Andy Garcia is the apolitical, upper-middle class owner of a nightclub in Havana who finds himself in the middle of Fidel Castro's 1959 revolution, which divides his family and finally drives him in exile to New York.
It's a long, languid movie, focusing as much on family and love as on politics. It's punctuated by occasional bouts of violence, but not the kind that might satisfy an audience of action-movie aficionados. Most of the bodies we see punctured are not nameless heavies but people we know. The ones who are nameless are mainly hapless victims of the revolution. The executions are from newsreel footage and not very exciting or fun to look at.
I can put up with the movie's slow tempo for a number of reasons. One is that it matches Andy Garcia's gradual realization that one form of tyranny (Fulgencio Batista's) has been replaced by another (Fidel Castro's). Under Batista's dictatorship, people are murdered and robbed, and Havana seems to be under the thumb of the Mafia, Meyer Lanksy (Dustin Hoffman), and United Fruit Company. Under Castro's dictatorship, people are murdered and robbed, and in an excess of zeal everything seems to be appropriated by the state -- from vast plantations to the use of the saxophone in Garcia's orchestra. (The saxophone was invented by a Belgian named Sax, and the Belgians were notorious colonialists.) As absurd as it may sound, I believe it without having to look it up. Think the saxophobia is too crazy to be true? Google "freedom fries".
Another reason I put up with the slowness is that the writers appear to be sincere beyond belief, with their convictions sometimes being expressed in images and voice overs that descend into the obvious or even into the not-so-alien corny. The movie sometimes seems aimed not so much at a worldwide audience but at the refugees from Castro's tyranny, encouraging an nonconstructive sense of victimhood. I doubt that the Cuban-American refugees need to be reminded of their mistreatment under Castro. They were mostly middle- and upper-class who wound up in Miami or the big cities of the North after being stripped of their material possessions. The clobbering they took was real enough to be memorable and extremely distressing. And no relief in sight -- "Who needs elections?", asked Castro rhetorically, "The people have already voted." As one of the victims, the young daughter of a doctor, put it to me, "We had to fled." You would have fled too if you'd had anything to lose by staying.
Not that Batista wasn't a murderous thug, not much different from Saddam Hussein, though the US supported Batista and opposed Castro. An explosion destroys part of Garcia's nightclub, killing his prima ballerina (Lorena Feijoo). I hated that scene. I always hate to see ballerinas get blown up. Especially girlishly beautiful and more than moderately supple ballerinas like Feijoo. I don't like to see ANY dancers blown up. Except maybe Tommy Tune -- and him only because of his name.
The score is outstanding, mostly coming out of the orchestra in Garcia's club -- Habanero pop tunes and dreamy love songs, but not particularly dumb. And sometimes Garcia sits at his piano and tickles out pieces that resemble a Chopin notturno. The musical scenes make you feel like dancing or sucking up a Cuba Libre.
I have to add, too, that many of the cast members are Cubanos. Not just Garcia himself, but Steven Bauer is in here, and Lorena Feijoo, and Elizabeth Pena, among the better known of the performers. I wish Elizabeth Pena had had a more prominent role. I love the things she does with the English language. And add to it that she grew up in Elizabeth, New Jersey. At a time -- in the 1960s -- when it was becoming increasingly dangerous to drive around in urban minority neighborhoods, the Cuban section of Elizabeth was invariably quiet and unobtrusively welcoming to aliens. You could buy a tiny cup of espresso for a nickel.
The movie shows us the Cuba of 50 years ago. The country has now entered a sociopolitical juncture, with Fidel stepping aside and the more relaxed Raoul taking the reins. We once sponsored an invasion of Cuba that failed miserably. The movie prompts the question of whether it might be time to adopt a different tack.
It's a long, languid movie, focusing as much on family and love as on politics. It's punctuated by occasional bouts of violence, but not the kind that might satisfy an audience of action-movie aficionados. Most of the bodies we see punctured are not nameless heavies but people we know. The ones who are nameless are mainly hapless victims of the revolution. The executions are from newsreel footage and not very exciting or fun to look at.
I can put up with the movie's slow tempo for a number of reasons. One is that it matches Andy Garcia's gradual realization that one form of tyranny (Fulgencio Batista's) has been replaced by another (Fidel Castro's). Under Batista's dictatorship, people are murdered and robbed, and Havana seems to be under the thumb of the Mafia, Meyer Lanksy (Dustin Hoffman), and United Fruit Company. Under Castro's dictatorship, people are murdered and robbed, and in an excess of zeal everything seems to be appropriated by the state -- from vast plantations to the use of the saxophone in Garcia's orchestra. (The saxophone was invented by a Belgian named Sax, and the Belgians were notorious colonialists.) As absurd as it may sound, I believe it without having to look it up. Think the saxophobia is too crazy to be true? Google "freedom fries".
Another reason I put up with the slowness is that the writers appear to be sincere beyond belief, with their convictions sometimes being expressed in images and voice overs that descend into the obvious or even into the not-so-alien corny. The movie sometimes seems aimed not so much at a worldwide audience but at the refugees from Castro's tyranny, encouraging an nonconstructive sense of victimhood. I doubt that the Cuban-American refugees need to be reminded of their mistreatment under Castro. They were mostly middle- and upper-class who wound up in Miami or the big cities of the North after being stripped of their material possessions. The clobbering they took was real enough to be memorable and extremely distressing. And no relief in sight -- "Who needs elections?", asked Castro rhetorically, "The people have already voted." As one of the victims, the young daughter of a doctor, put it to me, "We had to fled." You would have fled too if you'd had anything to lose by staying.
Not that Batista wasn't a murderous thug, not much different from Saddam Hussein, though the US supported Batista and opposed Castro. An explosion destroys part of Garcia's nightclub, killing his prima ballerina (Lorena Feijoo). I hated that scene. I always hate to see ballerinas get blown up. Especially girlishly beautiful and more than moderately supple ballerinas like Feijoo. I don't like to see ANY dancers blown up. Except maybe Tommy Tune -- and him only because of his name.
The score is outstanding, mostly coming out of the orchestra in Garcia's club -- Habanero pop tunes and dreamy love songs, but not particularly dumb. And sometimes Garcia sits at his piano and tickles out pieces that resemble a Chopin notturno. The musical scenes make you feel like dancing or sucking up a Cuba Libre.
I have to add, too, that many of the cast members are Cubanos. Not just Garcia himself, but Steven Bauer is in here, and Lorena Feijoo, and Elizabeth Pena, among the better known of the performers. I wish Elizabeth Pena had had a more prominent role. I love the things she does with the English language. And add to it that she grew up in Elizabeth, New Jersey. At a time -- in the 1960s -- when it was becoming increasingly dangerous to drive around in urban minority neighborhoods, the Cuban section of Elizabeth was invariably quiet and unobtrusively welcoming to aliens. You could buy a tiny cup of espresso for a nickel.
The movie shows us the Cuba of 50 years ago. The country has now entered a sociopolitical juncture, with Fidel stepping aside and the more relaxed Raoul taking the reins. We once sponsored an invasion of Cuba that failed miserably. The movie prompts the question of whether it might be time to adopt a different tack.