Regular readers may wonder why I'm reviewing a Jack Black comedy today; the answer is that it was on top of the DVD pile when I got in from work yesterday. In truth, I don't loathe Mr. Black as much as some people seem to; he was excellent in School of Rock and I've heard good things about his work in the just-released Goosebumps adaptation.
That said, Nacho Libre definitely isn't one of his best. Apparently based on a true story about a Mexican priest who took up Lucha Libre (Mexican wrestling) to support the orphanage where he worked.
First things first: I have absolutely nothing against professional wrestling. Quite the opposite, in fact - some of my happiest memories are of watching oily naked guys getting grippy with one another in the ring. Regardless of whether the outcome is decided in advance or not, the athleticism remains the same and I have nothing but respect for these guys who take such ridiculous risks for my entertainment.
None of this, however, alters the fact that Nacho Libre is fundamentally a bit shit.
We'll start with the most obvious thing: Jack Black's accent. I don't care if his character is supposedly only half Mexican; he's lived in the country amongst the locals all his life, so he shouldn't be talking like Speedy Gonzales, end of. It made me cringe every time he was on screen - in other words, 80 percent of the movie.
The film also suffers from that patented variety of Jack Black fatphobia where it's fine to be big so long as you're not a woman of Black's own approximate age. Fat kids? Fine. Fat men? Also fine (take a look at your leading man). Fat, female and otherwise fuckable? Might as well paint a target on your ample backside. I find this to be a particularly disgusting form of objectification, in that it basically designates adult female characters as existing solely to meet Black's standards of physical perfection - standards, I repeat, that he in no way lives up to himself.
And the rest? The alleged comedy is broad, coming from a combination of pratfalls and Mexican accents both real and fake. Basically, if Inspector Clouseau doesn't do it for you then Nacho Libre certainly won't. It was fun to see a handful of real luchadors plying their trade, granted, but Black even ruined that for me by going for a vanity climax that involved some heavy-duty wirework and was an insult to the real professionals involved.
I really wish I'd managed to sleep through the film so that I could've remained awake for episode 4 of The Apprentice, and if that doesn't convey the depths of my distaste then I don't know what else will.
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