(rated R, 96 mins.)
Snappy cinematography and color inter-cutting black and white (to resemble his TV shows of that decade), is the true life story of the turbulent yet creative Latino icon Puerto Rican poet-playwright-actor Miguel Pinero, (Benjamin Bratt), who captivated New York City’s cultural elite in the 1970s and 1980s. It’s a paradox that a man of this talent could by day write Tony Award nominated plays yet shoot needles by night. Raised as a poor, sympathetic, underdog with a fatherless childhood and the oldest of five, his mother (Rita Moreno), tired of visiting her son behind bars, gave him the love and self-esteem to be his best. Despite his brains and pizzazz, the bottom line is once a misguided junkie, always a misguided junkie. It’s a fact that Bratt is almost unrecognizable in the perfect marriage of actor to role but I had just one question? Without an address, where does a homeless junkie receive his royalty checks? A true waste of talent whose life was cut short at 40 whom was most certainly the Writer’s Guild’s biggest nightmare. Look for an Oscar nod for Bratt. He’s that good and that transformed.
