Original subtitles

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[man]Yo, man!

[♪ man singing in Spanish]

Hey, what's happening? What's happening?

We'll just start from the top.

I guess I started stealing when I was eight,

milk and bread for my baby sister and brother.

Other times we'd walk into the supermarket.

We'd eat the food right off the aisles, not even pay. We'd walk right outside.

When you think of Latin writers,

you probably think of García Márquez,

Neruda, Cortázar and magic realism.

Not here. Not this.

There are no floating butterflies around my head

when I walk down Avenue B.

This is street reality. This is where we shout it out.

[♪ Joe Torres, "Get Out Of My Way," Spanish]

♪

♪

All right, check it out, check it out, check it out.

Black woman with the blond wig on,

can you imagine yourself on To Tell The Truth

with three blondes on blond?

Free, slave, black, 21.

If I have one life to live, let me live it as a blonde,

black woman with the blond wig on.

[laughs]

You wrote that shit?

Well, yeah.

That's some pretty good shit, man.

If I was you, I would get with that dude Marvin,

with the writing program, man? Yeah. Yeah.

I mean, if I had your talent, I definitely would.

Yeah?

Get you out of here.

At least I won't have to sleep

with my hand covering my ass tonight.

No, not tonight.

Man, I gotta get the hell outta here.

Just keep writing, bro.

Motherfuckers don't fuck with entertainment.

[Piñero] Miguel Piñero, 150614.

Yeah, can I say something before I get started?

I'd just like to thank the parole board

for letting me express myself here today,

and I leave it to your good conscience

to consider my release, and hopefully soon.

Jesus Christ, I'm trying to do you a favor.

It's a steal.

No, I ain't saying you steal it.

I stole it, to sell it to you at a steal.

Go ahead, check it out. Go ahead, mira.

It's not gonna bite you. Go ahead.

A Bulova for 20... [coughs]

Fuck, if I wasn't sick...

See, I'm Malo the Merchant.

Now, "malo"in Spanish means "bad."

Not "bad" as in "bad" but "bad" as in "good," and I'm so good it's terrible.

I'm bad. Can you dig it?

Five years for stealing?

Why would you want to steal when you got it all, Mikey?

You have no idea how many times I asked myself,

"What are we doing here? Why did we leave Puerto Rico?"

To become doormen and waiters and junkies and supers

and dope dealers, pimps, welfare parasites.

Fact is, I am the cause

for the state's great concern with drugs nowadays.

When they came to me, I got it for them.

Now, they say that dope

is destroying the youth of our nation.

Well, not my nation, their nation,

'cause for years it had been destroying our nation,

and no one gave a good fuck about it.

Speak with your eyes, look with your mouth, and you'll be OK.

When are we gonna yell out, "No more fucking dope, man"?

You are surprised that I, a dope fiend,

would make such a distinction between me and my peers?

But, you see, the time before this

there was the time before that,

and that's where I live, in the time before this.

The day we left Puerto Rico,

I remember my grandmother crying, trying to pull me back.

It was like she knew something bad was gonna happen.

[snaps fingers] Can you dig that?

[woman]Who is it?It's me... Mikey.

You alone?

No. I'm with myself.

Just call me Monty Hall, and let's make a deal.

All right, check it out, check it out.

It's an expensive watch, cheap. Cheaper than cheap.

In fact, it's so cheap, that if I sell it to you any cheaper,

you'd be stealing it from me, ¿tu sabes?

The poetry man. You got some shit with you, bro.

Al Pacino wore this watch in Serpico. Yeah, right.

For reals, bro. I swear to God.

[speaks Spanish] Lemme see that.

Man, that watch don't work, man.

It's all right, bro. You don't need to know the time all the time.

In fact, you live longer with a watch that don't work.

Check it out.Bro, you got some pair of bolas,man.

You know that shit, man?

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Mira,Pablito, you don't look so good.

You got all the money for me?

I'm shy about $3. Here. I'll pay you next Tuesday, all right?

Man, you something else.

Always doing the same thing, man. I ain't doing it next time.

I'll pay you next week, all right?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, same story.

[Piñero]Doctor, I spent my whole life

living like there's no sickness, no dying, no nothing.

So, now the clock is ticking.

I don't know, all of a sudden I feel kind of corny, you know?

It's your liver saying, "Enough."

I'm really sorry.

So, what, six months?

Ah... I don't know.

Way you live, who knows?

You know, my best friend Tito, he died two days ago.

Got crushed by an icebox.

He never saw it coming, you know?

I guess I'm not that bad off, you know?

$73. Let's pick it up here. $73.

Hello, Professor! I got Cabernet 1967,

duck mousse a la port, garlic crisps,

the National Book Review and the latest copy of Screw,what else?

Cuchifrito.Let's celebrate.What are we celebrating?

Life, baby. Life.

Shit, I don't care what the doctors say, man.

Worst-case scenario, not a bad life.

Don Johnson. That's a pretty motherfucker.

Check this out.

Remember that night at Burrough's Bunker?

I asked him where the bathroom was. He said,

"It's right over there. Come on, I'll pee with you."

[laughter]

Rich fucker.

Me, 40 years old, maybe $40 in the bank.

Homeless, no kids.

Thank God for that.

Me...

20 years teaching Shakespeare at Rutgers.

A lifer.

You think that Shakespeare ever met a Puerto Rican?

Well, if he did, I could have been in one of his plays.

Check this out.

Friends, puertorriqueños, countrymen,

lend me your ears and hand me a beer.

I come to bury Mikey, not to praise him.

The evil that men do lives after them.

The good is oft interred with their bones.

So let it be with Mikey.

Check that out.

[inhales]

[coughing]

Damn.

[sniffs]

You know, lately I forget every wonderful thing I want to remember.

Things like...

things that happen when you're...

when you're in a cab or at the doctor

or just walking and watching,

'cause that's all you can afford emotionally.

and you say, "You know, I'm gonna...

I'm gonna remember this and place it where it fits."

But I don't know about you, but... I always forget them, you know?

Yeah.

Man, look at us.

Look at Tito.

Nuyorican poets.

You know, I will never forget that night.

Of course not,

because I told you what happened.

