Nacho Libre (PG), directed by Jared
Hess, is playing at Canandaigua Theatres, Culver Ridge 16, Eastview
13, Geneseo Theatres, Greece Ridge 12, Henrietta 18, Pittsford Cinema, Tinseltown, and Webster 12
Since no one else seems to want to step up, I guess I’ll do
it: Mexico,
I’m so sorry. It’s bad enough that many politicians are plotting to criminalize
those of Mexican descent trying to make better lives for themselves in this
land of opportunity. (Isn’t that the dream that brought most of our ancestors
here? Are we full?) But the left hook in the insulting one-two punch against
our amigos directly to the south must
surely be Nacho Libre, director Jared Hess’
startlingly unfunny follow-up to lame-flick-turned-cultural-touchstone Napoleon Dynamite.
Shot mostly in southern Mexico’s majestic state of Oaxaca, Nacho Libre stars Jack Black in a Frodo wig as Ignacio, a monastery cook growing ever more
vexed by the gruel he’s forced to serve to the salad-coveting urchins who live
at the monastery’s orphanage. A wish for fresh-food funding causes him to
consider becoming a luchador,
one of those masked wrestlers who grapple with other mystery men in hopes of
pocketing pesos. And
if his dynamic new career impresses the recently arrived nun (!) Sister Encarnación (Mexican soap star Ana de la Reguera, resembling Penélope Cruz
minus the grotesque), then bueno.
But Ignacio’s nesting-doll body isn’t exactly conducive to
athletic prowess, so for some reason he enlists the help of a mossy-toothed
collection of bones called Esqueleto (HéctorJiménez), and together
Ignacio — wrestling moniker: Nacho — and Esqueleto
embark on the LuchaLibre circuit, getting their clocks cleaned by old guys, women, and midgets, but
never coming away with empty pockets. Naturally, all roads lead to Ramses, LuchaLibre champ
and orphan-ignorer. It’s like Rocky with cacti! Except boring.
Love Jack Black or hate him, you’ve got to be in awe of his
complete lack of vanity as he tosses his doughy, spandex-stretching self all
over the place with an abandon not seen since Chris Farley. So it’s a shame
that the script — a collaboration between Hess, his wife Jerusha,
and the usually reliable Mike White (School of Rock)
— isn’t worthy of Black’s talents. It’s only when Black is allowed to be
Black — i.e., those absurdly unmistakable songs — that Nacho Libre comes alive. The remainder of
the film relies on tired fart jokes, mildly offensive Mexican caricatures, and
mean-spirited ridicule of the ugly and the fat.
That blasé cruelty is the exact same reason I hated —
h-a-t-e-d — Napoleon Dynamite. The
optimist in me, however, had high hopes for Nacho
Libre, crossing my fingers that Jared Hess could
harness the power of Jack Black and redeem himself. But Hess should actually fall
to his knees and thank his god that I’m not in charge of some governing body
that levies fines for cinematic transgressions (using the indispensable Peter Stormare in merely that eagle-egg scene would bankrupt
him). And I should probably just be thankful that Hess didn’t allow an eaglet
to emerge from the egg for a clichéd chomp on Black’s nose. Though secretly, I
would have liked that.
This article appears in Jun 21-27, 2006.
