Movie review: Luis Tiant is 'The Lost Son of Havana' 01:00 AM EDT on Friday, July 10, 2009

By Michael Janusonis

Journal Arts Writer

In 2007, former Boston Red Sox pitcher Luis Tiant finally got permission to visit Cuba, his native country which he hadn't seen since he got stranded in the United States during a 1961 baseball tour and decided to stay. Cuban ruler Fidel Castro told him and other athletes who were in the United States at the time of the Bay of Pigs invasion that they could either come home and play in Cuba as amateurs or never come home again, thus turning Tiant's three-month trip into 46 years of exile.

Wishing to see his native land again before he died, however, Tiant embarked on his 2007 sentimental journey along with a film crew led by director Jonathan Hock. They recorded Tiant's emotional encounters with family members he hadn't seen in nearly half a century as well as with people he met on the street, some of whom knew of his success in the United States because Cuba is still baseball mad.

The results are the winning documentary The Lost Son of Havana, a very personal and close-up look at one of baseball's greats adrift in a place he once knew as well as the distance between the pitcher's mound and home plate at Fenway Park, but where he is now a stranger.

Hock's film, for which the Farrelly brothers served as executive producers, will largely appeal to baseball fans who remember Tiant's glory years at Fenway as well as to those who want a peek inside Cuba today. They will be rewarded with many shots of everyday street scenes with still-elegant buildings and 1950s automobiles. (The film begins a limited weeklong run Friday at a handful of theaters in the Boston orbit, including the Showcase Cinemas in Warwick.)

At the age of 67 (when Lost Son of Havana was made), Tiant has grown into a bear of a man who is affable, kindly and is sometimes bowled over by the people he meets and the sights he revisits, a Cuban Santa Claus.

On his journey, he carries along a large photograph of his father. Luis Tiant Sr., known as Lefty Tiant, was himself a star baseball player in Cuba who once dreamed of joining the major leagues in the United States where he spent 17 summers. Yet because of the times (the 1930s) and his dark skin color, Lefty never got beyond playing in America's Negro Leagues, although during an exhibition game he got to strike out Babe Ruth.

At the outset we're told by unobtrusive narrator Chris Cooper that Tiant never saw his parents in their native Cuba again, although it's only near the end of Hock's documentary when one discovers that he did see them before they died ... in the United States.

In the mid-1970s Castro himself allowed Tiant's parents to come to the U.S. to see their son play at Fenway Park and to stay as long as they wished. In one of the film's most buoyant moments we see Luis Sr. tossing out the first ball at Fenway in a game pitched by his son.

In fact, Tiant's parents stayed in the United States more than 18 months and saw him pitch in the 1975 World Series against Cincinnati. Later they both died here within days of each other, something which leads to the film's most poignant and emotional moments as Tiant recounts that dreadful time to one of his aunts in Havana while she offers him sympathy and consolation. It's actually the high point of Lost Son of Havana, which intercuts newsreel footage of Tiant's baseball career with his journey back to the place he still calls "my country," even though much of it has become alien to him.

He visits the house where he grew up in Havana and visits with relatives, sometimes dropping in unannounced. He visits the brother of former teammate Tony Oliva, who stayed in Cuba to play baseball, and to discuss the divergent ways their lives turned.

We see his several comebacks and hear testimony of Tiant's greatness from former Red Sox stars Carlton Fisk and Carl Yastrzemski. We see him sauntering over to a Havana park where the locals hang out to talk baseball and watch their reactions when one of the film crew tells them Tiant is standing behind them.

We see him at the high points of his career and the low points as Tiant tries to get back into the major leagues after being shipped to the Pittsburgh Pirates' farm team in Portland, Ore. And he made that comeback ... twice!

Hock tells us two stories with his film — Tiant's trip to the past and Tiant's own past in baseball. Fortunately, Tiant is a very engaging and colorful character who takes us along for the ride.

****The Lost Son of Havana

Featuring: Luis Tiant.

Tribeca Film Festival '09: Mr. Beaks Journeys To Cuba With Luis Tiant, THE LOST SON OF HAVANA!

What if you reached the pinnacle of your professional career, but knew that your mother and father - the two people most responsible for helping you realize your dream - were locked away in a prison, unable to share in your success and, perhaps, unaware of your accomplishments? It'd break your heart, right?

That's essentially what Luis Tiant had to contend with throughout the bulk of his major league baseball career as a starting pitcher for the Cleveland Indians, Minnesota Twins and Boston Red Sox. While "El Tiante" was establishing himself as an unstoppable force on the mound for the Indians from 1964 to 1969 (a hapless squad that only once finished above fifth place during that period), his parents were living under the totalitarian rule of Fidel Castro in Cuba. Were they aware of his progress? Were they proud? Were they well? Save for censored correspondence, Tiant had no way of knowing how any of his loved ones were faring under Castro's dictatorship - and, save for pirate radio/TV broadcasts, they had no way of knowing whether their beloved Luis was thriving or failing in the United States.

If all you know of Tiant's career are his unique back-to-the-plate delivery* and his 1970s comeback with the Red Sox, which peaked with his heroic battle with the Big Red Machine in the 1975 World Series - or if you don't know his story at all - then you need to see Jonathan Hock's heartfelt documentary THE LOST SON OF HAVANA. Based around Tiant's 2007 return to Cuba - his first trip home in forty-six years - Hock's film works as both a Tiant family history and a humanistic, albeit deftly apolitical, examination of the poverty-stricken country during what are surely the last days of Castro's reign. Though an absolute must for baseball fans, who'll once again get caught up in the drama of that epic 1975 postseason tilt, it's also a heartbreaking account of a late-in-life family reunion, with Tiant reconnecting and, in several instances, possibly bidding farewell to the loved ones he left behind all those years ago.

The gulf between Tiant's comfortable lifestyle in the U.S., where he currently works as a pitching advisor for the Red Sox, and the squalid living conditions of his surviving aunts and uncles and cousins and nephews is, of course, stunning. It's also the basis for a good deal of dramatic tension, particularly when Tiant first begins kicking around his old neighborhood and encounters an old acquaintance. Though the man is at first pleased to see the pitching legend, he abruptly works into a rage that's fueled by resentment for Tiant leaving and the impossible conditions under which he's had to subsist for the past six decades. Though most of Tiant's relatives express no bitterness, you get the sense that there is some unspoken anger here - especially when Tiant begins handing out "extravagances" like Pepto-Bismol, chewing gum and shampoo. These gifts go over well early on, but they're mere tokens of goodwill; later on, bolder family members will hit Tiant up for cash.

But if anyone can understand this kind of practicality, it's Tiant, who affects a strictly-business swagger with his ever-present dark sunglasses and customary cigar clenched between his teeth. For much of the film, Tiant is impassive; most likely, this is byproduct of having to shut out tragic circumstances in order to excel during one of the baseball's most competitive eras. But there's a big, wounded heart beating beneath this tough exterior. And when Tiant lets his emotional guard down, it's impossible to not weep with him.

Generally, Tiant's sadness derives from the absence of family during the prime of his career. This pain is particularly acute because his father, Luis Sr., was a dominant pitcher for the Negro League's New York Cubans from 1926 to 1948. In other words, his father had already made sacrifices to help pave the way for Tiant's success in the integrated major leagues; though Luis Sr. occasionally got to show his stuff against the best in the game (there's a great story of a showdown with Babe Ruth), he was never able to do it on a consistent basis. So Tiant was living two dreams when he made it to the bigs. Sadly, most of this dream (at least until the 1970s) was little more than a rumor to the elder Luis.

What's most impressive about Hock's film is the way it refuses to use El Tiante's triumphant 1975 season as easy, unearned uplift. Yes, his domination of the Cincinnati Reds offsets a good deal of the tragedy in the pitcher's life, but it's not the end of his journey by a long shot. And while it's nice that Hock and company were crafty enough to get around the U.S.-imposed travel restrictions, Tiant's brief stay in Cuba does not wipe away forty-six years of regret - nor does it do much for the Tiants struggling to survive in the economically depressed country. And that's where Hock pulls off something kind of miraculous: rather than indulge in easy political rhetoric (or, worse, ignore the injustice altogether by closing the book on Tiant's relationship to his homeland once his visit is over), he makes this about the people. Slowly, the idea of maintaining, at the very least, the travel ban in the dying days of the Castro dictatorship becomes indefensible. At this point, it's an act of unintentional cruelty. One look at the sorry state of Cuba in Hock's film, and it's clear that the U.S. won. Want to rub this victory in Castro's face? Show his people mercy while he's still alive. Do it for the Tiants and all the other families who've spent half a century hoping to reconnect with their loved ones before it's too late.

THE LOST SON OF HAVANA premieres Thursday, April 23rd, at the Tribeca Film Festival. It will screen again on the 27th, the 30th and May 2nd. Tickets are available via the festival's official site.

Faithfully submitted,

Mr. Beaks

Stealing Home

By MICHAEL JUDGE

One of the main attractions of sports is that they're a welcome escape from the politics of the day and the things men do to one another in the name of this or that cause. Occasionally, however, the world of sports and politics collide. And when they do, it's usually without a happy outcome—think of the 1972 Munich Olympics, when 11 Israeli athletes were murdered by Palestinian terrorists; Jimmy Carter's boycott of the 1980 Moscow Olympics; and the subsequent Soviet boycott of the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics.

Pitching great Luis Tiant, the subject of ESPN's "The Lost Son of Havana."
It should come as no surprise then, that "The Lost Son of Havana," an ESPN Films documentary about Red Sox pitching great Luis Tiant's return to Cuba after 46 years of exile, is not a happy tale (Sunday, 6 p.m.-8 p.m. ET on ESPN Deportes; Monday, 10 p.m. ET on ESPN). It is, rather, the story of a refugee's rise to major-league stardom and the torment of returning home decades later to visit family on an island gulag.

