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'Nacho Libre'

By Ben Spierenburg

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For a film that may not have looked particularly promising in previews, "Nacho Libre" turns out to be a ridiculously delightful instant comedy classic - just as good (if not better) than his first film, the wildly popular "Napoleon Dynamite." Director Jared Hess proves he's no flash in the pan with a masterfully whimsical tale of a monk-turned-Mexican wrestler. This time around Hess is given a decent budget ($25 million, compared to $400,000 for "Napoleon") and an A-list comedic talent in Jack Black. Worthy of beeing seen more than once, this wonderfully zany PG-rated film looks like the surprise hit of the summer.

Black is positively brilliant in the role of Ignacio (known to friends as Nacho), a sweetly silly and utterly lovable little loser. Orphaned as a child and raised in a Mexican monastery, Ignacio harbors dreams of becoming a famous Lucha Libre wrestler his entire life. These details are deftly revealed in the film's opening moments.

Disrespected by the monks but beloved by the orphans, Ignacio toils diligently as the monastery's cook. As the friary is impoverished, he must do what he can to make meals as delicious as possible with almost no ingredients - an effort that consistently results in rations of unsavory gruel.

When the gorgeously divine Sister Encarnacion (Ana de le Reguera) arrives to join the monastery staff, Ignacio is instantly enchanted by her angelic beauty. He gets in line with the rest of the monks to compete for the pretty nun's attention, but quickly realizes he will never succeed as a lowly cook.

Walking through town one day, a disheartened Ignacio sees his idol Ramses, (played by actual luchador Cesar Gonzalez), the reigning champion of Lucha Libre wrestling, walking through a crowd of worshipful onlookers. Soon after, he spies an advertisement calling for tag-team wrestlers. Determined to provide his companions with a more healthful menu, and looking to impress Sister Encarnacion, Ignacio concludes the time for the realization of his wrestling dreams has come.

Before long he finds his tag-team partner in the feral Esqueleto (Hector Jimenez), an emaciated street tramp who mugs him for his tortilla chips. The pair embark upon a series of hilariously foolish training exercises to prepare for their first match. Although they lose to a duo of bloodthirsty midgets, Ignacio is overjoyed when they are paid a small portion of the profits anyway. He quickly sets about buying only the finest of ingredients for his monastery's meals, providing them with elaborate salads and bean dips. However, despite the welcome influx of cash, Ignacio yearns to become as proficient and as renowned a luchador as the powerful Ramses.

An exceptionally patient narrative, "Nacho Libre" nonetheless keeps the audience in consistent fits of laughter, unsure of where the story will go next. Screenwriters Jared Hess, Jerusha Hess and Mike White mine their preposterously amusing premise for all it's worth. It has the same nonsensical, random, understated humor that made "Napoleon" a hit, yet is faithful to traditional comedic structure. Indeed, in its characters and story arc, the film is pleasingly reminiscent of the Charlie Chaplin classic "City Lights."

Delivering two masterpieces in his first two tries, director Hess is on the fast track toward comic immortality. A devout Mormon whose films are strictly PG, Hess made an odd but wise choice in becoming a comedy writer/director. His characters are reflections of his personality; like Hess, Ignacio is a religious man with a comically incongruous ambition.

Danny Elfman and Beck supply a fantastic soundtrack that perfectly balances the comedy with seriousness. "Nacho Libre" also benefits greatly from being filmed entirely in Mexico. When it's over, you feel that you have spent the last 100 minutes on a side-splitting sojourn south of the border. CV

'Water'

By Kate Conlow

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In the film "Water," Indian-Canadian director and screenwriter Deepa Mehta examines the social position of widows within Indian society. Set in the 1930s in Varanasi, India, Mehta skillfully portrays the poverty and abuse, both physical and sexual, that women in India were, and in many places still are, subjected to upon a husband's death. By highlighting the rich colors of the scenery and using natural lighting to cast harsh shadows in the scenes, Mehta emphasizes the contrast between the bleak and dismal lifestyle of the widows and the vibrant society in which they live.

"Water" tells the story of Chuyia, brilliantly played by Sarala, a recently widowed girl who is forced to live in an ashram, a house where widows are sent upon their husbands' deaths. Seven-year-old Chuyia is confused as to why she must live at the ashram, believing that her stay there is temporary, when actually, she will be confined there for the rest of her life. Chuyia's perplexity leads her to ask many probing questions that seek justification for the horrible treatment of widows. Through these straightforward comments, Mehta uses Chuyia to convey her own objections, bringing into question the mistreatment of these widows. Mehta uses cinematography to further emphasize Chuyia's youthfulness to the viewer. Through shots that convey a child peering through a crack or running through rooms and streets, Mehta grants the viewer a child's perspective, underlining the appalling fact that not only are older women subjected to these deplorable conditions, but that young girls, are as well.