I'm your memory.

I got a full house and a baby waiting to be born.

You told him how important this was?

Of course I did,

but that doesn't jive with him.

Put my neck on the chopping block to make this happen.

Joe, would you just calm yourself down? He's gonna be here.

He's probably just nervous, you know?

He's standing somewhere watching us right now.

Hello. My name is Joe Papp.

Good evening, ladies. May we have your attention?

We're your tour guide with the city. Check this out.

5, 6, 7, 8. Huh.

I met Miguel Piñero shortly after his release from Sing Sing...

Take off your shit, ho.What are you doing?

...where, for the past year, he found the courage

to write and develop a play called Short Eyes

about the very place where he was living.

Let go, let go, let go.

Go, go, go.

All dramatists of real value

must sooner or later confront

what for themselves is truly dangerous.

Taxi.

Now we are proud to present to you Short Eyes.

Go.

You do that very well.

You know, this is the best thing that could happen to us.

I think so. Really.

I mean, we are less now. We'll eat more.

Hey.

We'll go to dancing,

we will swim in the Hudson River,

we will read poetry,

we will go to the movies...

[no audio]

[police officer] Name?

Miguel Piñero.

What do you do for a living?

I'm a writer, poet, reporter.

Really?

And a thief, a junkie

and whatever else one has to be sometimes.

You know how it is.

You?

Tito. Tito Goya.

And you?

Hey, that's Goya.

For the beans, not the painter.

If it's Goya, it's gotta be good, ¿tu sabes?

Charlie!

You owe me three packs, man.

[guard]Off the fuckin' noise.

Now, if I have to call your name more than once, pray,

'cause your soul may belong to God,

but your ass is mine.

Yeah, and your brain may belong to the state,

but your sanity belongs to me.

[no audio]

[horn honks]

Fuck.

Profe?

Professor, you around?

Hey, mira,brother man.

You want to buy a brand-new TV? I just liberated it.

$35, all right? I got medical bills, I gotta buy me a new liver.

Tutu, you want to buy a TV? It's brand-new.

Shit. That thing has a broken antenna.

Ah, nah, look, Tutu, it ain't broken.

It's just a short one so it don't get in the way and shit like that. You dig?

We need one for the bathroom anyway.Hey, man, that's cool.

That way you don't miss out on the soap opera when you're taking a shit.

That's funny, man.

Why don't you talk that foul fucking language somewhere else?

Yeah, like, be cool, motherfucker.

[softly]"The trouble with our love is here.

Our love is around..." It's around...

Maybe the next time you break in,

I should call the police.

Maybe.

Hi. I'm Sugar.

I'm Mikey's woman.

I'm out here hustling for Mikey, trying to make a living,

doing the best that I can for my man.

Daddy hit me again.

Ma, can you hear me?

It's me, your baby.

He was drunk. I know, I know...

He ain't my real dad.

Every time you go to sleep,

he comes into my room,

and he sits on my bed,

and he starts touching my leg.

He scares me when he's like that.

I know, I know. The food. The landlord.

Where are you?

You said you'd be around if I needed you.

And I need you, Ma.

Ma, they call me Tricky now,

'cause I've turned more tricks in one night

than you turned in a lifetime.

Ma, please help me.

I'm tired of turning tricks.

I want a kick.

I want a fix.

I want you to need me.

I want you to need.

I want you to need me.

Cirrhosis.

Sounds like a fucking flower, doesn't it?

I gotta draw up a will.

So I figured, you know, if we were married,

you'd be the sole beneficiary of my estate.

State of what?

State of mind?

You want to reward me by making me a widow?

Believe it or not, there are some benefits

that come to you by being married to me that I want you to have.

You know what I mean?

You think I like what I do?

It's acting.

You always said I couldn't act.Impossible.

You're impossible.

What am I gonna do with you, huh?

What are you talking about?

You know what I'm talking about.

What if something happens to you?

I get scared, too, Mikey.

Look... I understand you don't want to marry me.

I mean, I wouldn't, either.

But...

"April 6, 1988.

You are hereby required to..." Blah blah blah-de-blah.

Shit.

Battery's dead, man.What?

You left the fucking radio on all night. Shit.

Dead battery? What is this, an omen?

Mikey, Mikey, this ain't no omen. This is my van, man.

Look, if you gonna room with me, Mikey,

you gotta respect my space, man.

Shit.

This motherfucker ain't subsidized.

Probably won't even pass inspection now, the way we going.

Neither will we.

How are you gonna have Robert De Niro,

Ralph Macchio and Burt Young playing Puerto Ricans in a new play?

I don't wanna see that...

Out. I don't want you around here.

Another Latino boom is on the way, this time with Italians playing us, bro.

Out. Get over here.

Come here.

This is a public theater, right?Yes, it is.

I thought this was the public theater.

I'm part of the public, you see. I don't need this shit, bro.

Don't be treating me like that, man. I see how it is.

If you gotta see Rei, you call him, but you do not come by, you understand?

You let me down for the last time.

Oh, so, what... now you lost faith in me?Course not. I lost money.

Look, Joe, I'm sorry, but I wrote this shit.

If you didn't like it, that's not my problem.

You wrote the shit?

No, you wrote shit. Nothing. Not a word.

You've made me look bad.

I'm your last friend.

You remember? You said that.

Well, it be's that way sometimes, bro.

Fuck you. Fuck you, man.

Fuck you. Fuck you, man. Fuck you.

So what? Now you got Rei up in there,

fulfilling your quota for "whore of the month" Latino life, huh?

I don't owe you shit. I work for my commission, motherfucker.

Yeah.

What happened to you, Miguel?

Do you know?

Do you know?

Mikey. What's going on here?

I love this man.

I know that.

It's OK, bro. Don't worry about it. Shit.

Nobody ever plays fair

when it comes to the heart or the pocketbook.

I've been there.

No...Yes, yes, yes, yes.

[Rei]I love you, Mikey,

but I got to agree with Papp, you know?

De Niro's a box-office draw.

I told Papp that I wanted you to play my father,

but... you know how it is.

My man Bobby, he has clout.

He fell in love with the part.

Bobby? Oh, yeah. Bobby.

You know I love you, Rei, and all that shit, man,

but sometimes you come across like bad medicine.

Like a fucking laxative. You know what I mean?

Hold me up. Come on, hold me up. Shit.

You are very talented, Rei. Of course, with my talent...

What the fuck's this story about... whale hunting offshore Korea?

How you come up with this foreign nonsense?

You never seen a fucking whale in your life, and you ain't no Korean.

You didn't have to do that.You wanted me to teach you, right?

Yeah, but not like this.

I'm not one of your little boys you just throw in the water, make me learn how to swim.

Well, it be's that way sometimes, bro.

You trying to fuck with me? Fuck you, man.

So, what, now you gonna hit me with the chair?

You better hit me hard, because if you lay me out and I get back up,

I'm gonna throw your ass off this fucking roof. Write about that.

You know, write about what you know, all right? Write about that.

Write about your mother, your father.

You got 20 stories floating around inside your stomach. Spit 'em out.

And how am I just supposed to spit 'em out, right?

Well, sweetie, I'm not gonna stick my finger down your throat

so you can puke.

And by the way...

Go buy yourself a Smith Corona Electric,

'cause I can't read your writing.

Take it.

Now sit down. Smoke a joint.

So I gave you my ass.

What else you want, papi?

Hmm? You want to grade my fucking work?

OK.

You're God.

But...

Oh, man, what's going on?

Because one day, you're happy, you know, you're proud of me.

Now you're, uh...

You know, you're in a rage

'cause I'm doing good.

Excuse me.I'm not me.

Excuse me.

Deadlines, man. Come on.

Sentence passed, if you catch my drift.

Oh, you look familiar. Which one are you today?

Actually, that's why I came.

Come on, I got a residual check from Kojak.

They're running the show in Africa.

I'm sorry, all right? It was just a case of nerves, Profe. Here.

Come on. It's not like I'm gonna be around forever.

You fucking button-pushing, manipulating ingrate

whose latest heartfelt con is your death,

because, after all, you're the only fucking person dying in this world,

because death was designed just for you, right?

No, Daddy! I don't want to die, Daddy!

Shit. I should take that bouncing check

and welcome you back into my home, so that in the eventuality

that I accidentally shove a finger up your ass,

you might squeeze my mother's wedding band,

which I am wearing, out of it, right?

Look, bandito, this shit has to stop.

Anybody can be a poet the way you live.

Fuck it! I could write like you if I didn't have to worry

about working and sleeping or paying the rent.

I know, I know, Profe. I know, and I'm sorry.

I do abuse you of your kindness and humanity and shit.

That's the word, Miguel.Put that shit away. Put that shit away.

I can't help it. You a nice guy.

Look, I want to read to you how I...Tito.

Let me read to you how I figured out that last act for

The Sun Always Shines for the Cool. I heard it.

The whole building heard. The fucking neighborhood heard it.

All right, then, I'll leave. You know? I'll just leave.

Leave? Where the fuck are you gonna go at 4:00 in the morning

where you won't get arrested

for carrying around a stolen-from-me Smith Corona?

I got an idea.

Now, I will rent this place

not for your benefit but for mine,

so I can sleep, so I can keep my job,

so I can preserve my sanity and write like you.

Welcome to our house, the Nuyorican Poets Cafe.

[Piñero speaks Spanish]

What do you think, baby? What do you think?

[Algarin]Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.

Miguel Algarin...

...and Tito Goya...

...would like to welcome back...Mikey Piñero!

[both]Back from the filming of another movie in Hollywood.

iVaya!

[crowd cheering]

[woman]Bravo! Bravo!

[♪ singing in Spanish]

Appreciate all the nice things my friends can still say about me, you dig?

But no speeches from me tonight.

I wrote this poem on the plane.

It goes, uh...

[♪ jazz]

Dreamt I was a poet

and writin' silver sailin' songs,

words strong and powerful

crashin' through walls of steel and concrete

erected in minds weak and those asleep,

replacin' a hobby of paper candy-wrappin' collectin'

potent to pregnate sterile young thoughts.

I dreamt I was this poeta,

words glitterin' bright and bold,

strikin' a new rush for gold

in las bodegas, where our poets' words and songs are sung.

But sunlight stealin' through Venetian blinds,

eyes hatin', workin' of time

clock, sweatin' and swearin' and slavin' for the final dime,

runnin' a maze, a token ride,

perspiration insultin' poets' pride.

Words stoppin' on red, goin' on green,

poets' dreams endin' in a factoría

as one in a million, unseen,

buyin' bodega sold dreams.

[applause] [woman]Bravo!

Bravo!

[woman #2]Mikey, all right!

Hey. Remember me?

Maybe.

Excuse me. Gee, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

What the fuck you give me, elephant tranquilizer?

What day is it?

And do you have any more?

[laughs]

Shit.

Relax, papi.

We've been in this bed for hours.

What's the matter, huh?

Is it too hot to get it up?

'Cause I can dig a little tongue,

but too much of it makes me horny.

You can't be out here giving up all this tongue

if you can't give up anything else.

So... relax.

Shit. If I relax any more, I'm gonna faint.

So, what, you rehearse that speech?

I did. But you wrote it.

Oh, yeah.

[♪ Cuban salsa]

Yeah.

The Sun Always Shines For the Cool.

Great play.

That's right.

So you want to be an actress, huh?

Yeah. I've read everything you've written... twice.

I'm flattered.

So am I.

Twice, huh?

Yeah.

I guess it's true what they say about jail.

What's with you? Little boys?

Shit, I'd like to watch.

Hey, wha-what's the matter? Huh?

[turns music off]

Oh, man, I was just kidding...

Look, why the fuck you come here for?

Between insulting me and getting yourself worked up to be near me,

you lost me.

I thought that...

Oh, forget it. Just get out of here.Come on, Mikey...

Just get the fuck out of here.I'm sorry, OK?

Get out of here!I'm just nervous.

I'm sorry, Mikey.

I didn't mean it.

You know how long I've been waiting for this?

You like me so much it makes me nervous.

Since the first time I saw you in the projects,

and the rest of how all that shit goes...

I knew you, Mikey.

You had no father. I had too much of one.