"Things could have been different," says Mr. Tiant, overcome with emotion at his aunt's cramped and run-down Havana home. He is, of course, right. The wealth he accumulated in the major leagues could have helped lift his entire family out of poverty. But Castro's revolution dashed any hopes he might have had of playing professionally in his country or returning home to help support his family and the community he left behind. In 2007, he was finally allowed back into Cuba as part of a goodwill baseball game between American amateurs and retired Cuban players.

Written and directed by documentary filmmaker Jonathan Hock, "The Lost Son" begins with a shot of the 67-year-old Mr. Tiant puffing on a cigar and examining an old black-and-white photo of his father, Luis Tiant Sr., a baseball great in his own right who pitched in America's Negro League in the 1930s and '40s. Luis Sr. didn't have an overwhelming fastball but was, like his son, an absolute master of the screwball and other off-speed pitches. With his "herky-jerky" windup and off-beat delivery, he dominated the Negro League and twice defeated the Babe Ruth All-Stars in exhibition play, holding the Babe to just one single.

There's no doubt that Luis Tiant Sr. had the stuff to be a star in the majors. But by the time Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in 1947, Luis Sr.'s professional baseball career was over and he was forced to return home to Havana.

The dream of playing in the major leagues, however, lived on in his son, and in the summer of 1961 Luis Jr. left Havana for a three-month stint in the Mexican league, where he hoped to be discovered by an American scout. He quickly became a sensation and it wasn't long before the Cleveland Indians signed him to a minor-league contract.

"But that was also the summer of the invasion of the Bay of Pigs," the film's narrator, actor Chris Cooper, explains over old footage of the failed U.S. invasion. "Cuba and the United States severed relations, and Castro tightened his control over every aspect of Cuban life. Suddenly no Cuban was free to leave the island. Cubans playing baseball overseas received an ultimatum: Come home and play as amateurs in Cuba or never come home again: And so, Luis's three-month trip became 46 years of exile."

Through interviews with sportswriters, former teammates and footage from scores of games, the film documents the dramatic ups and downs of Mr. Tiant's 19-year career, including the 1970 injury (a fractured scapula) that nearly ended his playing days; his remarkable climb back to the majors (he taught himself to pitch again, it seems, by imitating his father's wild windup and off-speed pitches); and his winning starts for the Red Sox in the 1975 World Series, which Boston lost to Cincinnati 3-4.

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But it is the sounds and images of his return to Cuba that are most poignant, and elevate the film to far more than a sports documentary. Antique cars and dilapidated buildings abound. Ordinary household goods are nearly impossible to come by. Like most ­Cubans, Mr. Tiant's aunts and cousins receive enough staple goods from the government each month to last about 15 days; they must "improvise" for the rest. Not surprisingly, the black market is thriving and U.S. dollars are the currency of choice. One relative tells Mr. Tiant, holding back tears, "We are living on cigarettes."

Knowing they're in need, Mr. Tiant brings a suitcase full of gifts and basic supplies such as clothing, toothpaste, sewing kits and medicine. And though we only see him give money to one relative, one suspects he brought a thick wad of greenbacks with him as well.

Sadly, there's an air of resentment among some. When an old neighbor says he was "forgetful" of his family, Mr. Tiant disagrees and explains that he sent gifts, money and supplies but they were always confiscated by the Cuban authorities. Still, his sense of regret at not doing enough for his family in Cuba is apparent, even though it was Luis Sr. who told him over and over again never to return, to live the life his father couldn't.

Amazingly, there's more to the story. In 1975, not long before the World Series, Castro (by all accounts a genuine baseball fan) gave Mr. Tiant's parents a special visa to travel to America. Sen. George McGovern, as he testifies in the film, hand-delivered a letter from Luis Jr. to Castro asking that he allow his parents to travel to the U.S. to see him play. For whatever reason, Castro granted his request, and Luis's parents came to America and lived with him until their all-too-early deaths the following year.

Nevertheless, a few days after his arrival in Boston, Luis Tiant Sr. was invited to throw out the ceremonial first pitch in a game against the California Angels at Fenway Park—a perfect strike. As he and his son stood together on the mound at Fenway, 30,000 adoring fans chanted "Luis! Luis! Luis!"—a glorious, and one hopes for a father and son from Havana, healing moment in baseball history.

—Mr. Judge is a freelance writer in Iowa.

HOCK HITS A HOMERUN WITH 'THE LOST SON OF HAVANA'

Posted by Jeffrey Lyons on 04/27/09 at 01:22 PM

One of the 86 features screening at this year's Tribeca Film Festival is "The Lost Son of Havana," a documentary about the poignant return to Havana after 46 years by native son Luis Tiant, "El Tiante," one of the most colorful players in baseball history. He came to America just before the Bay of Pigs disaster. He went on to make the major leagues with the Cleveland Indians, pitched for the Minnesota Twins, then, from 1971 to 1978, played for the Boston Red Sox, before winding up his career with stints with the Yankees, Pirates and Angels.

The movie shows him reuniting with his surviving aunts, old Cuban teammates and friends from his neighborhood. At one point in this remarkable movie, produced by the Farrelly brothers and directed by Jonathan Hock, a group of baseball fans are arguing in a local park, trying to pick the greatest Cuban pitcher of them all. "El Duque," says one. "No, his brother Livan," says another. They name several others before one youth says, in Spanish, "What about Luis Tiant?" and Tiant is standing right behind him! It's not a staged shot, either, the director told me the other day when he and the great pitcher, #23 in your program, came in for an interview. This is a poignant movie about Tiant, his life here and in Cuba and his father, a left-handed pitcher who once faced Babe Ruth in a post season barnstorming game, and who had a distinguished career in the negro leagues. We see, in fact, the father at Fenway Park, watching his son pitch a regular season game, then in the 1975 World Series after Castro gave him and his wife permission to leave "that imprisoned isle," as JFK called Cuba. We also see memorable moments from his son's long career, a career in which he fanned more batters than hall of famers Sandy Koufax, Early Wynn, and Grover Cleveland Alexander, among others. In game five of the '75 World Series, incidentally, Tiant threw an astonishing 163 pitches, unheard of in today's game. The movie shows his modesty, his love of his adopted country but his strong feelings for his beloved birthplace and long-dormant friendships unabated by all the years. "The Lost Son of Havana" is trying to find a distributor, and here's hoping they succeed, so everyone gets to see it.

UPDATE: It's just been announced that the first Tribeca film to be sold this year is "The Lost Son of Havana." ESPN picked up broadcast rights for the documentary with plans to air it in August on ESPN and ESPN Deportes (the cable network's Spanish-language arm).

There's Something about Fidel: The Farrelly Bros.

Throw a Curveball

By Steven Zeitchik



Blame it on our seeing "Field of Dreams" at too impressionable an age, but baseball movies featuring fathers and sons get us every time. And so it goes with "The Lost Son of Havana," a surprisingly effective doc about the displaced Cuban pitcher Luis Tiant that premiered Thursday at Tribeca. Jonathan Hock's documentary offers a deceptively simple premise: young Cuban pitcher comes to U.S. just after Cuban revolution, enjoys fruitful Major League career but can't return home to see his family until he (and a documentary crew) finagle spots on a baseball trip back nearly fifty years later, when much of said family is gone or much older. Tiant can be a little quiet and reflective as a subject; you don't know if he's too wise or too pained by life to say much, and sometimes it seems Hock should go deeper to get at his essence. But the moments Tiant reunites with his family are quietly powerful, genuinely heartfelt stuff in which he laments with relatives time lost and lives passed by. And they're juxtaposed kind of brilliantly with dramatic on-field scenes from Tiant's comeback-filled career. (An injury robbed the reticent, roly-poly, cigar- puffing hurler of his fastball at the tender age of 29, so he developed new pitching motions that enabled him to play another decade, including three 20-win seasons and two heart-stopping World Series shutouts with the Red Sox in the 1970's). Hock captures some great slice-of-life moments in Cuba -- a park where locals gather to argue about the best Cuban baseball players of all time, for example. And the film has one of the most memorable scenes in a recent doc not named "Man on Wire" -- George McGovern, on a trip to Cuba, convinces Fidel Castro to let Tiant's father (at one time a pitcher in the Negro Leagues who had fallen on hard times back in Cuba) make the trip from Cuba to the U.S.. Tiant Sr. eventually travels to Fenway and throws out the first pitch before a game his son starts, in a moment that's right up there with Costner's "Wanna have a catch, Dad?" at end of aforementioned sentiment-filled 80's baseball pic. "Lost Son of Havana" was exec produced by the Red Sox- worshipping Peter and Bobby Farrelly, who actually ended up down in Cuba playing a game to rationalize the trip to the Cuban government. Bobby Farrelly at the Q&A (where, incidentally, Larry David wandered in, by himself, slightly foggy, it seemed, but applauding vigorously to several comments made by the Farrellys and Tiant): "You saw these guys who play against us, who cleaned our clock, and we gave them our hats and our shoes and our gloves because they didn't have anything -- our team literally walked on the bus in our underwear -- and it was the most moving thing you could imagine, because they loved this game but they didn't even have gloves or bats to play it with." There's something wistful about the film, not just the shots of 70's baseball games on long summer evenings, but the whole pace of life Hock captures down in Cuba, hardships and all. ESPN just bought the movie for a summer airing. Outside of visting the ballpark, we couldn't imagine a better way to spend a sultry August evening.

