands in Mexico a couple of weeks ago? I couldn’t help but think of that when watching The Matador. (WARNING: METAPHOR ALERT)

Was that bull like Pierce Brosnan’s character? He leads a life of honor and respect, but because of who he is and what he does, he’s doomed no matter if he stays in the ring or if he tries to flee into the outside world. Is it better to run through the motions and take destiny through the back, or fight for your right to party carry on?

	Pierce Brosnan is 007 in Must Kill Ducky.

Okay, it’s not like I’m stretching for a metaphor. The movie spends more than a few minutes at a bullfighting stadium. I have to say, too, off topic, that personally bullfighting is cruel and not a sport. TV always shows the matador dodging and manipulating the bull, but never the part where he drives stakes and swords into the bull until it dies. If the matador had to wrestle the bull to the ground with his bare hands, then it would be an evenhanded contest.

When Pierce is at his smuggish best he can pull off the role of a likeable rogue as well as he can a hero, and make them the same character, which is one of the reasons he worked as 007 for a decade. Bond’s no fun unless he’s a little dangerous, too.

As an assassin in The Matador, Pierce is so cocky he’s brilliant. He gets into an insult war with a twelve-year-old kid at the park, walks through the lobby of a five-star hotel wearing only black speedos and cowboy boots and sleeps with any woman breathing.

On the other hand, there’s not so much on the brilliant when Pierce turns into Tony Soprano and gets all weepy and nervous breakdowny and needs Lorraine Brocco something fierce.

Pierce has reasoned that he’s not an evil person by taking “corporate gigs,” assuming the people are probably bad somehow. That rationalization worked fine for years, apparently, and I think I know why. He seems much happier using car bombs than a gun. Snipering is so personal, seeing your target up close through the scope. Blowing up a car is like not even being responsible, and would be my choice. Heck, the car might have exploded on its own, right?

Along comes Greg Kinnear, who has a man crush on Pierce, going so far as to grow a ‘stache like his new hero. For a minute there you wonder if this was turning into Brokeback Assassin. Really, it is some fabulous facial hair.

The movie’s message, I think? Friends help friends, no matter what. So Steve (or more likely, Kimberly), don’t worry, if you ever lose your [bowels] and can’t finish a “job,” I’ll totally step in and whack a man for you. Or even a woman. What do I care? What, she’s going to actually go out with me unlike every other woman? We better settle this beforehand, too - my cut better be 50 percent or I’m walking away.

Either way, Pierce feels much better when he tells Kinnear about the “job,” showing how to “facilitate a fatality.” Good stuff, but ultimately the rapport between the two falls flat and is as forced and affected as Pierce’s weird pseudo-American accent. When the conversations are too talky the movie drags and I found myself wondering if anyone would care if I turned on my Crackberry to play Texas Hold ‘Em.

The real problem: As with last year's Nic Cage flick, Lord of War, I couldn’t tell if The Matador had a message, and I can’t stand that. Is it a buddy comedy? Black comedy? Drama? Thriller? Snuff film? It seems to want to be hip and more positive than negative, more silly than serious, but is rarely funny. I still have no idea, and that’s why I can’t recommend seeing Pierce and Kinnear in the theater. Wait for cable.

The verdict: