What makes Sicario the best example of Benicio del Toro’s acting brilliance?

Sicario is less of a movie and more of a slow, methodical punch to the gut. It doesn’t explode; it coils. Directed by Denis Villeneuve, it slithers through the smoke and shadows of the U.S.-Mexico border, where the war on drugs feels more like a war on your soul. Every frame, drenched in Roger Deakins’ ghost light, contributes to the film being a cinematic masterpiece. Jóhann Jóhannsson’s score adds an even more raw thrill as you stumble through the scenes with the eerie accompaniment of his music. And Benicio del Toro? He’s not acting. He’s haunting the film. This isn’t a tale of good vs evil. It’s a quiet surrender to the gray. And it’ll ruin you, in the best way.

Alejandro's character moves like smoke through Villeneuve’s bleak, burning borderland, a man emptied out by loss and filled back up with something colder. Something quieter. His eyes carry the wreckage of a thousand unspoken stories, cartel horrors, broken homes, and a family turned into shadows, and in those long, heavy pauses, entire histories bleed through.

Alejandro is violence distilled into stillness. He is the slow inhale before the trigger. The last thing you see before it all goes dark. Sicario isn’t just one of Del Toro’s best performances. It’s a quiet detonation. A masterclass in restraint. A role so haunted and precise, it doesn’t fade with the credits; it follows you.

What is Sicario about?

When Sicario begins, it doesn’t ask politely for your attention; it grabs you by the throat and drags you across the border, straight into a world where justice is a joke and morality is a smudge on a bullet casing. FBI agent Kate Macer thinks she’s fighting the good fight until she steps into a house stuffed with bodies and a system that smells just as rotten. She’s thrown into a black ops task force with no clear rules and even less honesty, led by a man who grins through war crimes (Matt Graver) and another who doesn’t smile at all, Alejandro, played with ghostlike devastation by Benicio Del Toro.

From the first border crossing, Kate's dropped into the deep end: convoys in traffic jams that feel like war zones, black-ops missions with no briefings, and rules rewritten on the fly. The deeper she goes, the more twisted it gets. Alejandro isn’t just some brooding side character; he’s the beating, broken heart of this whole bloody mess. A ghost walking in daylight, a man whose grief has calcified into vengeance. He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t flinch. But when he moves, the whole story shifts.

The turning point? When Kate realizes she’s not a hero. She’s a witness. She’s a tool. And in the end, she’s handed a pen to sign her own surrender to the system, to the mission, to the way things really work.

Sicario isn’t a movie; it’s a descent. It grabs your morality, rips it apart, and dares you to blink. Deserts stretch like dying gods, bodies hang behind walls, and the law? It’s just a suggestion whispered in blood. Benicio Del Toro moves like a ghost with unfinished business, every stare a warning. You don’t watch Sicario; you endure it. It's sweat on your palms, sand in your lungs, and a prayer drowned out by gunfire. Justice is compromised. Ethics are currency. And silence? It kills louder than bullets. When the credits roll, you find yourself breathing again, wondering what that was even about?

What makes it Del Toro's best performance?

Benicio del Toro doesn’t just play Alejandro in Sicario; he becomes a storm in a human body. Quiet. Brooding. Precise. There’s a kind of violence in his stillness, like he’s holding back a tidal wave with nothing but a clenched jaw and a haunted stare.

Throughout the film, you find yourself holding your breath. And it’s del Toro who tightens that grip around your throat, scene by scene. No dramatic monologues. No weepy flashbacks. Just a man hollowed out by grief, weaponized by purpose, and walking a moral tightrope so thin it cuts. He barely speaks, yet you feel everything: his pain, his past, and the cost of what he’s doing.

The genius? Most of his lines were cut. Villeneuve knew this character didn’t need to explain himself. He just needed to exist. And in that silence, he builds tension like a noose tightening.

Speaking to The Wrap in an interview, the director says,

“Dialogue for me is for theater, an art for the stage. Cinema is not about dialogue. It’s about images and moments and present tense. Benicio can convey more by the way he breathes in front of the camera than any line–the way he portrays tension, the way you feel when you see him.”

This isn’t just a performance. It’s a slow-burning unraveling. A masterclass in restraint. He literally steals every scene in the film and is the protagonist of this dark, gray watch. The academy might’ve missed it, but the cinema didn’t.

Benicio del Toro in Sicario is what happens when you hand a master a character carved from loss and revenge and let him speak in silence. The scariest man in the room isn’t the loudest one. It’s the one who’s already made peace with what he’s about to do.

Loved Sicario? Here's what you can watch next

If Sicario left you breathless, there’s a whole gallery of performances where he morphs into something unforgettable.

Start with Traffic (2000), where he plays a weary Mexican cop lost in a drug war’s gray zones. It’s a performance so raw and internal, it won him an Oscar without ever needing to raise his voice. Or dive into Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998), where he gains 40 pounds and spirals into psychedelic madness as Dr. Gonzo, a fever dream on two legs.

In 21 Grams (2003), he plays a man drowning in guilt and God, gripping your chest with every anguished breath. And in Che (2008), he doesn’t just play Che Guevara; he becomes him. It’s revolutionary cinema in every sense.

Want something more recent? Try No Sudden Move (2021), where he oozes noir slickness. Or Reptile (2023), a twisty crime thriller where he also helped write the story. His recent film, The Phoenician Scheme (2025), is another amazing performance by the actor, and he boldly stands out in a strong ensemble that has some of Hollywood's finest in it.

Wherever he goes, he leaves behind a performance that lingers. Cold. Complex. Impossible to forget.

Sicario is available to stream on Lionsgate Play.