The reality of Nacho Libre

Why ‘Nacho Libre’ is the best film of 2006
Hess validates status as legitimate ‘auteur’
By Ben Flanagan
Managing Editor: Outreach

“Tonight I will fight the seven strongest men in town – maybe the world. And I will win – because our heavenly father will be in the ring with me. And he and I will win ten thousand pesos. And with it, I will buy the orphans a big bus to go on field trips to parks and places like that. I'm serious!”
- Ignacio

In co-writer/director Jared Hess’ profoundly rich and benevolent film Nacho Libre, the titular character is a half-Mexican/half-Scandinavian monk whose childish ambition to become a glorified wrestler serves as his transition from overgrown childhood to justified manhood where the occupation continues to exist as a buoy to both gratify the character and serve the Lord with benign prosperity. Played with a rotund and sweaty body and heart (punctuated by a gusto inspired by Fred Astaire and Jim Belushi) by movie star Jack Black, Ignacio (also known as Nacho) is an individual who fights for two parallel causes – one noble and the other vainglorious – and his knowledge for which one he fights fluctuates between these wholeheartedly philanthropic and harmlessly gluttonous characteristics.

Hess makes clear early on that Ignacio is a heroic type whose needs are prevalent but ultimately secondary to those who need more than he does. As a monk, he works at an immensely poor church and orphanage in Mexico where he cooks for its young inhabitants who are naively ignorant to the potential for a significant lack of proper ingredients to adequately feed the children. Ignacio realizes this and sets forth on a mission, though this newfound idealism and sense of duty stems from something other than his aspiration to provide for the orphans; instead, he is, at first, using the duty as a chance to fulfill his aforementioned dreams to flourish as the lionized wrestler, called Nacho Libre – dreams he has carried since his childhood, which are displayed throughout pic’s opening credits to Hispanic singer Mr. Loco’s bittersweet “Hombre Religioso,” which serves as the film’s theme song (though these dreams are immediately dashed within said credits by elder monks and priests who force young Ignacio’s eyes on to scripture instead of the ring). “I will have my glory in the hot sun,” Ignacio declares to an orphan after being scrutinized by his peers at the church; his lust even blinds him from who it is he cherishes most – the orphans – and recites his insatiable ambition to the naïve children, who look up to him.

While Ignacio is not a gifted cook, he makes gracious efforts to feed children if it means traveling into a nearby village to retrieve day-old tortilla chips (“the Lord’s chips”) to accentuate the seemingly malnourished children. While he does yearn for said “glory,” he never lets the desire spin too far out of control to the point where he would forget about who it is he wants to help (other than himself). Hess’ hero evokes a green man-child whose mixed priorities prove fair as a result of human behavior; Ignacio is a victim of his surroundings that hurled him into a lifestyle he did not necessarily choose, which is one that serves God. He loves the church and proudly serves in its strict, traditional borders, but had he a choice, Ignacio would have become a wrestler (or “luchador”) many years ago. He feels as if he were born to do it, as if he’d be giving back to a community that needed blind inspiration and a willingness to revel in another man’s conceited triumphs. But Ignacio stays his assigned course and proudly serves the Lord by feeding underprivileged orphans (just as he was).

Ultimately, Hess’ film is one that values charity and how an individual can personally and emotionally grow through altruistic practice and activity. Also written by Hess’ wife Jerusha as well as Mike White (Black’s producing partner and writer of Black’s previous vehicle School of Rock, directed by Richard Linklater), Nacho Libre now reigns as one of film’s modern family masterpieces that carries a warm, valuable message along with its sophomoric marketing disguise that Paramount Pictures sold during the spring and summer of 2006. With strong thematic relevance and thoughtful technical procedure dripping in each frame, Hess has forged an original picture whose colorful red and sky blue identity and round protagonist stand along with the rest of cinema’s modern iconic figures. Hess has give us another icon right after his first film’s titular character, Napoleon Dynamite, whose immense cultural impact continues to steadily breathe, and rightly so. Like Nacho, Napoleon’s personality has a unique blend of childish immaturity perhaps mixed with less adult responsibility than Nacho but more fervent adolescence. With Nacho Libre, Hess has transcended Napoleon’s lush and oftentimes kooky originality both thematically and technically, as his camera (operated here by Xavier Pérez Grobet) captures the dry Mexican fantasy world scripted to illustrate an environment where a vibrant and inimitable character like Nacho can inhabit.