A romantic subplot that Mehta introduces could have been frivolous and distracting from the film's intended message; however, a twist at the end emphasizes how strongly the belief in a widow's debased status is imbedded into the mindset of not only the public at large, but especially the widows themselves, who ardently believe that they deserve to suffer their horrible conditions.

"Water's" vivid picture of widows in India gives an insight into Indian society that leaves the viewer with a feeling that is troubling yet ultimately encouraging. CV

'An Inconvenient Truth'

By Marjorie Baumgarten

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You can call him Al. He introduces himself as the man "who used to be the next president of the United States of America." There's no question about it: This is the Al Gore 2.0 version. The figure presented in this documentary is not the Al Gore whom people found too stiff and impersonal during the 2000 elections. This is the looser, more media-savvy and passionate guy who no one suspected existed.

The film is essentially a document of Gore's traveling slide show about the global-warming crisis, a presentation he's been perfecting in auditoriums across the globe over the last few years. The show is lively and heartfelt - a persuasive call to action.

Still, it's not without some wonkish climate charts and graphs depicting currents and temperatures and such. It's probably best if the veracity and implications of the science put forth here are left to qualified scientists to debate. Certainly, there are niggling issues here and there regarding Gore's interpretation of certain facts and experiences. Did the ecology movement really begin only after the first moon landing, as Gore claims? Or is he conveniently conflating personal experience and public perceptions? Nevertheless, these are petty inaccuracies - like Gore's once-upon-a-time "invention of the Internet."

As a film, "An Inconvenient Truth" is a treasury of information. Attention may occasionally drift, but the film's message of urgency is abundantly clear. Director Davis Guggenheim fills out the slide-show material with some personal background about the former vice president that allows Gore to expand on his cause in more emotional terms. We visit the Tennessee home of his privileged childhood, where he's happy to tell us he learned to hunt. The death of his sister from lung cancer and his decision to divest his tobacco holdings and interests demonstrate his belief in science's ability to change our thinking.

The most potent idea he puts forth is that "in America, political will is a renewable resource." Gore's zeal for his subject is inspiring, and this big-screen tool for getting his message out is a step in the right direction. CV

'The Proposition'

by Marjorie Baumgarten

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Despite perpetual rumors of its demise as a genre, the Western is alive and well in the Australian outback. The Proposition, whose screenplay and score are by cult musician of gloom Nick Cave, follows in the gritty tradition of Sam Peckinpah, John Huston and Robert Aldrich - American filmmakers who made Westerns about strong-willed men and the individualized codes by which they live. This Australian outback comprises its own kind of badlands: harsh, inhospitable terrain that provides cover for desperados so completely beyond the human pale that they seem to have more in common with wild animals. The story is set in the 1880s, when the English still ruled the continent, wresting the land from the indigenous peoples. Yet law and governance remain distant realities, and their application even more remote. Into this unremitting country comes Capt. Stanley (Ray Winstone), a lawman/soldier whose single-minded desire becomes the apprehension of the Burns brothers. Wanted for rape and murder, the three Irish Burns boys appear to commit their crimes - against white people, no less - for sheer thrills. Stanley captures two of the brothers in the film's brutal opening shoot-out and presents the elder Charlie (Guy Pearce) with an impossible proposition: Stanley will hold young, dim-witted Mikey Burns (Richard Wilson) in jail until Christmas day while Charlie hunts down and kills his psychotic renegade brother Arthur (Danny Huston), who is holed up in the outback. Striking a dainty blow against the untamed frontier is Stanley's wife, Martha (Emily Watson), who creates an illusion of English propriety in the midst of the primitivism. The performances all strike a perfect note. As Stanley, Winstone's sweat-profusing body seems emblematic of his situation, while Watson's small, feminine frame reflects civilization's uphill battle. Peace remains inscrutable, especially when up against the drunken, Darwin-spouting bounty hunter played by Hurt. As the wild yet poetically inclined brother Arthur, Huston has never delivered a performance this good. He becomes the dark, unknowable heart of the story. Not since the great Once Upon a Time in the West have so many flies appeared in a Western: They seem as inured to swatting as do lawless humans in this godforsaken place. Cave's droning, incantatory music on the soundtrack provides an aural equivalent for these sweat-sucking pests. Like the countryside it portrays, The Proposition is visually brutal and bloody. Delicate sensibilities are pummeled rather than spared. "Civilization" emerges from a gun barrel, and its discontents are everywhere.

'A Prairie Home Companion'

By Andrew Brink

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Robert Altman's "A Prairie Home Companion" makes clear that producing a radio show is no tidy affair. In addition to a reserve of musicians and players, miles of chords and no small amount of good fortune, the production also requires a stash of egg- salad sandwiches, a trace of unrequited love and an angel of death.

