When it comes to Machete flicks, slapdash genre-wanker Robert Rodriguez — a man who has lived in torment for 20 years over his inability to make another movie as good as El Mariachi, his debut film which cost $7000 — morphs into Zucker Abrahams Zucker. Amusing as a trailer (the Charlie Sheen menage a trois gag works), probably very trying as a feature. You can’t sustain this kind of tonal attitude over 95 or 100 minutes — it turns into cottage cheese. No name-brand director is as deeply opposed to infusing his films with thematic or spiritual content as Rodriguez. He would sooner slit his throat than have one of his films deliver subtext (except for his “let’s have fun with this or that exploitation cliche by overcranking it” bullshit). You’ll never get more than what you see when you watch a Rodriguez fick.