Cast: Ramola Garai, Diego Luna, Jonathan Jackson, Sela Ward, John Slattery, Mika Boorem
Director: Guy Ferland
Producers: Lawrence Bender, Sarah Green
Screenplay: Boaz Yakin and Victoria Arch
Cinematography: Tony Richmond
U.S. Distributor: Lions Gate Films
A six-word review is arguably all that's necessary for this movie: at least the dancing is hot. More a remake than a sequel, Havana Nights takes the Dirty Dancing formula (which is actually "Romeo and Juliet" crossed with "Cinderella" and transplanted into the 1950s) and infuses it with cross-cultural issues. For the most part, it's a better film that its tepid 1987 inspiration - at least until the end. Sure, the storyline is unsurprising, but the acting is more elastic, the dialogue is less laden with clunkers, and the dance sequences arguably exhibit additional energy (maybe it's the salsa-flavored rhythms). However, while the strength of the original Dirty Dancing was its magical, climactic "(I'll Have) The Time of My Life" coming-out party, Havana Nights comes close to falling apart in the last ten minutes. Instead of a celebration of teen love and dance, we get a perfunctory lesson in politics as a glossed-over, whitewashed Cuban Revolution hits Havana.
The film opens in November 1958, with high school senior Katey Vendetto (British-born actress Romola Garai, last seen in I Capture the Castle) being transplanted to Cuba along with her mother, Jeannie (Sela Ward, trapped in an uptight, sourpuss role), and sister, Susie (the bubbly and bouncy Mika Boorem), because it means a promotion for Dad (John Slattery). Bookworm Katey isn't happy to be there, but her studious ways soon catch the eye of local cad James Phelps (Jonathan Jackson), who is sure that a swan's wings are hidden under the ugly duckling garments. Katey, however, is more interested in the hotel's busboy, Javier (Diego Luna, one of the two boys from Y Tu Mama Tambien), whose brand of liberated dancing excites her. Soon, she's taking dancing lessons from Javier on the side, while concocting deceptions to keep her parents from finding out about a liaison of which they would not approve. And, of course, Javier and Katey fall in love and enter a dance contest, where, in order for them to perform, all must be revealed.
Havana Nights boasts a couple of tenuous connections to the original Dirty Dancing (although the 1963 time period of the first makes this an unlikely "prequel"). The incidental music uses a few notes from "The Time of My Life" to remind us what we're watching. And a decrepit Patrick Swayze (believe it or not, he's now 51 years old, and looks his age) resurrects Johnny Castle for a glorified cameo in which he plays a fairy godmother to Katey's Cinderella. Why he's in Cuba is left unanswered. In fact, Swayze's appearance in the film creates more problems than it solves; the movie would have been better had it been allowed to stand on its own.
The film's lackluster treatment of the Cuban Revolution would be laughable if it wasn't tragically absurd. All of the anger, mistreatment, oppression, and bloodshed is sanitized to the point where the grass roots uprising comes across as tamer than a New Orleans Fat Tuesday. The only death occurs off-screen (and happens long before the movie starts), and, although Batista's militia are presented as being thuggish, they're more impolite than brutal. To add insult to injury, Havana Nights has the audacity to state that it is "based on true events." By that, I suppose the filmmakers mean that there really was a revolution in Cuba as 1958 became 1959. (Robert Redford's 1990 Casablanca remake, Havana, went over similar ground with greater success.)
The film's salvation comes through its dance sequences, which are lively and well-choreographed. Both Diego Luna and Romola Garai are engaging performers. They make the love story digestible and display a sense of passion as they adapt Latin and ballroom moves to develop their unique style. When director Guy Ferland abandons dialogue and exposition for the simple pleasure of watching these two swirl around each other to the beat of rhythms as spicy as a chili pepper, Havana Nights soars. Arguably, the biggest disappointment about the ending isn't that the revolution takes place, but that it cuts short what should be the movie's brightest dance moment. Truncated, it feels like a cheat, and the "redemption" offered by the closing scene is more like an afterthought.
If the intention of Havana Nights is to re-invent Dirty Dancing for today's audience, it falls short of the mark. The original was pretty bad, but it has become an '80s staple. (It arrived at just the right time to capture the imagination of a generation that had grown up in Reagan's America.) But the subject matter and tone of Havana Nights are too tame for an '00s teenage audience (who want hip-hop, not salsa). The shameless use of the "Dirty Dancing" name on the title will boost the box office tally a little, but probably not much. Ultimately, the existence of Havana Nights, like that of so many late-arriving, half-hearted sequels, will quickly be forgotten while the memory of its predecessor continues to live on. It's only possible to have the time of your life once, and, for this franchise, that was in 1987.
© 2004 James Berardinelli