Nobody swashbuckles better.
Every Friday night, almost without fail, The Craggus family sit down for Friday Night Movie Night. For nearly ten years now, we’ve each taken turns, week in, week out, to each choose a movie, and we all have to watch it. We’ve used it to rewatch family favourites, try out new movies or even introduce each other to classics and favourites from years and decades past. The first Friday Night Movie Night of 2025 was a welcome rewatch of The Greatest Showman, but this week’s movie choice was a different kind of blast from the past: 1998’s The Mask Of Zorro.
There’s a kind of cinematic alchemy to The Mask of Zorro that’s become increasingly rare in modern blockbusters – a heady mix of charismatic leads, practical stunt work, and an old-fashioned sense of adventure polished to a high gleam. It’s a film that wears its heart on its sleeve, its sword on its hip, and its swashbuckling ambitions with unabashed pride. Watching it today feels like unearthing a relic of an era when action movies still had a twinkle in their eye and a human pulse behind the pyrotechnics.
Directed by Martin Campbell, who has a knack for reinvigorating genre staples (this is the man who brought James Bond roaring back to life twice, with GoldenEye and Casino Royale), the film is both a loving homage to the classic Zorro mythos and a rollicking action-adventure in its own right. From its rousing score by James Horner to its sweeping cinematography by Phil Meheux, every element is calibrated to transport the audience to a world of dashing heroes, dastardly villains, and high-stakes heroics.
At the centre of the film’s success is its superb cast. Antonio Banderas, with a smouldering charm and lithe physicality, steps into the mask with effortless panache, proving himself both a worthy heir to the Zorro legacy and a bankable action star. Opposite him, Anthony Hopkins exudes gravitas and sly humour as Don Diego de la Vega, the original Zorro passing the torch to his successor. It’s a master-and-apprentice dynamic that crackles with chemistry and humour, lending the film emotional heft amidst the sword fights and explosions. And then there’s Catherine Zeta-Jones, luminous and spirited as Elena, a character who’s far more than the archetypal love interest. Her scenes with Banderas are electric, particularly their memorable swordplay-turned-flirtation that practically dances off the screen.
But what elevates The Mask of Zorro beyond mere popcorn entertainment is its commitment to craft. The action sequences, meticulously choreographed and bolstered by practical effects, have a tangible weight and immediacy that CGI-heavy modern films often lack. The stunts – whether it’s Zorro’s elegant swordplay, death-defying leaps, or horse-riding heroics – are a showcase of what can be achieved when physical performance takes centre stage. There’s a palpable thrill in knowing that these sequences were painstakingly performed and captured in-camera, a testament to the dedication of the stunt team and the film’s broader production values.
The screenplay, penned by John Eskow, Ted Elliott, and Terry Rossio, strikes an admirable balance between humour, romance, and high-stakes drama. It isn’t reinventing the wheel – nor does it need to. Zorro’s cinematic legacy stretches back to the silent era, with Douglas Fairbanks defining the dashing hero archetype in 1920’s The Mark of Zorro and Tyrone Power reprising the role with equal flair in the 1940s. The Mask Of Zorro leans into the timeless appeal of the character and its genre, offering a story that’s as much about honour and legacy as it is about adventure and spectacle. Even its villains, played with devilish glee by Stuart Wilson and Matt Letscher, are suitably over-the-top without ever quite tipping into parody.
In hindsight, The Mask of Zorro feels like the kind of movie they just don’t make anymore. Its practical effects, elaborate set pieces, and reliance on star power rather than brand recognition are increasingly rare in the age of franchise filmmaking. It’s a slick, lovingly crafted blockbuster that harks back to the golden age of swashbucklers while infusing them with modern energy and charisma.
Sure, it may indulge in the occasional narrative convenience or rely a little too heavily on familiar tropes, but these feel less like flaws and more like hallmarks of a genre embracing its own traditions. The Mask of Zorro isn’t just an adventure – it’s a celebration of a style of storytelling itself, one that invites its audience to strap in, cheer for the hero, and leave the theatre with a spring in their step. Now, wouldn’t it be nice if more films dared to swash their buckles quite like this?