I said to myself...

"Between me and him... we'll make one happy child."

[mumbles]

Everyone's a fucking poet tonight, huh?

Maybe.

And I'll suck your cock like a fucking poem,

whatever that makes me.

Whatever you want, Mikey, I'll do it.

I'm your whore.

He comes into my room

and he sits on my bed.

He scares me when he's like that,

his hands touching me...

...getting all hard and fast and hot,

his spit falling all over me.

Mikey?

Get out of here!You get out.

Get the fuck out of here!

The last time you had a job, you were hired at 9:00 in the morning.

By 11 you were fired.

That was two years ago.

So, what, are you a detective now?

Worse. I'm your mother.

You just got out of jail, now you're back inside.

Mikey...

didn't you learn anything good the first time?

You mean, besides acquiring my first drug habit?

Don't talk to me like that.

It's just that...

[sighs]

I am tired of visiting my son behind bars.

It's the only time we... we get to talk.

I mean, what happened to that son I used to have?

The little boy who would bring me flowers?

Who would write poems for me?

I think, in your mind,

our life had been like... like Leave It to Beaver,

but in my mind, it was... it was different.

I'm sorry.

You know, I'm sorry for my antisocial behavior.

It's not a choice.

What do you want me to do?

Make me proud before I go.

What are you, in a hurry today?

No.

You're talking with your eyes.

OK.

OK, mami.

I'll make you proud.

I'll make you proud of me, you'll see.

You'll see.

I'll make you proud of me.

I... I got this picture of Jane Fonda,

so I would really stretch out,

doing up my wood.

No, no, no, man. Say it natural.

Not like a minister.

Say it like you, like-like here, like... like Edgar.

Don't try to sound all like Corinthian Ricardo Montalban Cordoba dude.

You know? Give me you, the life, Harlem.

Talk like you talk, you know?

Like, be all the nigger that you are.

Did you say "nigger"?

Nigger?

Wesson Oil never had it so good.

You see, I got this picture of Jane Fonda.

She got this black silk satin bikini.

Yeah, you dig?

So I strips naked, right, and I...

and I starts to roll and roll.

I mean, I am whipping my johnson ronson to the bone, boy.

Ooh, yeah.

Soon... ohh,

everybody on the tier knew that I was working out.

[laughs]

'Cause soon, everybody's voice was with me.

I... I starts... I starts callin' out her name,

real soft, you know?

Janey.

Ooh. Ahh.

Janey, baby...

Oh, get it, Janey, oh, just a little louder, babe.

Ooh, faster.

I scream, "Ow!" My knees buckle. Uhh...

Oh, Janey, baby.

Get it, baby.

Get it. Get it, get it, get it, get it.

Get it. Oh, Janey! Uh...

Ahh. [chuckles]

Now, that's Black Power.

[laughter and applause]

That's it! That's how we do it.

Now you an actor. You ain't Bowser anymore, 44756 armed robbery, man.

No, man. Not while you acting.

You Ice, leading man in Short Eyes!

[♪ "Diente De Oro," Orlando Puntillarios Ríos]

Well, when you're in prison,

you're nowhere being nobody, you're a number.

You know? So when I started writing my poetry and acting,

I felt like somebody in a land of nothing.

I never felt so alive, I never had so much energy.

I'd go back to my cell, I'd create something.

I spoke to this movie director this afternoon

who's very much interested in making a film of Short Eyes.

I mean, there's Lumet, there's-there's Pacino, and...

I mean, basically everybody in this town, they love you,

and I can get you the best possible deal.

Uh, Rob?Yes?

Rob, is it?Yeah.

So, you want to be my pimp?

Is that it? You want to pimp me out?

Yes. Yes, very much so.

I would... I would love that.

[woman]Well, you must be feeling

really good tonight,Mr. Piñero.

Your play Short Eyes created a lot of controversy, a lot of opposition,

and still you won six nominations.

It's the first time a Puerto Rican playwright cleans up at the Tonys.

Cleans up? At the Tonys, yes,

but we have been cleaning up and down in this town

since the Marine Tigerdocked.

You know, in your offices, your restaurants, the fine hotels.

Later on, we were cleaned up in Korea, then Vietnam.

But when it came to the writing,

we'd go chisel the motherfucker straight out of beer cans,

from the tar and the concrete of the city and the roofs of the city.

You know, the metaphors would flow from there.

But check it out. No windows tonight.

This is our time.

It's not like we go into the homes of the rich

and we walk out with a silver ashtray.

No, we go in and we walk out with something better... their attention.

We take them to a world they used to fear,

and we tell them, "Hey, it's cool."

"We used to fear you, too, man."

[laughs]

This is our time.

Yeah.

Hey, check this out.

I know this is gonna be

kind of sappy and out of character,

but with you I can be sappy and out of character.

Yeah, right. You must think of me

like some kind of senile grandmother or something.

But you gotta promise me one thing, Profe.

That by tomorrow night,

you'll come back to me

with a poem that lays out, in detail,

what's to be done in case you or I die.

Excuse me?

Nothing's wrong.

You know, it's just a pact here, you know, a promise,

in case we get caught with our pants down.

Just humor me.

You want me to write a poem

about the details of our funerals?

Yeah.

Yeah.

So you write what you want, I'll write what I want,

you know, like a testament,

and, uh, whoever goes first...

God forbid it's you or me...

got to do what the poem says.

You're not planning anything funny?

Algarin... [speaks Spanish]

Now that we got the city by the balls, watch out.

[♪ "Calle Luna, Calle Sol," Willie Colón and Hector Lavoe]

♪ Mete la mano en el bolsillo

♪ Saca y abre tu cuchillo y ten cuidado

♪ Oye, ten cuidado

♪ Póngame oído, en este barrio muchos guapos han matado

♪ Y que mucho han matado

♪ Calle Luna, Calle Sol

¿Adónde?

♪ Calle Luna, Calle Sol

I'm here. [man]Mikey.

You needed 5,000, I got you 5,000.

Ain't nobody gonna shut you down.

Look, it's only money.

As legit as Hollywood money can be, but...

You pay me back, cool. If you can't pay me back, no problem, OK?