April 24, 2009 in Baseball movies | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

April 28, 2009

Documentaries dominate Tribeca Film Festival



The Lost Son of Havana (2009) - World Premiere

As I write for a website called NewYorkology I must reveal, in the interest of full disclosure, I'm originally from Boston and a diehard Red Sox fan. At the age of six my father took me to my first professional baseball game at Fenway Park. On the mound pitching for the Sox that day was a big man with a fierce stare and a giant bushy handlebar mustache. His windup looked exaggerated and bizarre as he released the ball from various arm slots. More importantly, the crazy junkball pitches he threw baffled hitters. The fans would chant his name "LOOOIE, LOOOIE!" as he struck out batters flailing at his pitches. He seemed bigger than life to my eyes in that summer of 1976. He wasn't just a pitcher; he was a Boston phenomenon that had people flocking to the ballpark. As baseball hall of fame writer Peter Gammons explained, "Luis Tiant was theatre unto himself."

With his thick Cuban accent, a cigar always in his mouth and a fantastic sense of humor, Tiant was an engaging character off the mound. But there was a side to him the fans never saw. Luis Tiant had not been home to his native Cuba since 1961.

The previous year he arrived in the United States as a promising young minor league prospect with the Cleveland Indians. Tiant was in the states playing in the minors when the Bay of Pigs invasion irked Castro enough to issue an ultimatum to all Cuban baseball players in the states: come home and play as amateurs, or never come home again. As their only child, his parents wanted him to pursue his dream and told him to stay in America knowing full well he may never see them again.

After a successful major league career, the 67 year-old Tiant finally gets a chance in 2007 to go home to his native Cuba from a 46 year exile. The Lost Son of Havana documents his trip back, what is left of his family and in his own words, "to see my country before I die. That's gonna complete my life." The trip back to Cuba is multi-layered with humor and heartache. His encounters with old neighbors and family are varied and fascinating. A few old friends have ambivalent feelings for Tiant. While happy for the reunions, Tiant becomes a catalyst for their anger and frustration that they couldn't leave Cuba as he did. They felt abandoned by him and the fact his letters and packages sent to them from the states were always confiscated by the Cuban government only exacerbated those feelings.

His two surviving aunts live in squalor, suffering for decades in Cuba's poverty, but are ecstatic to see him. They convey moving stories to Luis about his family during his exile, such as his mother seeing him pitch in the 1968 All-Star Game on a neighbor's TV. Watching that game or anything American was forbidden in Cuba, but the consequences of Cuban law and the weak signal didn't stop Tiant's mother. For the first time in seven years she saw her son - pitching in one of the biggest major league games of the year. His aunt told Luis his mother kept going up to the screen and touching his flickering image on the glass as tears streamed down her face. The many powerful examples of this gap between Tiant, his home and family serve only to draw the viewer into his tale.

While there are plenty of baseball stories and footage in the movie, they're relevant to the overall emotional arc and historical significance of Tiant's story. Baseball is simply the vehicle in which director Jonathan Hock captures the amazing historical depth that resonates in Tiant's life. From his father Luis "Lefty" Tiant, who was a dominating pitcher in the Negro Leagues during the 1930s and '40s to former Senator George McGovern hand delivering a letter to Fidel Castro in 1975 lobbying for Tiant's parents' release from Cuba, the Tiant saga is impressive.

Hock's documentary carefully studies Tiant's emotional conflicts of guilt and disconnect from his family and friends he left behind in impoverished Cuba. He wants to see his homeland and all its offerings, but he also deeply feels the disparity between his fortune and those he loved, left behind to suffer. Tiant tries to make sense of the complexities of his life, the hand he was dealt and the choices he made. Tiant's odyssey is long and riveting as he tries to relinquish some of the past and make peace with himself. The end result, The Lost Son of Havana, is simply an astonishing and beautiful piece of storytelling.

The story seems enormous in scope, but in fact is simply about people and the small but significant times where their lives intersect. In the beginning of the film, before his flight to Cuba, Tiant makes a stop in Miami. He pays a visit to a hilariously wise little old lady who was a close friend of his family back in Cuba years ago. They reminisce about the old times and then talk about the separation between their countries and family there — the meaning of it all. As both their eyes well with tears, the little old Cuban lady muses, "Oh my God, life is so big." As a kid (and maybe an adult too,) I always thought Luis Tiant was bigger than life. I now stand corrected.

At the Premiere: "Lost Son of Havana"

Posted Monday 04/27/2009 11:20 AM in MLB by Larry Dobrow

Filed under: Lost Son of Havana, Luis Tiant, baseball, documentary, film, movie



The best baseball documentaries are the ones that are sort of about baseball, but not entirely — like The Life and Times of Hank Greenberg, as much about the anti-Semitism one of the game's nascent-era sluggers had to contend with, or Baseball: A Film By Ken Burns, which shows us the lengths to which Bob Costas will go to hear himself speak. Add to that list the alternately funny and heartbreaking Lost Son of Havana, a just-debuted film that chronicles the life of should-be Hall of Fame hurler Luis Tiant.

While the flick ably encapsulates the peaks and valleys of Tiant's career — he became a multi-pitch, multi-angle machine after his fastball deserted him — what makes it sing is the tenderness with which it sketches Tiant's return to his home country of Cuba after being away for 46 years. As a young kid playing summer ball in Mexico in 1961, Tiant was given a choice: come home now or don't come at all. Following the advice of his father — a Negro League pitching legend himself — Tiant stayed in North America and eventually played in the bigs for 19 years.

Upon arriving in Cuba with camera crew in tow, Tiant is visibly affected by what he sees, especially the squalor in which his relatives have long lived. The film doesn't ever morph into a political statement, however: it focuses on family and the human connections that can't be severed by time or circumstance. When Tiant finally tears up as he prepares to return to the United States — where, especially in and around Boston, he's received as a hero — your heart breaks for the years lost. The message, conveyed without obtrusive narration or melodramatic orchestral rumbles, seems to be that you can go home again.

Meanwhile, let's give ESPN some credit here for throwing its considerable weight behind Lost Son. The network recently bought the TV rights to the documentary and plans to air it this August, following a limited release in large-city theaters.

At the Lost Son premiere during the Tribeca Film Festival in New York City last Thursday night, the vibe was more spring training than hoity-toity film festival. Answering questions alongside executive producers Peter and Bobby Farrelly (yeah, the There's Something About Mary guys) and writer/director Jon Hock, Tiant seemed almost preternaturally at ease, despite the presence of a sizable red-carpet contingent (Matt Dillon, Chris Cooper, Larry David). Stockier but with the same hall-of-fame-caliber handlebar mustache encircling his mouth, Tiant feigned a reluctance to sign autographs ("I don't like to sign paper. Paper [is what] you flush down the toilet") and, in response to a question about the modern-day pitchers who most closely resemble him, noted the similarities between himself and Pedro Martinez. "Same attitude... I look at Pedro, I look at myself."

He did, however, acknowledge one possible downside of the film's release: "Maybe because of this movie, I may not be able to go back to Cuba again." His story doesn't need yet another layer of poignancy.

Review: The Lost Son of Havana

A fascinating look inside Cuba



Red Sox legend Luis Tiant left his native Cuba for pro baseball in 1961 and hadn't been back in 46 years. Then some diplomatic finagling (it's illegal for US citizens to travel to Cuba) and a loophole in the Cuban amateur-league rules (director Jonathan Hock's documentary-film crew posed as a ball team and played the Cubans) landed him on his native soil. The return is bittersweet, with recollections of his mound triumphs eclipsed by memories of his parents and a reunion with indigent surviving relatives. The look inside Cuba fascinates, as does the account of Tiant's odyssey to the majors — his father played in the Negro leagues and on one occasion whiffed the mighty Babe.

The Lost Son of Havana

July 13, 11:50 PMBoston Indie Movie ExaminerJoel Bocko



Thirty years after the chants of "Lou-eee, Lou-eee!" have faded from Fenway, six miles from the spot of a very important and long-awaited 1975 reunion, the National Amusements Showcase Cinemas in Revere screened The Lost Son of Havana in Theater 1 at 7:35 pm; one of four daily screenings for at least the remainder of the week (if it is not held over any longer). The name of the movie was left out of the "Now Playing" flyers adorning the lobby, and there weren't any placards emblazoned with large quotes from Entertainment Weekly or video installments running trailers in loops. When asked for a ticket to the film, one of the theater's employees warned, "You do know it's a documentary, right?" Apparently, this disclaimer was necessary: some customers have been complaining. No one complained on this particular night, though - the four other people in the near-empty theater seemed perfectly content with their choice of entertainment.

If you do know it's a documentary, and you don't mind, please go out and catch this moving and very enjoyable picture, which observes beloved Red Sox pitcher Luis Tiant's career, family life, and return trip to Cuba after 46 years in exile from the impoverished Communist island on which he was born and raised. Tiant's upright dignity is colored by a wry humor and pride, and also by a looming melancholy, and his charisma carries you along for the hour and forty-five minute running length. The filmmakers (director Jonathan Hock, backed by the Farrelly brothers, of all people) get out of their subject's way - the style is not flashy (though occasionally grainy film stock punctuates the video footage to represent Tiant's subjective impressions; it's a nice and subtle effect). The structure is the by now traditional call-and-response of the present (Tiant's visit to Cuba) and the past (his dogged up-and-down career in the majors); there is a narrator (the ever-dignified Chris Cooper) but he only steps in to introduce photos and footage from the 60s and 70s, tending to efface himself when the now elderly Tiant is onscreen.

