This is an abridged version of a review I wrote for Christianity Today Movies. To read the rest of this review, click here.

To call the town of Falfúrrias, New Mexico, population 73, off the beaten path is a colossal understatement. The tight-knit Latino and Native American farming community is isolated in the high desert with only a nondescript dirt road pointing the way into town. And so, it is a bit of a surprise that one of the finest restaurants in the state should be found in so unlikely a place. Too bad no one knows about it.

Isidor (”Izzy”) Navarro is the proprietor of that restaurant, Tortilla Heaven. He is also the town’s token heathen. While the rest of the community, including his pious wife and son, attend mass at the church across the street, Izzy busies himself with preparing food for the inevitable lunchtime crowd. Frustrated at some unruly dough, Izzy throws it onto the grill with a blasphemous curse. As if in response to his sacrilege, the tortilla begins to burn in a truly astonishing way. Before our eyes, the face of Jesus Christ appears. At first, Izzy doesn’t see it; sometimes we’re too caught up with life to notice genuine miracles taking place right beneath our noses.

When Izzy does discover the tortilla, he tries to keep the miracle a secret. But secrets have a way of getting out, and before long the entire town is beating down his door—not to eat his food, but to get a glimpse of his gastronomic marvel. Izzy, who only scrapes by, has a revelation: he can make a fortune from this miracle. Charging three dollars a head (”One dollar for the Father, a second for the Son, and a third for the Holy Spirit”) his poor friends gladly pony up.

Word of the miracle spreads. In scenes evoking the closing moments of Field of Dreams, pilgrims begin streaming in from all over the state to gawk at the tortilla. Izzy is forced to build a shrine and can barely keep up with all the visitors to his restaurant. Soon, other wondrous events begin to be attributed to the tortilla, including a crippled boy who suddenly can walk, and the resurrection of a beloved pet. But to Izzy, the biggest miracle of all is his bulging wallet.

When glaringly out of place city slicker Gil Garcia (who may not be what he appears to be) shows up billing himself as a management consultant, agent, and attorney-at-law, everyone can see his only interest is in making a fast buck. Everyone, that is, except Izzy, who is already too blinded by his own greed. Before long, Izzy has signed on the dotted line, and a merchandizing juggernaut of T-shirts, mugs (”Have Jesus with your coffee in the morning”) and buttons is launched. Everyone becomes caught up in the hoopla; the church now stands empty. As the money begins rolling in, all the residents try to claim the tortilla for themselves. The mayor wants to use the proceeds to build a municipal golf course to attract tourists, while the priest insists “Jesus Christ is the registered trademark of the Roman Catholic Church.”

It isn’t long before Izzy is in way over his head, having alienated his own family and run roughshod over his steadfast friends, who are now at each other’s throats. Tortilla Heaven has become Tortilla Hell. When the fate of Falfúrrias itself is in doubt, Izzy must rediscover what truly matters in life—monetary riches … or the wealth of his friends and family.

Inspired, incredibly, by a true story, Tortilla Heaven is a modern-day fable, a sort of biblical parable couched in comedy. While a fable is an amusing and compelling way to relate a story with a serious point, Tortilla Heaven at times undermines its message by stretching the comedy to its limits. An over-the-top courtroom battle and a child custody fight with a nudist hermit veer the film into the realm of the absurd far too often. Tortilla Heaven comes very close to becoming a parody of the true movie the filmmakers wanted to make.

Tortilla Heaven is a low-budget, independent production, and, most of the time, it looks the part. For every bit of beautiful cinematography, there is another sloppy, amateur-hour moment. Much of this had to do with the constraints of the budget. The filmmakers fought for every penny of the production, shooting the film for free in churches and homes throughout the Southwest.

Filming on location instead of on sets does certainly have its advantages. The town of Falfúrrias feels deliciously authentic, and conveys a real sense of place. It is the sort of town where pink adobe homes shimmer beneath an azure blue sky; where a sunrise can be a religious experience; and where soft, dappled light streams through rooms decorated with pastels and peppers.

Much of the film’s appeal has to do with the likeability of its delightful cast. The Latino and Native American community is so richly presented that, at times, Tortilla Heaven almost feels like a foreign film.

For all of its flaws and shortcomings, Tortilla Heaven can’t help but be charming and undeniably entertaining. The film’s heart is always in the right place. Ultimately, it is a story about community, redemption, transformation and faith. And Hollywood could always use a lot more of those.

© Copyright 2007 Brandon Fibbs. All rights reserved.