In its initial release, Hess’ film was critically lampooned, aimlessly labeled as a silly, sophomoric fart joke specifically designed for naïve and ignorant children without any regard to sober cinema nor was it to be taken seriously as a legitimate submission to the art. These reactions, stemming mostly from geriatric critics whose lack of humor will not allow them to evolve as critics of comedy and who openly admitted they “just didn’t get” Napoleon Dynamite the first time around with Hess, are grossly premature and mistaken. These critics, who failed to see the film as a genuine contender and winning family comedy, should subject themselves to reevaluating their career choices and credibility as individuals who are able to objectively assess a major motion picture regardless of what ad campaigns and preconceived notions of personnel involved with a film’s production manipulated them into believing and ultimately writing. Sean Burns, of The Philadelphia Weekly, wrote that the film was “slightly less funny than cancer,” an execrable comment outside of its already misconceived inaccuracy. The adept and accomplished, yet aging, Roger Ebert wrote in the Chicago Sun-Times, “It takes some doing to make a Jack Black comedy that doesn't work. But Nacho Libre does it.”

Where is the lack of comedy in Hess’ film? What standards isn’t it meeting? A sometimes ornery old codger, Ebert often shares with his readers a mechanical, stilted attitude against broad silliness in modern films, but a guy who admittedly squirted out a few laughs during 2004’s Garfield. Perhaps Hess and co.’s firm allegiance to flatulence as an honest comedic mechanism on which they can rely and fall back struck Ebert as the material that hindered the Jack Black vehicle from “working.” Personally, I find farts funny – they have a way about them. The incessant immaturity that impulsively scampers about within ourselves ought to be an indicator of what keeps us sane and personable. Combining the rich and developed human elements that perpetuate a narrative with the affable temperament of a child that enhances the story’s innocence, Hess is successful and, perhaps more importantly, original. Even if mixed marketing techniques and hasty critical misjudgments hindered Nacho Libre from initially making itself clear out of the gates, there are some signs indicating that this bottle will age well, as extra effort, like the kind Hess, White and Black extended in the making of the film, always resonates and subtly calls attention to itself.

Encompassing a substantial amount of tenderly and methodically executed moments involving the titular character and his quest to comfort and protect the orphans, none are as equally euphoric and painful as when Ignacio’s double life is revealed to the children and the church, leaving the hero in the awkward position of confessing his objectives and desires in the face of acceptance or the presumable banishment. Ignacio sincerely reassures his adoptive family that he will provide a brighter future for the less fortunate children; and with his most earnest proclamation – “God will be the ring with me” – we believe him as we follow the seemingly dejected hero take a walk down the hill from his church in a smooth tracking shot set in slow motion set to Beck’s ode to Bob Dylan’s Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid soundtrack, “1,000 Pesos.” At this point, the film reaches an unblemished peak and never falls from it; in fact, the experience is only heightened as the film progresses. As Beck’s song moseys along, transitioning into the setting for the battle royale where Ignacio will earn the money to provide for the church, we are met by a series of wrestler introductions, composed of colorful characters (facing the camera) placed to one side of the screen as their specs and “finishing moves” are textually realized on the other. Seamlessly edited by Billy Weber and staged by Hess, the transition thrusts us from one vibrant point to another through this multicolored fantasy. This moment serves as one of my most memorable in my experience at the movies, as it’s chocked full of what so many contemporary releases lack: substance and originality. There is nothing recycled or exhausted about Hess’ unusually modest and imaginative conception, and this writer can guarantee that it will not go unnoticed by the masses.