A Thanksgiving Feast of Films

The long weekend gave me a chance to soak up some much need recharge time in front of the idiot box, and one of the more charming films to keep me soma-fied was…sigh…Nacho Libre?

I know, but hear me out.  It’s Jack Black doing his Jack Black thing.  If you can’t get past that then give it a miss.  But if you do give it a miss, then you’ll be missing out on one of those little movies about an odd man with a tender heart with an odd idea how to go about doing the right thing.  Plus, luchadores.

Jack’s character is a Mexican orphan who grows up to be the cook at a small monastery, and to help make ends meet he enters the ring and gets beat up by a succession of luchadores.  In typical fashion, he succumbs to the temptation of fancy clothes and has to find a way back to the righteous path of professional wrestling…for the leetle cheeldrens.

It’s rare to see the Catholic faith presented in such a respectful manner, and for that alone I give it a lot of respect.

Although billed as a slapstick comedy – and it is that – Jared Hess directs this film with an understated charm that reminded me of the mood of Napoleon Dynamite.  Where Napoleon leans heavily on the “LOL so random” anti-humor throughout, Nacho Libre actually treats the through-going narrative with the seriousness needed to build the tension required to make the actual laughs work.  It’s a lot closer in feel to Zoolander than to a Leslie Nielsen movie, if that makes sense.

If you’re in the mood for something quirky and cute, give it a shot.  You won’t belly laugh, but the chuckles and warmth of this film provide way more entertainment value than what passes for comedy in today’s Hollywood films.

About Jon Mollison

Jon Mollison was weaned at the literary knee of Tolkein, Howard, Moore, and Burroughs. He spent decades wandering in the wilderness of modern genre fiction, wondering when the magic and wonder went out of the world of dragons and space ships. In his darkest hour, he encountered a wise man who handed him the open secrets to crafting works that emulate the stories of the great authors who built the genre. They are easily summarized in but two words: Regress Harder. Now one of the twelve champions of the Pulp Revolution, his self-published works represent a more direct lineage to the tales of action, mystery, romance, virtue, and pure unalloyed adventure than the bland imitations churned out by New York City publishing houses in recent decades.
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