NACHO LIBRE

“Chancho, when you are a man, sometimes you wear stretchy pants in your room... It's for fun.”

Jack Black has always been funny. You can put him in almost any situation, and he’ll be funny; as a singer, as a stoner in ORANGE COUNTY, as a substitute teacher in SCHOOL OF ROCK, even in KING KONG. He is naturally funny, charismatic, and easy to like. NACHO LIBRE, however, is none of the above.

Black plays a monk named Ignacio in a poor Catholic Mexican orphanage, where the children often have little to eat. He is an oaf, often scorned by his fellow friars, but is loved by the children. Now, insert Ana de la Reguera, playing Sister Encarnacion, new to the orphanage. She really is an expendable part, a female part intended to bring in a romantic angle and maybe create some more laughs, but no, nothing happens. It’s as if writer/director Jared Hess forgot that this was a PG-rated, Nickelodeon-back movie that doesn’t need a romantic story. Then it is as if Hess remembers this, along with the thought that Nacho and Encarnacion, well can’t do anything with each other (nothing more than talk about the Bible).

In an attempt to raise money for the orphanage Ignacio becomes a luchador, a revered type of Mexican wrestler. This goes against his standards as a man of God, however, because wrestling is apparently a series of praising false idols. Again, does this socio-commentary really matter in a movie like this? Anyways, he becomes a luchador under the pen name of Nacho Libre (“Free Ignacio”), and finds literally the first person he can see on the street to be his partner, a man who jumped him and stole the food he was bringing back to the orphanage. If you can’t tell that this is a stupid at this point in the review, I’ll spoil it: it is.

Hess uses the same kind of dead-pan, minimalistic style of filming he used in his first film, NAPOLEAN DYNAMITE. The script is intentionally stupid, but not always funny. Again I must point out that Jack Black is a funny guy, and if he had a decent script to work with in this movie, it would in all likelihood be hilarious. The truth of it is though, it’s not a funny movie. I laughed a few times, mostly because I’m sixteen and still enjoy stupid stuff. After about halfway through the movie though, the jokes became less funny, and more awkward.

Overall, NACHO has it’s funny moments, but it can’t string them together to make a funny movie.

C

A PRAIRIE HOME COMPANION

“-What if you die some day?

-I will die.

-Don't you want people to remember you?

-I don't want them to be told to remember me.”

For all my life A PRAIRIE HOME COMPANION has been on the air. The only radio without music I’ve ever been able to stand, A PRAIRIE HOME COMPANION is light and easy-going, and knows that it is not the most important art ever told. Even more importantly though, it is still poignant, beautiful, and funny in its own way. It does not want to make you feel excited, it does not want you to laugh out loud too much. All it wants to do is allow you to relax and have a smile on your face.

The radio show has been adapted by Garrison Keillor into a feature length film documenting one night at the show, both backstage and onstage. It is the final night of the show before it is canceled and the building it is set in is turned into a parking lot (the film is shot in The Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul, Minnesota, where the show is held). Keillor plays a reflection of himself, a man named GK, who created the show over thirty years ago and refuses to get sentimental as it ends.

An odd sense of death lingers over the film as it unfolds. It is directed by Robert Altman in his classical style of long takes and letting the characters talk over each other, stumble on their lines, and give off a more realistic feel. The characters are genuine from the beginning; Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin play the Johnson sisters, Yolanda and Rhonda. They reminisce about the good times they have had on the show while Yolanda’s teenage daughter Lola (Lindsay Lohan) rolls her eyes and writes poetry about suicide. The two cowboys, Dusty and Lefty (Woody Harrelson and John C. Reilly) crack dirty jokes to the dismay of the stage manager Molly (Maya Rudolf).

The set is as laid back as the show is, with characters walking on to the stage seconds before the curtain goes up and needing reminding of what song or story they are about to tell. This of course all happens to the dismay of Molly.

Death is announced to the audience in a sensational manor that would have expected from such a story. I will not spoil how the approach is taken, but I can say, without give giving anything away, the the feeling of sadness that comes from death is felt all the more because of Robert Altman. The director has crafted some of the finest films to come out of Hollywood in his generation, from M*A*S*H to NASHVILLE. He is now eighty-one years old and for insurance policies had to have an additional director on-hand in case he was unable to finish the project.

One would never believe that Altman is now in his eight decade, however, because he is on top of his game. Technically it is as brilliant as any of his other films. In a style all but his own these days he starts the camera rolling, sits back, and let his actors take over. Altman has always been a wise director, letting his actors decide how to approach their character in their own way, and it is evident here. Gumshoe private eye Guy Noir, a character created for the radio show, has been incorporated into the film as chief of security, and is played by Kevin Kline (who has never been more delightful or whimsical in a role that is usually played on the air with icy coolness).

While the show has never really had a true message, the film does, buried deep below the calm surface. Life is a ride that one should step back and take a look at often, as GK does. He often looks bemused that he is part of the show, rather than sad that it is ending. Death is also just another stop on the ride, and should not be dwelled on, but rather our time here should be lived to its fullest extent until it is over with. “This isn't really going to be your last show, is it?”asks Lola, who has grown up on the set. “Every show is your last show. That's my philosophy” responds GK.

I for one am glad it is not your final show Mr. Keillor.

A