The distinction between Bruce Willis's and Mel Gibson’s recent string of unsuccessful films comes down to a matter of pride. And I'm not simply referring to the slightly more respectable appearance that a somewhat larger budget gives Gibson's latest efforts compared to Willis's (when Gibson’s are made on a shoestring, Willis’s evoke images of a worn-out loafer). The point is that while Willis seems weighed down by the material he’s given, Gibson manages to lift it – at least concerning his character; the final result often falls short of its potential, but it's true that Gibson's performance is usually the best part, if not the only worthwhile aspect of the movie (his role as an alcoholic actor who runs into trouble with the law in *Last Looks*, for example, demonstrates a willingness to poke fun at his own public image). Consider what Variety said about Gibson’s work in 2019's *The Professor and the Madman*: “the good news is that Gibson is fine; it's everything else that doesn't work.” The same could be stated of nearly every film he’s appeared in since, and *Panama* is no exception. This isn’t a bad movie simply because of its poor quality, but also due to a fundamental lack of decency—a nationalistic and hypocritical production that not only justifies the United States' invasion of Panama in the late 80s-early 90s (the narration begins with “there's nothing more rock and roll than taking out the bad guys for the red, white and blue” and, to prove it wasn’t being sarcastic, concludes with “We caught Noriega with his drawers down”; ignoring the fact that Noriega had been on the CIA’s payroll for years), but simultaneously claims to be supportive of the Panamanian people. The filmmakers' knowledge of Panama's 20th-century history, however, could probably fit into a pinhead and still leave room for the Lord’s Prayer. For instance, a comandante with the contras tells a sad story about how “Sandinistas came in the middle of the night, woke [his parents] up and shot them. And my wife and my daughter. Noriega ordered them killed.” Does it seem only to me, or does that wording suggest that the Sandinistas – i.e., Nicaragua’s former and future rulers – took orders from Noriega? I suspect Daniel Ortega might disagree. P.S. The character who tells this story has the unfortunate name “Steadman Fagoth Muller,” (which sounds like a misguided nod to *Life of Brian’s* "Biggus Dickus"). Why is he called that? So we can hear how “When he was a child, his middle name was the subject of teasing, so he beat up everyone who tried to make a joke of it and forced them all to call him by his full name.” Please explain why someone – Panamanian or Nicaraguan (I’m still not sure) or even just an earthling – would have such an unusual name. And if they did have it, why would they be teased for it in a Spanish-speaking country? I mean, if bassoon players (‘fagotistas’ in Spanish) are given a free pass, why shouldn't he?

Source on TMDB