Tiant is a man who has not had one athletic career, but several. First there are the years in Cuba, building up his skill, while his father - once a player in the American Negro leagues (the narration lyrically describes "seventeen summers on the backroads of America"), and a genuinely great one at that, considered by some a greater pitcher than Satchel Paige - hides in the bus roundabout across the street, watching his son play in the park despite his own disapproval of the boy's dreams. Then Tiant goes to the U.S. - and stays there when Cuba clamps down the door on ballplayers, insisting they either give up their dreams of a professional career and come home, or else abandon Cuba for a U.S. career. Tiant, with his parents' approval, chooses the latter path, and while this ensures all that is to come, to this day he seems to feel he must make excuses, and occasionally he voices mournful shame over what happened.

At any rate, success is by no means immediate. For a while he follows his father's path, playing across the Jim Crow South, and though civil rights breakthroughs were on the horizon, Tiant recalls the virulent racism of the time - another reminder that the trading-family-for-freedom narrative is not so simple as that. When he breaks in to the big leagues, he breaks in big time, pitching no-hitters, developing not one but two signature pitching styles, rising and falling between the majors and the minors, becoming a star, becoming a nobody, and becoming a star all over again...for those who are unfamiliar with the story, I will say no more, and let the movie work its magic on you. While many of Tiant's accomplishments would be at home in a feel-good sports flick, there are constant reminders that reality is messier: a powerful moment before the World Series followed by disappointment; ultimately, an inevitable fading from the scene despite comebacks; most importantly, a muted fatalism and sadness detected in Tiant's countenance.

All of this only makes the miracles that much more amazing, and the movie climaxes as Tiant's family life, the political relations of the U.S. and Cuba, and the baseball fortunes of the Red Sox converge in the autumn of '75, in a formulation that no fictional screenplay could get away with. Meanwhile, of course, the film cuts back to Tiant as a much older man, quietly surveying the baseball aficionados in Havana who, asked about the greatest Cuban exile ballplayer, come up with many other names before they remember his. His reunions and reconnections with old family and friends are emotional, but more in a quietly sad key than with a celebratory tone.

Early passages in the movie are informed by a firmly anti-Castro tone, a bit overbearing in Cooper's narration and in some of the bleak footage, but politics are neither the filmmakers' nor Tiant's concern; frustration and anger with the Castro regime's imprisonment of Cubans on their island (and in a decaying version of the past, a kind of national arrested development which foreigners seem to find romantic, but which many Cubans themselves appear frustrated by) give way to simple observation, with the emphasis on endurance and empathy, but in surprisingly uncloying ways. Repeatedly, the film eschews sentimentalism: though Tiant's family welcomes him with admiration and love, some old neighbors scold him with tears in their eyes for abandoning them - meanwhile, elderly aunts feebly remember the years lost and, in some sense, wasted, while younger cousins flat-out ask Tiant for money. Looking at their severely decayed surroundings, we do not wonder at it (and neither does he, providing the bills they require).

This is in keeping with the spirit of the man, whose determination is laced with regret, whose withheld feelings slip out from behind his reflective shades and can be glimpsed beneath his drooping gray mustache. In one scene, Tiant's narration informs us that he does not believe in an afterlife, even as the camera pans to a crucifix in his car; in this man's life, God exists to help one make it through, but there is no reward waiting on the other side. All that you have is what you make, what you've lost can never be regained, and yet one cannot linger over regrets for that very reason. That a few viewers have wandered out of the theater, apparently dismayed that they weren't seeing Transformers 2, is probably something Tiant could handle; he's been through much worse. The fact that his story is onscreen at all is triumph enough - and the experience is not to be missed.

Luis's Lost Years After five decades of exile, Red Sox great Luis Tiant journeys back to Cuba

By MIKE MILIARD | April 22, 2009



It had been nearly half a century since Luis Tiant stood on the Cuban soil where he was born, and where he first learned the skills that would see him become one of the greatest and most beloved pitchers in Red Sox history. But two years ago, even though he'd originally been denied a visitor's permit from both the Cuban and the US governments, he returned to the island for the first time in 46 years, as the coach of a goodwill baseball team.

There, he had joyous reunions with relatives he hadn't seen in many decades. But he also saw the rusting '56 Chevy Bel Airs and the crumbling colonial architecture. And he saw how those relatives struggle to survive on a few dollars a month.

"It was good and not good," Tiant tells the Phoenix in his thickly accented English. "You happy you come back, but you no happy with what you see. The deterioration of everything. The buildings, houses, streets. It was hard watching the way people lived. When I left, it wasn't that way. It's tough. You go down and you don't know what to do.

Cry? Or be happy because you go back to your country to see your family? It really disturb your mind."

His trip was documented by director Jonathan Hock, whose poignant, beautifully shot film The Lost Son of Havana (which was produced by the Farrelly Brothers and Kris Meyer), premieres this Saturday at the Somerville Theatre as part of Independent Film Festival Boston.

Tiant knew this would be an intensely emotional journey, and that many of the memories it dredged up would be wrenching. But he went nonetheless.

"I wanted to go and see," says the 68 year old. Otherwise, "I maybe die here before I get to go back."

Now, with Barack Obama in the White House and the headlines trumpeting a tentative thawing of US-Cuba relations — beginning with the announcement last week that the US will lift restrictions for Cuban-Americans wishing to travel and transfer money to the island — Tiant looks back on a life in which he's been exiled from his birthplace for five decades. In which he sent money home, only to have it confiscated. In which he was separated from his parents for 14 years. And he has one question: what took so long?

"I'm not a political person," says Tiant, sitting in a booth at Game On! near Fenway Park, looking sharp in a black leather jacket with a Bluetooth headset clipped to his ear and a giant 2004 World Series ring on his finger. His famous Fu Manchu is now cottony white. It's the second most expressive part of his face, after his empathic, amber-colored eyes.

Certainly, one can't picture the jovial, cigar-chomping Tiant speaking as provocatively as the Sox' Mike Lowell did back in 2006, when news reports revealed that Fidel Castro was gravely ill. "I hope he does die," said Lowell, whose parents fled the dictatorship for Puerto Rico in 1960. "Castro killed members of my family."

But if Tiant isn't especially "political," his life has been indelibly touched by politics.

By the time of the 1959 Cuban revolution, Tiant had begun to establish himself as a power-pitching phenom on the baseball-crazy island. Castro — himself a pitcher manqué— took note.

"I met him twice," says Tiant. "He used to come into the clubhouse. The last year we play in Cuba, in '61, he used to come and shake your hand."

That year, Tiant was splitting his time between playing in Cuba and the Mexican League. But in the wake of the Bay of Pigs, Castro consolidated power and locked down the island. Having abolished professional sports, he gave an ultimatum to any Cuban athlete playing abroad: return and play as an amateur or don't come home again.

And so what Tiant thought would be a three-month stint in Mexico turned into 46 years of exile. He swore he'd never go back as long as Castro was in power. But the years wore on and on. "It bother me a lot," he says. "I was the only child. My mom and dad no was young person. My father was maybe middle 50s. I thought I was never gonna see them again. It was hard, my first five years. Then, after a while, after I got my family, that made me happy in some ways: I got family to take care of now. I can't think too much or I'll go cuckoo."

Loooooeee!

The Cleveland Indians purchased Tiant's contract in 1961 for $35,000. After paying his dues in the minors, enduring segregation and racist taunts in the Jim Crow South — "they call you everything in the dictionary" — Tiant made his American professional debut in 1964.

Soon, he was dominating Major League Baseball. In 1966, he threw four straight shutouts. In 1968, he led the Majors with an obscene 1.60 ERA — the lowest in nearly 50 years — and nine shutouts. Add to that 21 wins and 264 strikeouts. Stat-wise, says famed sportswriter Peter Gammons in the film, it was "one of the five greatest seasons in the history of baseball."

But the next two seasons were marred by injuries. Cleveland gave up on him, trading Tiant to the Minnesota Twins, and soon after that he was demoted to the minors. His career looked to be all but over.

Enter the Red Sox, who took a flyer on him in 1971.

Responding to the change of scenery, Tiant completely reinvented his pitching mechanics, perfecting, in 1972, a baffling corkscrew delivery: a whirling dervish of a wind-up in which he contorted so completely that he wound up staring back at the Green Monster before uncoiling. He confounded batters with his blur of arms and legs, his three different release points, his ever-changing speeds.

It was utterly unique, and lethally effective. And it made him a folk hero, a racial unifier in busing-riven Boston. Start after start, the Fenway rafters rang out: Loooooeee!

Loooooeee!

"El Tiante," as he came to be known, posted another outstanding sub-two ERA in 1972. By 1975, when the Red Sox punched their ticket for that epochal World Series against the Big Red Machine, he flummoxed the National Leaguers with his herky-jerky motions, winning Games One and Four. In the latter, he threw an astounding 173 pitches. He struck out Babe Ruth!

Up until that time, Tiant's parents had remained sequestered in Cuba. The only glimpse they had of their son in seven years was when, in 1968, Tiant started the All-Star game and they were able to see him pitch on a fuzzy black-and-white television. "My mother bend down see my face in the TV screen," he says. "She would touch it."

But miraculously, after another seven years, when he was starting Game One of that World Series, his mother, Isabel, and his father, Luis Sr., were beaming, sitting in Fenway box seats.

Earlier that year, South Dakota senator George McGovern met with Castro in Havana. And he brought with him a letter from Massachusetts senator Edward Brooke, requesting assistance in a "matter of deep concern to myself and one of my constituents."

Tiant, Brooke wrote, was "hopeful that his parents will be able to visit . . . to see their son perform. . . . Such a reunion would be a significant indication that better understanding between our peoples is achievable."