I look at it this way. I come in tomorrow, if I'm broke,

you gimme a six-pack and we call it even, OK?

He was dead.

He never lived.

Died. Died.

He died seekin' the Cause,

because he said he never saw the Cause,

but he heard the Cause,

heard the cryin' of hungry ghetto children,

heard the warnin' from Malcolm,

heard the tractors pave new routes to new prisons.

He died seekin' the Cause, seekin' aCause.

He was already dead.

He never really lived.

Uptown, downtown, crosstown,

his body was found all over town

seekin' the Cause,

thinkin' the Cause was 75 dollars and gator shoes,

thinkin' the Cause was selling the white lady to black children,

thinkin' the Cause was to be found in Gypsy Rose or JB

or singin doo-wops in the park after some chiba chiba.

♪ Doe

♪ Doe-doe-doe

♪ Duh-duh-dum

♪ Doe-doe-doe-doe, doe-doe-doe-doe... ♪

He died.

He died seekin' the Cause,

and the Cause was dyin' seeking him

and the Cause was dyin' seeking him

and the Cause was dyin' seeking him.

He wanted a color TV.

He wanted a silk on silk suit.

He wanted the Cause to come up like the Mets

and take the World Series.

He wanted, he wanted, he wanted, he wanted.

He wanted to want more wants,

but he never gave, he never gave, he never gave.

He never gave his love to his children,

he never gave his heart to his people

and never did he ever give his soul to his people.

He never gave his soul to his people

because he was busy seekin' a Cause,

busy,

busy perfectin' his voice

to harmonize the national anthem with Spiro T. Agnew,

busy perfectin' his jive talk

so that his flunkiness wouldn't show,

busy perfectin' his viva la policíaspeech.

Downtown, uptown, midtown, crosstown.

His body was found all over town,

found in the Potter Fields of an OD,

found in the Bowery with the DDTs.

His legs were left in Vietnam,

his arms were found in Sing Sing,

his scalp was on Nixon's belt,

his blood painted the streets of the ghetto.

His eyes were still lookin' for Jesus to come down on some cloud

and make everything OK.

When Jesus died in Attica,

his brains plastered all around the frames of the Pentagon,

his voice still yellin' "Stars & Stripes forever,"

riddled with the police bullets his taxes bought,

he died seekin' the Cause,

died seekin' aCause.

He died yesterday.

He's dyin' today. He's dead tomorrow.

He died seekin' a Cause,

and the Cause was in front of him

and the Cause was in his speech

and the Cause was in his skin

and the Cause was in his blood,

but he died,

he died seekin' the Cause, seekin' aCause.

He died deaf, dumb and blind.

He died and never found his Cause, because, you see,

he never, never knew that he was the Cause.

♪ Ooh-woo-oo-ooh

[♪ "Agueybana Zemi," Jerry Gonzalez and Frankie Rodriguez]

♪ Agueybana Zemi

♪ Así, que es el tu nombre ♪ Agueybana Zemi

♪ Ya todo el mundo está cantando ♪ Agueybana Zemi

♪ Todo el mundo está diciendo

♪ Agueybana Zemi

♪ En el barrio de Guamaní ♪ Agueybana Zemi

♪ Allí dió tu bien y nombre

♪ Agueybana Zemi...

What's happening, Jake?

What's the matter with you, man?

Just a little oppression on the right side of the rib cage.

It's called an exploding liver.

Kind of like a standing ovation

that organs give to graduating chemicals.

What you want, man?

A liver. I need a liver.

A lover?A liver. I need a fucking liver, bro.

Look, man, I can get you crack, smack, weed,

but no liver, bro.

You fucking with me or what?I'm sick. I need a liver.

I gotta find someone who's got a liver compatible with mine, see.

You mean that fits?

Look, bro, I need cash or a liver or something for real, brother.

I heard of some dude who got this kidney for Jackie,

the singer uptown,

used to be with the O'Jays.

But a liver?

Look, just don't talk that liver shit

around this chick.

[knock on glass]

I sold you as someone creative.

Remember, 10% for me, whatever you write.

This the chick?That's the one.

I'd like to introduce you all

to a personality we have in the house tonight with us.

Noel Pinero.

Where are you, baby?

iAy!There you go. Look at that famous, fabulous face.

Showtime, baby. [♪ electronic music]

♪ I am the first girl on the moon

♪ Look at me float

♪ I am a fire girl

♪ Give it to me, baby

♪ Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh

♪ Look at me now

I do fashion, you know.

With your connections and my looks, God knows.

Jake says you're famous.

What are you famous for, honey?

Tell Cuqui.

Tell Cuqui.

Wait a minute, you...

you want me to write you a play?

Oh, yes. You write today, papa?

I think I'd like something...

fun,

with humanity...

and sexy.Yeah.

I like that. I like that.

Writing is, like, half inspiration,

half inhalation.What?

Now, for a writer of, like, my stature

to collaborate with an actress of your caliber,

there has to be a bond, ¿tu sabes?

What blood type are you?

Blood type?

Are you a vampire, papi?

Yeah.

That's money. You throwing away money, baby.

I want some, too.

Look. I think you better go, Noel.

Just go, before something...

Before? Before-Before what? Before what?

You asked me up here.

Shit, you ain't even got my name right, and you at the end of the chapter.

You know what I should do? You know what I should do?

Yeah, go on.

Hit me.

Hit me.

Go for it, baby. I know that's what you want.

'Cause you have been this and that,

but let's face the facts, honey.

You are a loser.

And the only thing that you're leaving with here tonight

is the satisfaction

of having physically beat a woman.

Listen to me, woman. You know what I'm gonna do?

You know what you can do for me? Do you? Do you?

Do you know?

I'm gonna take your liver.

Yeah. That's right.

I'm gonna come to you at night when you're sleeping.

I'm gonna cut your fucking liver out.

That's what I'm gonna write about.

That's what I'm gonna write about.

I'm gonna take your fucking liver, yeah.

Get the fuck out of here. Hear me?

Get out before I call the police, you fucking freak.

They'll get here so fast you won't even make it to the lobby, eh?

Let's see who's the man.

Come on, you son of a bitch. I'll slice you, motherfucker.

