Jack Black plays Nacho, a Mexican friar who pursues his dream of competing in the local Luchador wrestling tournament to help save his monastery.
In an era of smugly telegraphed quirkiness like Little Miss Sunshine, Nacho Libre, as with director Jared Hess's previous Napoleon Dynamite is a rare, precious original. Penned by Hess, his wife Jerusha and The School Of Rock writer Mike White, this tale of Mexican friar Nacho (Black) who pursues his dream of competing in the local Luchador wrestling tournament to help save his monastery, is a small, folksy picture, crafted with intricate comic moments and obvious affection for its characters and their colourful milieu. It's also quite like no other film you're likely to see.
Naturally that's going to be a problem for audiences looking for broad, tenacious mugging from Black, and no doubt why many critics failed to appreciate the movie's qualities upon theatrical release. Black's funny, of course, but in a more subtle and character-driven way than what many are used to: he genuinely becomes the portly Luchador, accent and all, and he sells the film's simple underdog story. Nacho's chemistry with his wrestling partner Esqueleto (Jimanez, slack-jawed like a latin Napoleon) is pure charm; his yearning for Sister Encarnacion (the cute de la Reguera) is all the more adorable for its innocence.
Hess serves up delicio details of Luchador life, from a party at the mansion of the mighty champion Ramses to a diminutive hirsute tag team, displaying a real affinity for the eccentric –– as he did with Napoleon Dynamite –– that is never parodic. Again refreshing here is that Hess doesn't push laugh buttons; rather he allows the film to roll at its own pace. And Mr. Loco's uplifting "Hombre Religioso" provides Nacho with his perfect "Yo, Encarnacion!" moment on the soundtrack.
Naturally that's going to be a problem for audiences looking for broad, tenacious mugging from Black, and no doubt why many critics failed to appreciate the movie's qualities upon theatrical release. Black's funny, of course, but in a more subtle and character-driven way than what many are used to: he genuinely becomes the portly Luchador, accent and all, and he sells the film's simple underdog story. Nacho's chemistry with his wrestling partner Esqueleto (Jimanez, slack-jawed like a latin Napoleon) is pure charm; his yearning for Sister Encarnacion (the cute de la Reguera) is all the more adorable for its innocence.
Hess serves up delicio details of Luchador life, from a party at the mansion of the mighty champion Ramses to a diminutive hirsute tag team, displaying a real affinity for the eccentric –– as he did with Napoleon Dynamite –– that is never parodic. Again refreshing here is that Hess doesn't push laugh buttons; rather he allows the film to roll at its own pace. And Mr. Loco's uplifting "Hombre Religioso" provides Nacho with his perfect "Yo, Encarnacion!" moment on the soundtrack.
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