Against all odds, Castro acceded. The Tiants could visit America. And they could stay as long as they wanted.

This was a favor no ordinary Cuban exile could have expected, of course. Not only was Castro aware of Tiant's numbers in the big leagues, he was also a fan of Tiant's father. "Lefty" Tiant, as his father was known, had played for the Negro Leagues' New York Cubans from the 1920s through the '40s. In one exhibition game, he struck out Babe Ruth. Some have opined he was a better pitcher than his son. But racism prevented him from reaching the Majors, and after his career, he returned to Cuba to work at a gas station.

Which is why it was vindication for Luis Jr. to build a dominant career in the major leagues and "do what my father never could do."

Want to tear up? Watch Tiant and his old man standing on the Fenway mound for the ceremonial first pitch, together for the first time in 14 years. Tiant holds his father's jacket, looking on proudly as the lanky septuagenarian winds up and unleashes a strike across the plate.

Having his parents finally see him pitch "made me feel good," says Tiant. "They were happy. I was proud." With them watching all through the 1976 season, he won 21 games.

But just 15 months after landing at Logan, his father died of cancer in a Boston hospital. Hours later, his wife followed him, suffering a burst aorta. A broken heart, some say.

Tiant buried both his parents on the same day.

I suffer too

"It's amazing how you got some program for 50 years, and it don't work," says Tiant of the US-Cuba policy that's remained virtually unchanged since 1961 as Castro, to the US's embarrassment, has survived.

"I don't understand that. We did it with everybody. Russia, China, all these countries around the world. Why we can't do it with Cuba? This no make sense to me. Open it for people to go down there. They can go see their family, American wanna go, they can go. Why not?"

"I understand there a lot of hard feeling," he continues. "I have hard feeling, too. I no see my father for 17 years. I suffer too. He not know my wife, or my kids, his grand kids. I got the luck, thank you God, to see them when I come here. But I lose 17 year of my family. To me, that's sad."

When Tiant did at last return to Havana, his family members reacted with mixed emotions: many were happy to at last see him, and yet unhappy that he hadn't returned sooner. "You were going to come in '91 and 2004," says one aunt in the film. Tiant's old compatriots acted much the same, achingly cognizant of their very different lots in life.

In one of the film's most powerful scenes, Tiant is approached by a former youth-league teammate. He's resentful of the career Tiant was able to make for himself: "I was mad at you. I'll tell it to you straight. Damn, Luisito, I'm pissed as hell!"

The man's neighbor gestures at his surroundings, speaking to Tiant with barely concealed pique. "Well, you see how we live here. Humbly. Struggling and working."

Tiant stands silently and listens.

"How you live with six dollars a month?", Tiant later asks me. "You gotta be kidding! But they survive. I don't know how many people can take that kind of life. But they been fighting." (It's difficult to watch his relatives' gratitude for the humble offerings he pulls from his suitcase in the film — thread, soap, toothpaste.)

Tiant knows how lucky he is to have built the life he has. He settled in the Boston area in 2001, and is now employed as an instructor for the Red Sox. A few years ago, he launched his own line of El Tiante Cigars. Occasionally, he hawks Cuban sandwiches from the El Tiante stand on Yawkey Way. Always, people stop to shake his hand. "I been happy," he says. "The best thing that happen to me is coming here."

But he still thinks often of home. And if he's heartened by these cautious recent policy changes — "at least that's a start" — he still can't shake the regret of all that lost time.

"It's sad," says Tiant. "All those years were wasted. They do what they try to do now. But why wait so long?"

TRIBECA FILM FESTIVAL: THE LOST SON OF HAVANA

By: Bill Weber On: 04/26/2009



"Years is easy to say, but those are days and nights," offers an anguished Luis Tiant, famed major-league pitcher of the 1960s and '70s, returning to his boyhood streets and playing fields after a 46-year absence in The Lost Son of Havana, an autumnal portrait of a hero haunted by loss and regret. Leaving home for a three-month ball-playing stint in America at age 20 in 1961, right after the Bay of Pigs, Tiant found himself trapped by the severance of diplomatic relations, and was urged in a letter from his father—himself a former star hurler of the Cuban, Mexican, and American Negro Leagues—not to return, but to seek his professional destiny in the States. After breaking in as an All-Star flamethrower with the Cleveland Indians, Luisito came back from a freakish shoulder fracture by reinventing himself as a crafty artisan—featuring a funky windup where his head turned to centerfield, then bobbed skyward—for the Red Sox, prompting hordes of Bostonians to ritually chant his name. In a storybook climax to his family's baseball journey, Tiant's elderly parents were permitted by Castro to join their son in 1975, where they witnessed his stirring performance in the World Series.

From his sobbing embrace by elderly aunts he hadn't seen in a half-century to somber musings that "it all could have been different," El Tiante's narrative is a ready-made tearjerker, and director Jonathan Hock not only wrings them out of the poignant reunion tale, but the nearly simultaneous deaths of both of Tiant's parents the year after their unlikely furlough from Cuba ("They killed me," mourns the son). Still, the man's cigar-chomping bonhomie that so well served his mainland media profile remains magnetic, and he's authentically bemused by his "lost" status in 21st-century Havana, as when baseball aficionados in mid-debate, prompted to name the greatest native pitcher, toss out the names El Duque and Jose Contreras. As for the politics of exile, the documentary doesn't delve into ideology or advocacy beyond capturing the undertow of the poverty in his Cuban Tiant family that gnaws at their celebrated prince. "We are barely scraping by," a cousin declares frankly to Luis just before he departs the island once again, and when he peels off some U.S. bills to meet her discreet but unadorned plea, it's both the only thing he can do and, in his own mind, not nearly enough.

Foreign Film Highlights at the Tribeca Film Festival

By Joe Bendel

Created: Apr 23, 2009



Whether you like comedies, dramas, thrillers, or documentaries, the Tribeca Film Festival affords movie fans the unique opportunity to screen films in the company of the director and actors responsible for the work on screen.

In the spirit of the multicultural city of New York itself, this year's festival features films from 36 countries. The following are reviews of four buzz-worthy foreign films gracing the festival.

Cuban Documentary: 'The Lost Son of Havana'

The Lost Son of Havana follows retired major league baseball player Luis Tiant as he returns to Cuba for the first time in nearly 50 years.

Luis Tiant can do the impossible—he can get fans of both the New York Yankees and Boston Red Sox to agree on something. While loved and respected by Yankee fans for his two years in pinstripes, Tiant's glory years were undeniably spent pitching for the Bosox.

During his Boston stint, Tiant did everything humanly possible to end their World Series frustrations. Yet more painful for Tiant than the team's championship drought was his 46-year exile from his native Cuba. His storied career and dramatic homecoming are now documented in Jonathan Hock's The Lost Son of Havana.

Baseball is a national obsession in Cuba, and it was the Tiant family business. At one time, Luis "Lefty" Tiant Sr. had been a star pitcher for the Negro League's New York Cubans and the Cuban professional league, but his eventual obscurity left him temporarily disillusioned with the game.

Then he witnessed his son's raw talent. Unfortunately, Tiant Jr. got called to the Major Leagues just as Castro closed his iron fist around the island nation, resulting in the pitcher's long separation from friends and family.

To Hock's credit, he seems to harbor no illusions about the nature of Castro's regime. After all, he and Tiant had a difficult time getting the authorities to authorize their entry permits. They were traveling under the auspices of an American amateur baseball team playing a "goodwill" game with their Cuban counterparts.

As a condition of approval, the small crew of Lost was required to play in the match, essentially guaranteeing a lop-sided American loss, which they note, may well have been the point. Though the political situation is largely unaddressed, a corner of a Havana park dedicated to animated baseball discussions is tellingly described as the probably the only place where free speech exists in Cuba.

In between scenes of Tiant's tearful reunions with loved ones, Hock details the highlights of his eventful years in the Majors. While showing early promise, an arm injury nearly ended his career. However, the dominating fastball thrower was able to reinvent himself as a crafty pitcher, much as his father was. Time and again, Tiant was written off, but he kept clawing his way back into the league.

His is a career with many highlights, but baseball analyst Peter Gammons convincingly argues Tiant's game-four victory in the 1975 World Series was his finest moment, won on pure guts alone. To use a sports cliché (and this is certainly the time for it), as a player, Tiant had heart.

Lost is a well-crafted documentary, featuring a peppy, Cuban-inspired soundtrack by Robert Miller. The talking-head segments are a cut above average, featuring warm reminiscences by Carl Yastrzemski and Carlton Fisk that Boston fans should particularly enjoy. It also has some big names attached to it, including its producers, the Farrelly Brothers of "There's Something About Mary" fame, and narrator Chris Cooper.

Tiant is star though, and he always seems quite likable and engaging throughout the film. It is a compelling story that should have broader appeal than most sports-related documentaries. It premieres on Thursday, April 23, and screens again on April 27, April 30, and May 2.

Movie Review: "Lost Son of Havana"

By Joe Bendel

Created: Apr 23, 2009



No list of Most Beloved Boston Athletes of All Time is worth the toner it's printed with if it doesn't include Luis Tiant in the Top 5. At his best Looie was as good as Pedro, as clutch as Schilling and Beckett and as charismatic as… well, himself. He defied comparison. No less an authority than Peter Gammons says Tiant is his favorite ballplayer, ever. And apparently he's not the only one who feels that way because in case you missed it, the Farrelly Brothers made a movie about Tiant that premiers this weekend. The movie is called "The Lost Son of Havana," it was produced by Kris Meyer who's a South Shore guy and a few weeks ago I got a private screening of it along with El Tiante himself, because working for the world's fastest growing media juggernaut is not without its privileges.