[laughs]

Beautiful.

OK, fine, I burned every bridge,

and I can't fucking walk my way back

to the Writer's Guild pension and fuckfair,

but that don't mean I gotta go like I was never around.

It's not gonna happen, Mikey.

I live, you live.

I mean, I don't even know who owns what, right?

I mean...

I try to call my agent, he's, like, he fucking died before me.

I thought you were leaving it all to Sugar.

Yeah, or the IRS. Motherfuckers.

They come to get you between the fucking flames

with an asbestos suit and a hose.

This country has never made me so blue that I want to be Red.

So don't call me a Puerto Rican. I'm an American.

Oh, God, no, what is it, man? What is that? What is this?

Excuse me?

The fight.

I don't think you developed any real conflict or anything, you know?

I'm sorry. Uh...

Who the fuck are you?

I just came to the workshop because I like your work.

I'm your fan, man. That's who the fuck I am.

My fan?

And I want to be a writer. And I'm right.

That's right. If you could only give yourself a second to maybe think you're wrong,

and even if you don't, I'm still right.

My name is Reinaldo Povod.

Kind of odd, sounds like... "God."

[♪ "Bop Gun," George Clinton]

That's why I gave up the mugging business, right?

All these dumb movies about men and women taking the law into their own hands.

I mean, it gets to be, you pull a knife on someone,

everyone, you know, they been taking up karate this and kung-fu that lessons.

Dude starts to think he's, like, Bruce Lee's second cousin,

you gotta stab him in self-defense, right?

Povod. What kind of Puerto Rican name is that?

Russian. My grandmother.

♪ Spoiling the fun

What do you think of the girl?

She turning you on?

Not my type.

♪ Protect yourself

♪ Movin' right around

♪ Hey, babe

She's my mother.

No joke, man.

♪ We got to get over the hump

♪ Right now

Nice tits, huh?

Beautiful tits.

♪ Turn me loose, make me shoot... ♪

[♪ jazz fusion]

[Tito]Give me your fucking money!

So I busted the key in the door,

and I stepped into Blackie's dog shit,

and I wiped it off with Junior's baby diaper,

and that was full of baby shit.

So while relaxing,

I told Gloria of all the shit I had been through,

and she said that I was full of shit.

I said I wasn't bullshitting.

She said I wasn't shit.

I said that I don't want to hear no shit.

She said I still wasn't shit.

So I grabbed her by the fuckin' neck,

and I pulled her ass across the kitchen table,

and she went flyin' across the living room table

and over the underpaid, overpriced furniture

and landed on the overworked bed.

And I jumped into the air,

and with the scream of an Apache warrior's cry of battle,

I kill, kill, kill all my troubles away.

How was that? Was that good? That felt real.

That felt real.

Hey, what are you doing tonight, anyway?

Why don't you come on up? Maybe you get lucky, I'll fall in love with you.

Hey, here's your call sheet.

Sure you don't want to come up?

I'm positive. Good night, Mikey.

And don't forget your wardrobe.

Miguel.

Man, so good to see you.

But what took you so fucking long to come back here?

Well, I... I wanted... I wanted... to tell you how...

Oh, what's it been, like 16 years?

You got a nice place here.

I'm glad you've done so well for yourself.

When...

your mother and I split up...

You mean when you left my mother

to take care of five kids all by herself?

Huh?

Yeah.

You know, I had this dream that, uh...

someday, you and she

would take five off your daily fights

and offer me a sign of peace.

Yeah, I had that wonderful dream so many times,

it became like a fucking rerun.

Miguel...

It isn't easy...

Drop it already, all right?

Just stop the concerned father role. It doesn't fit you well.

It's making me want to throw up all over this place.

Just cut it loose, will you?

I like being on my own.

[door opens and closes]

Yeah.

Hey, Dad, thanks for coming by, OK?

I love you, Dad.

Gimme a kiss, papi.

I miss you.

Hey, don't be a stranger, man.

I'll see you again.

[Piñero] What can I get you? Some questions answered.

Like what?

Like, this man says he's your father. Is that true?

Well, he's the man that fucked my mother and created a child he named.

Forget it.

Yeah, if that's being a father, I guess he's my father,

and it means nothing to me at all.

[speaking Spanish]

We're here, so let's make the best of it, OK?

Don't worry about it. We'll find a better place.

It's gonna be... It's gonna be fun, I promise you.

[♪ "Irresistible," Pedro Flores]

iOye!

Musica.

[hums along with song]

♪ Desde el cielo he recibido la noticia

♪ De que un ángel se ha escapado sin querer

♪ Está andando perdido por la tierra

♪ Lo que tiene es que se viste de mujer

♪ Yo sospecho una criatura que yo he visto

♪ Porque cada vez que yo la puedo ver ♪

What's happening, John?

What?

It's about your mother, man.

Your sister called.

Sorry, man.

[mother]This poem was written by a great Puerto Rican.

"iSomos Indias!

"Indias del indio bohío.

"De pomarrosal sombrío.

De las orillas del río de la selva tropical."

Ha-ha-ha.

That's good, huh? You see?

We don't have to be waiters or doormen.

And, Miguelito, you are the oldest,

and you should know that just because we are here

doesn't mean we have to forget what we left there.

[♪ "Puerto Rico," Eddie Palmieri and Ismael Quintana]

[Tito]I have never seen a palm tree in my life.

[Piñero]I told you guys we'd get back home one day.

♪ Isla tierna y pura y de gran hermosura

[all]Puerto Rico!

♪ ...y pueblos hechiceros

♪ Puerto Rico

[Piñero] And the island is left unattended

because the middle-class bureaucratic Cuban has arrived,

spitting blue-eyed justice

at brown-skinned boy in military khaki.

Compromise to survive.

His hairline-length, moustache-trimmed face,

looking grim like a soldier on furlough,

further cannot exhibit contempt for what is not cacique-born.

Man, I've been waiting for this day all my life.

This poem

will receive a burning, stomach-turning scorn.

Nullified...

classified...

racists

from this Pan-Am,

Eastern, First National, Chase Manhattan Puerto Rico.

[laughter]

It's kinda quiet in here.

Reminds me of the time I auditioned for the parole board at Sing Sing.

