Jack Black - Hollywood’s funniest fat bloke - as a Mexican priest who
dreams of being a wrestler! What could there possibly be to dislike about this film? Weeellll… here’s the thing, it’s not really that funny. You can kind of see the creative minds behind Nacho Libre bubbling away with what they WANT the film to be.
Jack Black wants to extend his range after effectively playing himself (to excellent critical and commercial reaction) in School of Rock, here re-teaming with co-producer and SoR writer Mike White, and joining forces with Napoleon Dynamite director Jared Hess, obviously keen to create another slow-burning comedy with enough quirk and character to tickle the funny bone throughout. But somehow, despite the obvious pedigree and great premise, the film just doesn’t make you laugh as much as it ought to.
The plot is unsurprisingly thin, with Black’s Friar Ignacio serving food in a monastery for orphans, for whom he dreams of providing a better life than his own. He promptly gets all dewey-eyed over Sister Incarnacion (Regeura, whose CV presumably reads simply “Can’t afford Penelope Cruz? I look a bit like her! Just don’t ask me to say much”) and seeks to impress her, and win the means to afford the children edible food, by indulging a lifelong desire to perform as a Luchadore – basically grown men in spandex knocking ten shades out of each other.
You might as well be warned now – the film’s laughs hang solely on the premise that Jack Black in stretchy pants getting hurt is hilarious. The dialogue is minimal, and far from choke-on-your-popcorn funny. Luckily, Black’s talent for physical comedy and impressive willingness to hurt himself in the line of duty (whilst wearing stretchy pants!) does keep you interested; the wrestling scenes (especially the fight with the two feral midgets) are the film’s saving grace, aided by the wiry athleticism and horse-faced ugliness of his partner Jimenez, with whom, sadly, the banter never really sparks.
Nacho Libre is a surreal film. Hess has created another self-contained world to draw you in, but it’s difficult to feel the attraction when the events are so slipshod and disjointed. You get the feeling that much has been improvised, will be able to predict almost everything that happens, and may often find yourself asking “what was the point of that?” – none of these things would matter if you were too busy laughing to care. Ignacio’s lusting after Incarnacion feels perfunctory at best, and the final scene leaves you feeling short-changed, as if you were hoping for, but not expecting, a few more laughs.
It’s easy to see why Jack Black wanted to try and stretch himself after School of Rock, and he is the only on-screen presence worthy of your attention, but he’s only really funny when he’s being Jack Black. Let off the leash to express his innate physicality, you remember why Dewey Finn had you rolling in the aisles; in fact, the film’s funniest moment is when he bursts into song. But if School of Rock was a 4-star film, 3 of which belonged solely to Jack, in Nacho Libre he’s only worth 2. And the rest of the film ain’t worth shit.