"Havana" is actually three or four different stories all rolled together into one high-quality Cuban cigar of a movie. Mainly it's about Looie's first trip back to Cuba since he defected as a 20 year old phenom in 1961. But it also tells the story of how he grew up the son of one of Cuba's national baseball heroes but had to leave his family behind for the chance to play baseball in the US. And "Lost Son" is the best account of his baseball career I've ever seen. The scenes from the mid-70s when Tiant's mom and dad got special permission to come live in Boston with their son… then watch in person while he becomes a folk hero in the ‘75 World Series… are like video pepper spray.

The Cuba scenes avoid politics, but in Cuba the politics are everywhere. Believe me nothing will make you hold on tight to your freedom faster than seeing what a country with complete government control over your life looks like. The streets of Havana are frozen in time, indistinguishable from "Godfather II." The people Tiant meet live in deprivation. One of his aunts sums it up the way only an old lady who's been through the ringer can. "Life is so big" she says. But there are funny parts throughout. Tiant meets another aunt he hasn't spoken to in 40+ years and within .5 seconds she starts kvetching about how her back is bothering her and how she hasn't been sleeping and you realize that old people squawking about their health is the universal language. Or the part when Tiant visits the park where Cuban guys stand around all day arguing baseball and it hit me that these could be my friends except they're speaking Spanish and they're not drunk.

The baseball footage is flat out incredible. Tiant starting the 1968 All Star Game when he was with Cleveland. His disasterous shoulder injury that should've ended his career until he finally re-invented himself from power pitcher to a human Swiss army knife of pitches, moves and deliveries. And the highlights of his games against the Reds, including his 170 pitch complete game epic are worth the time out of your life all by themselves. But there's a great story here as well. If you're old enough to remember El Tiante, you know what I mean. If you're not, you missed out. Either way the Farrellys delivered the goods and "Lost Son" is a great movie about a guy who's life is so big.

Red Sox Hero Tiant Returns to Native Cuba After 46-Year Exile Interview by Rick Warner



April 28 (Bloomberg) -- When Luis Tiant left Cuba in 1961 to play summer baseball in Mexico, he expected to be gone for three months. He didn't return for 46 years.

Tiant's long exile and emotional homecoming are the centerpiece of "The Lost Son of Havana," an eloquent documentary that's now playing at New York's Tribeca Film Festival and will air in August on ESPN. The film was produced by Bobby and Peter Farrelly, the brothers who made the comedy blockbuster "There's Something About Mary."

Nicknamed "El Tiante," the former All-Star pitcher was best known for his twisting windup, Fu Manchu mustache, stubby cigars and sterling performance for the Boston Red Sox in the 1975 World Series. Tiant won two games against the Cincinnati Reds and had a no-decision in the legendary Game 6, which Boston won in the 12th inning on Carlton Fisk's home run.

Until now, though, few people knew about his painful separation from family and friends. Barred from his native land for almost half a century because of political conflict and travel restrictions, Tiant finally was allowed to return in 2007 with an amateur baseball team.

"I wanted to go back before I die," Tiant, 68, said in a phone interview from his home near Boston. "Forty-six years is a long time to be away."

Gum, Toothpaste

Director Jonathan Hock and his small film crew followed Tiant on his weeklong trip to Cuba, where he visited two elderly aunts, old family friends and his childhood home. He was welcomed back with open arms.

"I didn't know what to expect," he said. "So many people I knew are gone now. Sometimes I want to laugh, sometimes I want to cry, sometimes I want to scream."

Tiant, whose father was a great Cuban pitcher in the U.S. Negro Leagues, was saddened by the poverty he saw in his homeland. He brought gifts of chewing gum, toothpaste, candy, lotion and clothes for his relatives, who told him of their daily struggles to survive.

"It's hard to understand the suffering, living only 90 miles from the U.S.," Tiant said. "Life is very hard there."

Old Cars

Havana today looks like it's stuck in a time warp with its 1950s vintage cars, rundown buildings and outdated TVs and radios. To accentuate that old-fashioned aura, cinematographer Alastair Christopher used an 8-millimeter camera to film scenes around the city.

"It gives you the feeling of those old home movies," Hock said at a party to celebrate the Tribeca premiere. "When you intercut that footage with the more modern-looking video, it feels like you're caught between two eras, which is what Cuba is like."

Tiant was pitching in Mexico in 1961 when the U.S. backed the failed invasion at the Bay of Pigs, leading Fidel Castro to crack down on foreign travel. If Tiant had returned to Cuba then, he knew he'd never be allowed to go to the U.S. and pitch in the major leagues. If he didn't return, he might never be allowed to come home.

Still, his parents encouraged their only child to pursue his dream.

"They knew they might never see me again, but they wanted me to take advantage of the opportunity," Tiant said.

McGovern's Help

Tiant made his major-league debut with Cleveland in 1964 and had three 20-win seasons before reaching his only World Series in 1975. Thanks to a personal request by Senator George McGovern, Castro allowed Tiant's parents to move to the U.S. and watch their son pitch in the Series.

"That was the happiest time of my life," Tiant said. "To have them here and see my success made it all worthwhile."

Tiant's reunion with his parents lasted only 15 months: His father and mother died on consecutive days in 1976. Tiant continued to pitch in the majors until 1982 and remains involved in baseball as a spring-training instructor for the Red Sox. He also has his own line of handmade "El Tiante" cigars, made by a Massachusetts-based company run by his son Danny.

As for Cuba, Tiant supports President Barack Obama's easing of travel restrictions. He would also like the president to lift the U.S. trade embargo with Cuba, which has been in effect since 1962.

"I don't care about politics, but when you do something for 50 years and it doesn't work, you should try something else," Tiant said.

Bloomberg LP, owner of Bloomberg News, is a sponsor of the Tribeca Film Festival.

The Long Road Home For A Cuban Baseball Legend

Listen to the Story

April 22, 2009

The new documentary The Lost Son of Havana tells the story of baseball legend Luis Tiant and his return to Cuba after 46 years.

Tiant was an old man, long retired from baseball, when he finally returned to his native country. Filmmaker Jonathan Hock came with him on the trip.

"He had an extraordinary need to see his family and find out if it was OK with them that he'd never come home, knowing how much they had suffered in the 46 years that he had been gone," Hock tells NPR's Robert Siegel.

A Self-Imposed Exile

Tiant had been pitching for the Mexican baseball league during the Bay of Pigs invasion. He had recently married and was planning to go back to Cuba for his honeymoon.

But his father sent him a letter saying "don't come home," explaining that there was no longer professional baseball in Cuba and that the new communist government under Fidel Castro wasn't letting anyone leave the island, Hock says.

Tiant's father told him to "give it a little time, it'll blow over and come home for your honeymoon then," Hock says.

Tiant stayed in Mexico and then went on to huge success in Major League Baseball in the United States. He pitched for several teams in his 18-year career, most notably the Boston Red Sox.

"None of them expected that it would be 46 years before Luis went home," Hock says. Tiant and his parents were reunited in the United States, but the rest of his family stayed in Cuba.

Hock says it would have been easy for Tiant to settle into life as a retired New England baseball legend, going to Fenway Park every once in a while. But Cuba pulled at him, especially the family members he had left behind.

"He needed to settle his score back home before he checked out," Hock says.

A Favorite Son Returns

The first person Tiant met in Cuba was Juan Carlos Oliva, the brother of Tony Oliva, another baseball player who had left Cuba for fame and fortune in the United States. Juan Carlos Oliva broke down in tears when talking about his brother leaving the family.

"It had broken the family's heart," Hock says.

But Oliva's family also rejoiced at Tony's success. Hock says meeting Oliva's brother and seeing his family's pain and joy prepared Tiant to meet his own family.

The film includes a touching but sobering scene at a party where Tiant meets some of his extended family. He is rich and they are poor. They soon ask him for help — in cash.

"This was one of the most uncomfortable scenes I've ever filmed. But you have to shut off your emotions and keep the camera rolling," Hock says. As Tiant is getting ready to go, his cousin takes him aside and explains that life isn't easy, they are living on cigarettes and they need more money than the government gives them.

Tiant reaches into his pocket and gives her all the Cuban money he has.

Some of Hock's filmmaker friends who looked at the rough cut of the film said he should take the scene out because it was difficult to watch. But Hock decided to keep it in: "This Cuban-American thing is very complicated. I don't think Luis was ashamed to do it; I don't think his cousin was ashamed to ask."

The moment illustrates the central tension of the story: by leaving Cuba and his family, Tiant found huge success. His family did not.

"He's been running from it his whole life," Hock says.

Returning to Cuba brings Tiant a measure of peace. "I feel better," he says in the film. "My heart is better; my head is better. I guess I can close my book now. If I die, I die happy."

Documentary details Luis Tiant's return to Cuba

By Reid Cherner & Tom Weir

Luis Tiant lived the life you make movies about and Jonathan Hock has done just that.

A 20-year-old Tiant left Cuba on a trip scheduled to last a month. Forty-six years later he would finally make it back to the island.

In between, that almost half-century he would become a U.S. citizen, raise a family, play 19 seasons and win 229 games in the Major Leagues and see Fidel Castro make an exception to allow his parents, decades later, to join him to be reunited in the U.S. (Photo courtesy of 5-Hole Productions)

Hock, who wrote and directed The Lost Son of Havana talked to Game On! about following Tiant on his return to Cuba. The movie debuted at the Tribeca Film Festival and will be shown on ESPN in August.

Tell us about the movie.