[feedback]

Well, excuse me, but...

I'm not sure that you know about

our internal problems here.

I mean, what is it that you feel for Puerto Rico

besides an obvious affection

and some kind of nostalgic notion of what we really are

besides rum and music and dominoes on the sidewalk

and God knows what else

you need to feed this anger?

You don't know?

Listen...

even if well-intentioned,

it is still out of place

when it comes from a character that corrupts the language

when you are calling yourselves "Nuyoricans,"

as if... as if it was a race.

Well, check this out. I was born here in the town of Gurabo in 1948.

Lived on this island till the age of seven.

My family decided to move to New York, not a trip that I planned or wanted.

I am Puerto Rican.

Now, I subnamed myself

with a reality-given, motherfucking slang of a title,

in this case, Nuyorican,

and wherever I go, I am Puerto Rican

and Rican and Nuyorican 24 hours a day.

Now, if you are embarrassed or afraid of what you are,

don't blame me, it's not my fault.

Blame that fucking Oxford shirt you're wearing

from whatever prison you live in that forces you to wear it,

to fake something that you are not,

to be something that you are not.

See, 'cause even if I am half-and-half,

any of those halves is more whole than all of you,

'cause I know what I am,

and I know when it hurts, and I'm still the same man,

the same Puerto Rican, 24 hours a day.

But thank you. Thank you for your comments.

Does anyone else have any comments, questions, literary criticism?

Don't be afraid. Speak up. This is a free country, I think.

[scattered applause]

Hey, man, you came here looking for a piece of ass,

and you found your own daughter selling her pussy.

Maybe you should, you know, keep it in the family.

An invited trick and a ho staring at each other,

and they turn out to be family.

Daddy's gonna pay to fuck his little girl.

Man... I must have woke up

on the wrong side of the bed this morning,

'cause nothing's gone right at all.

Everybody gone.

All the smokes smoked, the liquor gone.

Nothing left but some warm beer.

That's what I got to leave behind in my will. My great estate.

Can you hear me?

And you know what?

I guess today just ain't my day.

Guess not.

Police! Freeze! Nobody move.

Fuck you, fuckin' faggot.

Come on, let's go. She doesn't have to come with us.

'Course she does, man. Just get in the fucking car.

[woman babbles frantically]

No, no, no.

No. No.

Tito, man, what the fuck are you doing?

Stay the fuck away. Don't fuck with me, Mikey. Stay the fuck away.

This is fucked. This is fucked.

So, thanks for the ride, you know?

It's been fun.

Mikey...

Nah, nah.

Save it for your wedding.

Mikey?

[coughs]

What you writing now?

Final chapter of my life.

Seems I'm writing it myself, alone.

"Even if...

"nothing was happening in my world,

life was there."

"Perhaps poorly represented,

but it was there."

Do me one favor.

Don't take me to the hospital, please.

No, brother man, no.

Doctor's in the house.

Stand up.

Let's get you settled inside, OK?

There you go. Go ahead and lie back. Put your feet up.

Oh, yeah.All right.

It's nice in here, isn't it?

Yeah, it's pretty good,

except for the bunk beds and the sink.

It's kinda like right back where we started.

Yeah.

[chuckling]

[coughs]

OK, doctor's orders. Got some medicine for you.

That's good.

One more, just to be safe, huh?

[inhales]

There you go.

In fact, you know what?

I'll take one for myself, too.

Ha-ha-ha-ha.

Brother can't party alone.

[man]Next on line, please.

Yeah, what a night, huh? Two for Miguel Piñero.

Who?

Miguel Piñero. Two, free.

Pinero?

Can I see some ID, please?

Identification?

Uh, yeah, sure, but you know what?

I think this counter's a little too high for my dick to reach.

You might have to look down, you fucking faggot.

Security.

Security, please.

Unruly.

What's happening, John?

Thank you very much. Enjoy the show.

Fuck you very much.

Next, please.

I'm talking about the deal of the century.

Deal of the century.

Hundred dollars for the pair.

Big, big opening night tonight, ladies and gentlemen.

Cuba & His Teddy Bear.

I swear, it's Cuba & His Teddy Bear.

How about you, brother?

[man]No, thanks.

You got your tickets? All right, be cool, be cool.

Good evening.

My name is Joseph Papp.

Our playwright tonight belongs to a tradition,

a tradition of artists

whose devious and renegade lives

paradoxically result...

in the most painstaking devotion to the truth

and to the rigor of their craft.

Cuba & His Teddy Bear?

No, this is getting better.

You never know, man. One day, you might be as good as me.

That day is today, baby.

If the life of our author seems elusive and troubling,

one can only applaud what is so candidly engaged here by his art,

where nothing is stolen or borrowed,

and a great deal is revealed.

[Piñero]Hi.

I really want to thank you for your welcome

and say thank you to you, Joe, you know?

How you doing this evening?

Look, it's like everything he said is true, you know,

and, uh...

In this sense, our playwright is as blessed

and as straight a writer as they come.

Please welcome...

...Mr. Miguel Piñero.

[Piñero] Dig it.

Ha-ha. It's a great opportunity.

Did you see it when I did it with Marty?

Hey, where you been?

I been taking in the scenery, you know.

Look, look, please, please, don't make a scene. This is his night.

Come on, it's his night.

[Papp laughs]

[man]Mr. Povod?

Yeah, that's my name.

Ask me again, I'll tell you the same.

Here you go.How you doing, brother?

Good, good. How are you?All right, all right, all right.

Where to?

Baby, you remember the first time we came here, I sang you a song?

Remember that?

I remember you fell in the river.

Ha. Oh, that reminds me.

I wrote something for you last night.

You did?

Yeah. First time I write in months. You want to hear it?

Do I have a choice?

'Course not. All right, check this out.

Ahem.

"There are things that never change,

"and we are not one of them, I fear.

"The trouble with our love is here.

"The trouble with our love is around,

"when you cannot look me in the eye and lie,

"when you run so far away

"that you forget where to go back to.

"Now you are what you never wanted to be.

"Go ahead, blame me.

"There are things that'll never change.

"Now, we're two strangers with a past

"and a future

"that ain't gonna last.