Altman successfully brings to film what Garrison Keillor has miraculously brought to public radio for more than 30 years. Altman's achievement is in no small part due to the fact that Keillor penned the script. In the film, as on radio, "Companion" is a live radio variety show featuring music, storytelling and commercials for such imaginary organizations as the Ketchup Advisory Board, all of which showcase a clever, Midwestern sensibility - both the broadcast and film are based in St. Paul, Minn. - that easily tunes out dreary reality. The film follows G.K. (Keillor) as he hosts the final broadcast of "Companion," which has outlived its owner's interest but not its devoted cast.

Altman is a master at examining lives confined by circumstance, and Keillor, in his lazy-river voice, has no shortage of stories to tell. Together they bring to life a spiraling cast that would even give Annie Leibovitz pause: Meryl Streep and Lilly Tomlin play singing sisters; Lindsay Lohan plays Streep's morbid poet daughter; and Woody Harrelson, John C. Reilly and Kevin Kline bring to life some of Keillor's most beloved inventions (bad-joke telling cowboys Dusty and Lefty and gumshoe Guy Noir). Go for the all-star cast but stay for the music; the film spotlights the Guy's All Star Shoe Band and siren Jearlyn Steele.

Why adapt a perfected radio show for film and expose it to possible imperfection? The movie is less concerned with straight adaptation; rather, it pays homage to all the radio show miracle workers of the past. The film is an ideal introduction, or re-introduction, into Keillor's world where, famously, all the men are good looking, the women are strong, the children above average. And everyone sings beautifully about anything, including Lake Superior sardines.

'The Omen'

by Ben Spierenburg

Movie Trailer

A faithful reproduction of the original, "The Omen" is a satanically scary film. Unlike many recent dreadful remakes, it wisely relies on the screenplay and storyboards that made the original a classic. Thankfully avoiding the temptation to go nuts with gratuitous computer effects, director John Moore delivers that rarest of Hollywood products - a satisfying remake. This is so rare in fact, that when you combine it with the film's devilishly clever release date of 6/6/06, you begin to wonder if perhaps the end of the world is at hand after all.

As in the 1976 version, the film begins in Vatican City, where a troubled council of Catholic leaders meet to discuss a string of current events they interpret as portents of the coming apocalypse. Properly updated in this instance, we are shown images of disaster - September 11, floods, armed conflicts, along with a comet heading ominously towards Earth. At a nearby Rome hospital, American diplomat Robert Thorn (Liev Schrieber) and his wife Katherine (Julia Styles) have just given birth to a baby boy. However, Robert is told that the child has died, and is convinced by a mysterious doctor to take an orphan boy born the same night as his own. He hides this tragic information from his wife, and through a picture montage we see the couple happily raise their son Damien (Seamus Davey-Fitzpatrick).

Everything goes swimmingly until Damien turns six, (an important age for the son of the devil) when he decides it's time to start putting his evil powers of telepathy and telekinesis to work. The first victim is Robert's superior, the U.S. Ambassador to the U.K., who is seemingly killed in a fluke accident. Soon after, Robert, who is the president's godson, is awarded the prestigious position of Ambassador. This gives Damien a clear connection to the power of the presidency, which he will presumably need if he is to ever bring about worldwide destruction.

Damien follows up this first slaying by offing his nanny at his sixth birthday party. Standing on the roof of a mansion, she tells the crowd of shocked onlookers that "it's all for you Damien!" right before hanging herself off the side of the building. His parents find this event disconcerting, but nonetheless immediately set out to find a new nanny. The film is given a horror retro-boost when Mia Farrow (of "Rosemary's Baby" fame), steps in to become Damien's new caretaker and pawn, Mrs. Blaylock.

Beset by troubling signals from all sides, Robert is soon contacted by Father Brennan (played with verve by Pete Postlethwaite), whom he casually dismisses as mentally deranged. He is also contacted by a news photographer (David Thewlis), who has noticed some intriguing clues within his photos.

Faced with portraying a character who must ritually murder his own son, and working under the long shadow cast by original lead Gregory Peck, Schreiber proves that he's a fine actor in his own right. Possessing the seriousness to carry such a foreboding story, Schreiber's expressions and delivery are reliably subtle yet intense. Julia Styles, on the other hand, is woefully miscast as his wife Katherine. Styles and Schreiber possess little chemistry together, likely because her acting skills seem so pedestrian by comparison. Davey-Fitzpatrick, who was cast after an exhaustive search for a creepy enough looking child to pass as Damien, performs his task well.

To his credit, director John Moore chooses not to satiate his ego by making his version of "The Omen" a vastly different interpretation. He does, however, insert several awkward (albeit very brief) dream sequences. A convention of more modern horror films, these sudden jarring flashes feel out of place and succeed only in producing laughter. Despite a couple of gaffes, the director generally does an admirable job in reproducing an overwhelming sense of impending doom. Composer Marco Beltrami provides a menacing score that further adds to the overall dread.

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