It is a melancholy story and a story about coming to terms with 46 lost years. The more Luis succeeded in the Major Leagues the greater the sense of loss of over what he couldn't share with his family back in Cuba, with his countrymen back in Cuba. For every triumph there was sadness for him and until he made this trip that score was unsettled. He needed to settle that.

Did the movie turn out how you expected?

What we encountered in Cuba was beyond what we had expected in terms of the physical, economic and social state of the island. When you witness it with your own eyes, and hopefully the cameras captured this, and you meet the people and the state of deprivation they have been living in is really striking and upsetting when you are that close to it. On the other hand, the camaraderie and the openness and the friendliness and the positive spirit of the people, to experience that first hand, was something I was not expecting.

Not since Groucho has anyone used a cigar and a mustache to such great effect.

We loved the cigar. It is really a symbol of Luis' connection to his homeland. It is very symbolic of the island and we did accentuate that. The cigar was always there and we did try to bring your attention to it every now and then. Luis' story speaks in a large measure to the whole Cuban-American conflict and the whole Cuban personality that we experienced here in American for the past 50 years. The cigar has always been a prop that Castro has always used, I think it was great to sort of take it back from Castro and give it back to the people.

Tiant's father was one of Cuba's greatest pitchers was he not?

The emotional power, the thrall that Luis's father still has over people on the island is something was not something we expected from the history books. We had a photograph of Luis's father and every time we showed it to somebody they cried. Luis, having risen out of his shadow to even greater heights, is a really interesting phenomenon. Wanting to share his dream with his father, and not being able to for so long, and then being able to that is the core of the emotion of the story I think. The Cuban people have this gift of expression to be able to fully be present in their sadness and their joy at the same time and it makes for a very powerful scenes.

When Tiant is flying into Cuba there is no voice-over or conversation. Was that planned?

The decision made in the cutting room. When we saw that footage and saw that look in Luis's eyes, straining to get his first look at the island in 46 years. There were no words that were necessary. You are looking at a picture that expresses everything.

Would you say this is a happy or a sad movie?

It is both. Not one or the other. That is the incredible thing about the Cuban people. And that is the great lesson and the great gift that Luis's family in Havana, as poor as they are, as deprived as they are, that was the gift they gave to Luis, the understanding that life is sad. We can't deny that but we don't have to let that stop us from smiling and be glad for what we do have. Maybe the most important line that Luis speaks in the movie, as he's getting ready to leave his family he says to them "let's see if we can't help each other." What they have to give him is perspective in life. You don't have to dwell in the sadness, you can have peace with the sad parts of your life and the things that you've lost. You can't turn back the clock and get those lost years back. What he can have is the knowledge that everybody there still loves him and that from this point forward they can maintain the connection that he re-established with them and the joy in that going forward is no less for the sadness and the sadness in the past is no less for the joy going forward. You have two pockets in life, one for the joy and one for the sadness. You carry them both with dignity. That is Luis's message.

Would you describe this as a sports movie?

It is a story of human being an artist. His art happened to be pitching. And you can't avoid that, you want to showcase that but the movie is about him as a human being not him as an athlete. I try hard to focus hard on the human being as opposed to the field the human being happens to work in. This movie could have been about a painter, a chess player, a flutist. It happens to be about a baseball player. It is a political film, a family drama, a sports film, all those things rolled into one.

What does a sports fan get out of this movie?

For the sports fan like me, who grew up playing waffle ball and trying to do the Tiant windup, I hope that the film conjures up those memories and gives insight that you never would have had of why he was so extraordinary. It is nostalgic but it goes beyond that. It should elevate your appreciation of him to new heights.

And the non-sports fan?

I think as the saga of a Cuban-American family it tells such a powerful story. That is the magic that this guy has. To see him start the movie in such a state of loss over the past and so unsettled about the path his life has taken and then to watch him settle that score on the island where he was born and raised I think that really is uplifting. There is sadness and joy hand and hand but ultimately he says himself "today I am a free man" and he had never said that in the 46 years since he had left Cuba. He had to go back to Cuba to reclaim his freedom and he got it and you have to be happy for that.

ESPN2 Documentary Reveals Emotion, Pride Surrounding Brandon Wrestling's 'Streak' By WALT BELCHER

The Tampa Tribune

They called it, simply, "The Streak," and it was the most remarkable record in high school sports.

For 34 years, the Brandon High School wrestling team went undefeated through 439 consecutive dual matches. Defying all odds, The Streak began in 1973 and kept going, becoming legend.

It bonded fathers who had wrestled for the Brandon Eagles with sons who carried on the tradition. It inspired school and community pride. It put Brandon on the map.

But it also carried a heavy burden. After decades of victory, no team wanted to be the first to lose. When that loss finally happened in January, it made national headlines.

To fully appreciate how winning and losing builds character, check out "The Streak," which debuts at 9 tonight on ESPN2.

This two-hour documentary tells the story of Brandon's longtime wrestling coach, Russ Cozart, and the members of the 2007-08 team.

"The Streak" was produced by a former Brandon student, Mark Consuelos, who says he used to walk the school halls in awe of the wrestlers.

"They were larger-than-life heroes to me," he says.

That was back in the 1980s, before Consuelos transferred to Bloomingdale High, played soccer for Notre Dame, took up acting and became soap opera heartthrob Mateo Santos on "All My Children."

"The Streak" is the first project to air from Milojo Productions, which is owned by Consuelos and his wife, Kelly Ripa. (The company is named for their children, Michael, Lola and Joaquin).

"I knew that the Brandon wrestling team would make a great story," Consuelos said in telephone interview. "They have an amazing record, Coach Cozart does such a good job, and the general public doesn't know how hard high school wrestlers work.

"And they do it without any big professional contract waiting for them down the road."

When production began last fall, no one could know just how dramatic the film would be. "I thought it would be another winning season, and it was in many ways," Consuelos said. "But when they lost that one match, the film took on a new dimension."

Much of the film covers how the team trained under Cozart and how various wrestlers tried to live up to the legend. "We have to win; we have no choice," Cozart says at the beginning of the documentary. "We set the bar high because we have a destiny."

Cozart's son Joey, a sophomore wrestler, tells of how The Streak has always been a part of his life. His older brother Rocky was a three-time state champion, and Joey sees "an enormous mountain" to climb to be the third Cozart to continue The Streak.

The drama builds with each match and each player's profile. Then cameras record January's shocker, when the team lost to South Dade High of Homestead. The coach had to face a moment he had dreaded for years.

"I felt bad for a lot of people who worshipped The Streak," Cozart says. "It affected everybody in this town."

He says the loss will be something team members will carry with them all of their lives. And it does weigh most heavily on Brandon junior Kevin Timothy, who couldn't save the team from defeat. "I never thought we had a chance to lose," he says, fighting back tears. "I gave it everything I had, and it still wasn't enough."

Cozart has to console his team, bring Timothy out of his depression and get the wrestlers ready for another state championship.

"They're going to be 60 years old and still remember that night of the loss, but I've got to give them something to finish the season on," he says.

Film Review: Brandon Wrestling Documentary By JOEY KNIGHT

April 28, 2008

They're driven, obsessive, mildy mischievous and occasionally profane.

But in the end, the 2007-08 Brandon High wrestlers, subject of a documentary airing Tuesday night at 9 on ESPN2, likely will elicity your sympathy and cheers.

The Streak (92 minutes, 54 seconds) follows the team's season, marked by the historic loss to Miami South Dade that snapped the program's national-record dual match win streak at 459. ESPN's cameras had unabridged access to the program as well as the Brandon Kids' Wrestling Club, home of Coach Russ Cozart, and even the homes of several wrestlers.

What results are mini-character sketches of several wrestlers, most of whom seem driven by the desire to not only preserve the streak but live up to legacies forged by dads or older siblings.

That pursuit, at times, borders on the disturbing.

The opening credits appear over shots of the Eagles going through a nausea-inducing sequence of preseason workouts, and footage taken in the school cafeteria shows some wrestlers bypassing lunch to ensure they'll "make weight" for the upcoming matches. At a dinnertime scene in state champion Eric Grajales' home, the family partakes of what appears to be a meal of steak or pork chops while Grajales picks at a plain baked potato.

"Halfway through the season," state champ Joey Cozart (the coach's son) says at one point, "it's not even fun anymore. It's like hell."

Naturally, great attention is given to the Eagles' historic loss, in the finals of the Jim Graves "Beat the Streak" Invitational, and the emotions spawned by it. Director John Hock, however, does a delicate balancing act, conveying the significance of the defeat without exploiting anyone.

And it doesn't end there. After struggling to regain focus and, in some cases, questioning their desire to continue, the Eagles find a degree of redemption at the state tournament.

Ironically, that poignant finish makes The Streak, filmed in the very year in which the streak ended, a tale of triumph.

Brandon wrestling film: Your thoughts? By JOEY KNIGHT

April 30, 2008

The Streak is history. So, too, is its world premiere.

Now that you've had a chance to view (perhaps more than once) The Streak, ESPN's documentary about the Brandon wrestling team, we'd love to get your thoughts. Compelling? Poignant? Contrived? Anything that bothered you? Anything omitted from the program's history that you would've liked to have seen?

Let us know. In the meantime...

Our top five favorite scenes from the film:

5. The opening credits, displayed over footage of the Eagles going through their nausea-inducing early-season workouts. How can one watch that and not come away with a newfound appreciation for wrestling?

4. The prepubescent members of the Brandon Kids Wrestling Club crying after the Eagles' loss to Homestead South Dade that snapped the program's 34-year win streak. With a snap-out-of-it tone, Coach Russ Cozart tells the youngsters, "You'll be part of my next win streak." This brief scene conveyed the significance of The Streak to the Brandon community, young and old.

