¡Casa Bonita Mi Amor! Film review (2024)

Eric Cartman, the foul-mouthed leader of the “South Park” boys, now has a permanent table at the revamped Casa Bonita, the legendary quasi-Mexican restaurant in Denver, Colorado, that opened its doors in 1973. As in the 2003 episode where Cartman risks everything to spend some time at this palace of kitsch and questionable food, Trey Parker, co-creator of the exciting animated series, has invested time and tons of resources to not only restore it to its former glory but also improve on its maximalist concept. The arduous (and expensive) renovation process is depicted in filmmaker Arthur Bradford's “¡Casa Bonita Mi Amor!”

As much a journey to transform a restaurant as it is a portrait of a kid who has enough money to afford his own Disneyland, this entertaining documentary is a testament to Parker's mentality to buy the project at any cost, even when it would be wise to abandon it. Matt Stone, the other mind behind “South Park,” plays a smaller role as a supportive sidekick willing to hold down the fort and share the financial risk to fulfill a dream that means so much to Parker.

With its pink facade reminiscent of a centuries-old Catholic church, Casa Bonita's vast space included a pool for cliff divers – an attraction inspired by one in Acapulco, Mexico -, stalactite caves for children to explore, and a cast of characters who seem to have come from some vague gold rush era. Footage from the golden years helps those of us who have never been there get a sense of the eccentric atmosphere the place exuded.

Parker's memories of wandering the labyrinthine halls of this otherworldly, somewhat nonsensical playground lead him to purchase the property after it shut down at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, only to discover it requires a massive amount of repairs.

But even the most ardent supporters, many of whom live in Denver, agree that the food—which looked like poorly reheated frozen enchiladas—was always secondary. Parker wants to improve the quality of the menu, hiring Dana Rodriguez, a Mexican-born chef who lives in Colorado, to ostensibly make the cuisine more authentic. Still, calling Casa Bonita an authentic Mexican restaurant would be an insult to that cuisine. No one, not even native speaker Rodriguez, pronounces the restaurant's name with a serviceable Spanish accent. Whether that's deliberate or not, it certainly fits a business founded by white Americans whose vision resulted in a cross between EPCOT's Mexico pavilion, the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, and a typical mall arcade. That's not a derogatory remark; it's exactly what gives the restaurant its old-fashioned charm.

Once you understand what Casa Bonita stands for, the lack of quality in its original offerings seems to be the key to the over-the-top, tasteless kitsch that so appeals to guests. In one section of the documentary, Parker is seen traveling with Dana to the southern Mexican state of Oaxaca to shop for decor, eat real Mexican food, and seek inspiration—not in the hope of faithfully recreating the country's flavors, but adapting them to the Casa Bonita universe. In a key scene, Parker explains that the 1963 Elvis Presley film Fun in Acapulco best describes the whitewashed, if somewhat culturally insensitive, understanding of Mexico that prevails at Casa Bonita.

Parker and Stone's biting humor comes out in candid moments when they realize the insanity of their endeavor. This wild, perhaps not-so-smart approach is typical of a couple who showed up drunk at the Academy Awards. More importantly, Bradford shows Parker's active involvement in the details of the story of this amusement park disguised as a restaurant: recording the voices for the new animatronics, casting the actors who will play the time-spanning roles, or creating a new puppet theater led by a talking taco. The moments when they show off their talent for making people laugh make them feel like the ideal heirs to Casa Bonita. Not only do they have the wherewithal for such an endeavor, but their unconventional creative personalities also make them see the place for more than just its lucrative opportunities; its dividends are more emotionally rewarding.

The exorbitant sum they ultimately shelled out, over $40 million, seems justified given the excitement others feel when they re-enter Casa Bonita. What good is being rich if you can't fulfill childhood dreams for others to enjoy? Even though Bradford's documentary seems like an elaborate commercial, it makes you want to make a reservation. (You have to wait in line; there are hundreds of thousands of people on the waiting list.)