And that is the trouble with our love."

Last night, we saw things like we never did.

We both went our way

and hid.

You like it?

Are you finished?

Yeah. What do you think?

You want to know what I think?

Do you want to know what I really think?

I've been hanging in there all this time for this?

A poem?

What do you see when you look at me? Hmm?

What do you see?

I'm a real person.

I'm a real person that loves you.

You know, Miguel...

I really wish you would have married me,

made me happy.

Had a real life instead of all this jive shit.

Could've had your baby.

Be just a little normal.

I ain't dead yet, you know?

Where... Where's my van? Where's my van?

What happened? Where's my van?

Ay, Mikey.

They tow it away.

I'm sorry, Mikey.

I saw it through the window.

Let me explain it to you.

I don't have the paper because it's not my car. It's my friend's.

Does your friend have the registration?

Well, you see, it's not that simple, sir.

[officer]Jesus!

Did he OD or something?

No, no. He was sick.

We gotta get the coroner.

Mikey, come on.

[Piñero]Doctor says my body doesn't want to cooperate, you know?

Doctors are always wrong.

I mean, who knows when it's really your time to go?

Look at me with this HIV shit. Fuck 'em.

You go when you're ready.

So you better sit your ass down and eat some cuchifrito,

'cause this shit is ready.

And if this doesn't kill you tonight, nothing will.

Hey, Profe. You got a clean shirt I could borrow?

'Course I do.

What? What?

I love you, Profe. You know? No matter what, I love you.

We're the only ones left, baby.

Mikey.

Come on. You're making me wet.

OK, OK. It smells good, you know? It smells good.

[Piñero]Reality wasn't giving me no play, tu sabes?

When my ashtray

became the cemetery of all my lost memories...

I wonder who wrote that tune about bein' back on top in June.

Nigger forgot about September and December.

Now, that is a month to remember.

Well, I'm going nowhere.

Got nowhere to go.

Going nowhere fast.

But Sunday morning in New York City,

for the junkie, there ain't no pity.

When walkin' down the street with loaded dice,

you hear the people say, "Hey, there goes Mikey.

"Mike Piñero.

The junkie Christ."

Buy me another drink, baby.

But Tito...

And they came from out of nowhere, man. Boom! Boom! Boom!

Blasting them .38s our way.

I was in the car outside the cash-your-checks joint, and he came out shooting...

[woman]He? Who's he?

Anyways, they ran, right?

They ran their motherfucking asses off.

And those that didn't just laid down and played dead.

He was badder than all of them, man.

I mean, like... it was like...

He was Satan in heaven, right?

Fighting God for a piece of the action, man.

That was Tito Goya.

A long way from Ponce, man.

Fucking kid's in jail somewhere in fucking Texas.

I thought you said

he was crushed by an icebox or something.

Uh, I gotta sit down.

[coughs]

Hey.

Julio, you call 911. I'll take care of him.

He's OK.

[♪ men singing in Spanish]

Well, I never wanted to be anybody,

but a guy once said to me, "You could write,

and writing will get you out of jail."

And it did and it didn't, 'cause I had to keep doing bad to keep the writing good.

'Cause I sell trouble.

I'd go down, bring up a sponge, another fish, another pearl, maybe,

but after you make that dive one too many times,

your ears get shot, your eyes go blurry,

then, one day, you finally come to the surface, and you say, "You know what?

I like it better down there."

Relax, Mikey. I'm right here.

OK.

You know what to do if I should go.

You remember the poem?

Yeah.

I remember. Don't worry.

I want music and wine

and poets prepared to read,

to testify, OK?

[♪ vocal improvisation]

Relax. You got a lot of work to do.

[♪ vocal improvisation]

Just once before I die,

I want to climb up on the tenement sky,

to dream my lungs out till I cry,

then scatter my ashes through the Lower East Side...

So let me sing my song tonight,

let me feel out of sight...

And let all eyes be dry

when they scatter my ashes through the Lower East Side...

From Houston to 14th Street,

from Second Avenue to the mighty "D."

Here, the hustlers and suckers meet the faggots and freaks.

We'll all get high on the ashes that have been scattered

through the Lower East Side.

[♪ vocal improvisation]

There's no other place for me to be.

There's no other place that I can see.

There's no other town around that brings you up or keeps you down.

A thief, a junkie I've been.

Committed every known sin.

Jew and Gentiles, bums and men of style.

Runaway child, police shooting wild.

Mothers' futile wails, pushers making sales.

Dope wheelers and cocaine dealers smoking pot.

Streets are hot and feed off those who bleed to death.

[♪ vocal improvisation]

All that's true, all that's true,

all that is true,

but this ain't no lie

when I ask that my ashes be scattered

through the Lower East Side.

So here I am. Yeah, look at me...

I stand proud as you can see,

pleased to be from the Lower East Side...

A street-fighting man,

a problem of this land...

I am the philosopher of the criminal mind,

a dweller of prison time,

a cancer of Rockefeller's ghettocide.

This concrete tomb is my home...

To belong, to survive, you gotta be strong...

You can't be shy, lest without request,

someone will scatter your ashes

through the Lower East Side.

[Piñero]I don't want to be buried in Puerto Rico.

I don't want to rest in some Long Island cemetery.

I want to be near the stabbing, shooting, gambling, fighting,

unnatural dying and new-birth crying.

So, please, when I die,

don't take me far away.

Just keep me nearby.

Just take my ashes

and scatter them throughout the Lower East Side.

[Piñero] Every player is a poet, an actor,

a statesman, a priest,

but most of all, he's a player.

You go out there on the street,

and you meet the world of suckers,

the world of greed, and whatever other names have been defined

for those that seek something outside the acceptance of their society,

and you stand with your balls exposed in the jungle of fear,

and you battle

and you fight the hardest fight of your life

each day out there in them streets

that demand blood to nourish its own energies.

Today and all the todays and tomorrows

that are left inside your soul, you know?

And when it's over and the streets are soaking up in the blood,

you smile,

and you know that you just won another day with yourself, you know?

[♪ Latin music]

[♪ "Calle Luna, Calle Sol"]

[♪ "Straight, No Chaser"]