Private Parts

National Review, April 21, 1997 by John Simon

"Yes, they're going to love you," affirms strong, supportive Marcela, nicely played by Constance Marie.

Integration of another kind occurs when Mr. Q. is overruled about admitting Chris, a sexy, long-haired rock guitarist, to the tejano group. Over Mr. Q.'s strenuous protests, Selena even ends up eloping with the hirsute youth. But the assimilative familia finally accepts him as a full member, and all could be well. Selena tells Chris about the farm and all the animals she'd like to have, and coyly adds, "I've been thinking, maybe we could have some more animals of our own."

Chris, less adept at thinking, eventually blurts out, "Kids?" After repeating the word a couple more times, he hoists up Selena in his arms, and rushes off with her: "Hey, let's do it. Let's get started."

Alas, dis aliter visum. Obese, ugly Yolanda, caught with a hand in the till, shoots to kill her idol.

This last, potentially most interesting part, is rushed past us with unseemly haste. The movie is chiefly concerned with the star and the noisily adoring multitudes. Selena, ably embodied by Jennifer Lopez, tearfully concludes her Grammy-award speech, "I'd especially like to thank the fans, because without you we'd be nothing." But how much more is she with them, particularly when you consider that, thanks to one of them, she ends up dead?

The Hydra-headed monster goads its darlings to excess, then, out of love-hating envy, devours them. But to me, the most riveting aspect of the film was the spectacularly pockmarked complexion of "the Latino Olivier," Edward James Olmos, as Mr. Q. As the camera kept coming in for larger and larger closeups, I could blissfully pretend I was watching a documentary about lunar exploration, rather than mooning about the aptly named Selena.