HEROD'S LAW — ** 1/2 — Damian Alcazar, Leticia Huijara, Pedro Armendariz Jr., Delia Casanova, Alex Cox, Salvador Sanchez, Isela Vega; in Spanish, with English subtitles; not rated, probable R (violence, nudity, sex, language); see On the Screen column for theater listings.
The 1999 political comedy "Herod's Law" won a bunch of Mexico's equivalent of the Academy Awards, and, reportedly, caused a lot of controversy in the process.
It's easy to see why. This pitch-black parable of corruption at the highest and lowest levels of government virtually takes no prisoners, and its angry humor is mighty crude to boot.
Although the film may draw from the same well as better-known Mexican social screeds such as "Y tu Mama Tambien" and "El Crimen del Padre Amaro," it's not in the same intellectual league. Beautifully shot in a kind of noirish sepia, and trenchant as far as it goes, "Herod's Law" takes a broad, shotgun approach to its satiric targets. The resulting insights aren't so much scattershot as they are examples of overkill.
Non-newsflash: By 1949, when the film is set, the Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI in its Spanish translation) had pretty much been misrunning everything in Mexico for 20 years, as it would for nearly another 50. Still, there were the formalities of elections, and with one coming up, it was a bad time to revive the traditions of the impoverished desert hamlet of San Pedro de los Saguaros. Nevertheless, the 100 or so Indians living there once again lynched a crooked mayor, beheading the thieving creep as he tried to slip away with the village treasury.
Hoping to avoid another embarrassing alcaldecide before the vote, state party officials seek out the most loyal — which, by definition, means dimmest — functionary they can to take the dangerous post. That would be Juan Vargas (Damian Alcazar), a sad-sack junkyard overseer with an ambitious wife, Gloria (Leticia Huijara).
Upon arriving in the tumbledown adobe village, naive Juan genuinely dreams of bringing his new constituency the "modernity and social justice" that is the PRI's motto. Of course, the government provides no funds for this (he's issued a pistol to back his authority instead). And the only local going concerns — a brothel in the hills and a church where the priest makes confessees pay for sins in pesos — just expect Vargas to take his cut and let them go about their business like all the other mayors did.
Which, after a little ethical hesitation, he does. In the name of civic improvement at first, but soon with a vengeance.
Besides the violent Indians, the hard-bitten madame and the greedy priest, other stereotypes include wives who act like hookers and hookers who just want to get the hell out; an untrustworthy American (played by Alex Cox, the English filmmaker with a thing for Latin-authority-gone-bad movies, as exemplified by his own "Highway Patrolman"), who represents every exploitative impulse that emanates from Big Brother Norte; a town drunk, a pompous critic from the rival party and the one local functionary who truly has the good of the community at heart.
The foolish Vargas' descent from concerned citizen to avaricious, sybarratic and murderous dictator is not as convincing as, say, Father Amaro's fall from grace was. But Alcazar (who also appeared in "Amaro") has a good deal of fun with it, posturing and justifying Vargas' villainy with hypocritical relish.
He gets ample time to do so in Luis Estrada's overlong, obvious farce. At times it seems like the director became as self-indulgent as Vargas, repeatedly hitting the same notes of petty debauchery and cruelty well after the easy-to-see points have been made.
Whatever joy there may be in talking trash to power, "Herod's Law" dishes up as much of it as anyone could possibly wish for.
"Herod's Law" is not rated but would probably receive an R for violence (gunplay and rioting), female nudity, scenes of simulated sex and use of strong sex-related profanity. Running time: 123 minutes.