3. Senior 285-pounder Aaron Fullenwider pinning Bradenton Manatee's Richie Cunningham, who had earlier thrown him out of bounds, in the semifinals of the Graves Invitational. Fullenwider's win completely swung the momentum in favor of the Eagles, who went on to win 37-22. What the cameras didn't show: Earlier in the match, Cunningham needed a time-out to vomit.

2. Junior 135-pounder Kevin Timothy, who suffered the defeat that clinched the Eagles' team loss to South Dade, earning atonement with a victory in the state finals in Lakeland. Minutes before in the film, Timothy had openly questioned whether he wanted to keep wrestling after the loss.

1. The aftermath of the loss to South Dade. There's Russ Cozart, arm draped around the shoulders of son Joey, as they walk in a dark parking lot to their cars after the loss to South Dade. In the night's final match, after South Dade had clinched the team victory, Joey pinned his 140-pound opponent in the first quarter. When Russ recalls his son's on-mat display of pride and fortitude in the wake of the historic defeat, he clearly wells up. This is the most poignant sequence of the film.

'FIRE' POWER

By ADAM BUCKMAN

CONEY Island is 2,917 miles away from Portland, Ore., but the journey was a lot longer than that for Sebastian Telfair.

The story of this high school basketball phenom (Abraham Lincoln High, class of '04) is told in this new documentary produced by ESPN that premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival last year and now comes to television for the first time tomorrow night.

Telfair, a 6'0" point guard from the Coney Island projects, was chosen in the 13th round of the 2004 NBA draft by the Portland Trailblazers, straight out of high school.

Draft day - June 24, 2004 - is essentially where the documentary ends (except for a brief, sweet coda tacked on right after it).

Before you get to that point, however, you will travel with Sebastian - and his Lincoln High teammates, coaches, brothers and mother - as he leads his team to its third consecutive city championship.

For most of us, the boardwalk, beach, Nathan's and the Cyclone at Astroland Park are the most famous attractions in Coney Island.

But as you will learn if you watch "Through the Fire," for the people who live in Coney Island, basketball is a much deeper passion than the area's seaside amusements.

Stephon Marbury of the Knicks grew up in an apartment on the floor above Sebastian. The two are cousins.

In addition, one of Sebastian's brothers, Jamel Thomas, was a star at Providence.

Jamel expected to be drafted by the NBA, but was not. In the film, he does everything he can to ensure that Sebastian does not experience the same disappointment.

In one of the film's more illuminating segments, Jamel brings Sebastian to Greece - where Jamel is playing pro ball - to work out with him prior to the draft.

The sequence provides a fascinating look at basketball abroad - something we don't get a chance to see very often.

But most of the action in "Through the Fire" takes place much closer to home.

More than just a documentary about basketball, this lovely movie is one of the best I've ever seen about growing up in New York City, where once in a while, dreams really can come true.

"Through the Fire"

4 STARS

THROUGH THE FIRE. Sunday night at 8, ESPN.

By Richard Huff

Dreams of NBA superstardom are as prevalent around New York city as well, basketball goals. But realizing those dreams is also about as tough as keeping a good net on the rims.

Some dreams do come true, though, and ESPN's telecast Sunday at 8 p.m. of "Through the Fire," follows one of them - Coney Island hoop star Sebastian Telfair - as he plays his way off the streets and into the NBA.

The film tails Telfair, a cousin of the Knicks' Stephon Marbury, during his senior year at Lincoln High School, and ultimately as he enters the NBA's draft.

Telfair is a star, no doubt, making it fun to watch as he leads his high school team to the championship and struggles with a decision of a lifetime: playing in college or going pro.

But there's a lot more going on here than just a basketball movie. And Telfair's story isn't just his. It's the story of one of his brothers, Jamel Thomas, and his mother, who previously had put their hopes for financial freedom on Thomas' shot at the NBA.

Thomas never made it, though, breaking his mother's heart. "The whole house was crying. It was like, 'What was I supposed to do?' " Thomas recalls in "Through the Fire." "It was the worst day in my life."

It's with this backdrop of dashed dreams that directors John Hock and Alastair Christopher filmed Telfair and his family, and spent time around the Coney Island basketball courts where Telfair honed his game.

"Right here, this is MSG. We call it the Garden," Telfair tells the camera early on.

"Every block is a basketball court," he said. "You've got no choice but to play basketball."

And play he does. Telfair started out his senior season by signing a deal to go to Louisville and play for Rick Pitino. Over the course of the film, Telfair struggles with that decision, as he weighs the potential instant huge payday of a sneaker deal and whether he'll have a realistic shot at being an early-round draft pick.

Thomas has groomed Telfair for this moment, and it shows. Telfair stays out of trouble, avoids getting tattoos, and when it counts, shows all the right stuff on the court for NBA scouts.

Thomas has a lot riding on Telfair. He's now playing ball in Greece, having never been drafted, while his own NBA dreams ride on Telfair's shoulders.

"Out here, basketball saves a lot of us," says Jeffrey Morton, the brother of Lincoln's coach. "Everybody out here wants to be an NBA player."

Hock and Christopher do a good job letting those involved tell the story, and show emotions in this spare but effective documentary.

In keeping with the family aspect of the story, when Telfair is drafted by the Portland Trail Blazers, the camera is not on Telfair, but Thomas, who breaks down crying, as do the others in his family. The real-life moments that follow are so touching and emotional that it will be hard for anyone with a heart to keep his eyes dry.

Originally published on March 11, 2006

Through the Fire

Documentary. (1:43). Not rated: Strong language.

It's one thing for a filmmaker to find a great story and reconstruct it as a sort of documentary feature story. It's another to see that story developing and capture it on the fly.

That's what Jonathan Hock accomplished with this superb, ultimately exhilarating account of Coney Island basketball phenom Sebastian Telfair's senior year at Lincoln High. With Hock's cameras in the midst of every game and seemingly private moment in Telfair's life, we watch him lead his team to the state championship, pose for the cover of Sports Illustrated and make his choice between a college scholarship or an Adidas contract and direct shot at the NBA.

With his broad smile and winning personality, Telfair (a cousin of Knick Stephon Marbury) is an easy star to follow, and his coolness under pressure - both to succeed on the court and to earn his entire family a ticket out of the projects - makes his tale a hoop dream for the ages.

- Jack Mathews

Originally published on February 10, 2006

Jay Carr

STAFF WRITER

February 9, 2006

Through the Fire

Jonathan Hock's documentary, "Through the Fire," takes up where "Hoop Dreams" left off. All-NYC point guard Sebastian Telfair, the pride of Coney Island's Lincoln High School, not only carries the ball and the film, but also some superhuman pressures to cash in big and deliver his family from poverty.

Astonishingly poised and every bit as image-savvy as Tiger Woods or Derek Jeter, Telfair hardly ever makes a wrong move, on the court or off. But the fact that he's got it all turns the film into an unbearably suspenseful cliffhanger. When he goes down with a hurt ankle, you stop breathing. When he scores a lucrative sneaker contract, you fear the fancy sneakers might make him a target.

Because ESPN sponsored it, the film shies away from looking hard at the value system that could engulf Telfair. But it's the year's most gripping film yet.

Time Out New York

By Damon Smith

2/9/2006

In this captivating documentary, Jonathan Hock trails hotshot Coney Island baller Sebastian Telfair during his senior year, when the charismatic point guard led his Lincoln High School team to the 2004 city championships at Madison Square Garden. But there's a lot more at stake than a trophy: Committed to coach Rick Pitino and the University of Louisville, yet lured by the prospect of sneaker contracts and untold wealth as a big-league player, Telfair faces the tough decision of whether to attend college or enter the NBA draft. With pro scouts prowling on the sidelines, Telfair's also wise to the fact that his older brother Jamel Thomas, a Big East star, failed to make the cut years before and now labors as a contract hooper in Greece.

Although "Through the Fire" touches on themes examined in "Hoop Dreams" - family bonds, ghetto aspiration, crushed hopes, an exploitative industry - Hock's film is structured as a pure adrenaline rush, savoring the emotional highs of Telfair's year of triumph with unusually visceral, nerve-jangling game sequences courtesy of embedded lensman Alastair Christopher. Candid interviews with aging street players and assistant coach Daniel Turner - Telfair's eldest brother and number one fan - add poignancy to the story, as does the late presence of Thomas. Yet the undisputed star is Telfair himself, a charming, articulate striver well aware that basketball is "no game," but a million-dollar biz that thrives on wholesome images.

MOVIE REVIEW

Basketball documentary drives home its point

By Wesley Morris, Globe Staff | February 10, 2006

In 2003, Sebastian Telfair was an 11th grader and the biggest star on New York City's public basketball courts. Like most popular high school basketball players, Telfair had a fan club, but few people in the history of high school ball had Jay-Z, Ahmad Rashad, and Derek Jeter perched on the sidelines of their games. Telfair did, and he jolted them out of their seats with his electric shot-making. Coach Rick Pitino personally tried to woo Telfair to come play Division 1 ball for him at the University of Louisville, but he could see the writing on the wall: the NBA was hot for Telfair, too.

Jonathan Hock's documentary ''Through the Fire" trails Telfair for the year he weighed his options. The film has the trappings typically associated with a must-have basketball prospect. Telfair lives with his siblings and single mother in a Coney Island housing project. He wants to move his family somewhere safer, and the NBA is a compelling express route. But what Hock's film finds is much richer and more resonant than the average exit-from-the-ghetto tale.

For starters, Telfair isn't the first kid in his family to get near the NBA draft. His brother Jamel Thomas, who spent four years playing for Providence College, was burned in 1999. What seemed to be a sure thing wasn't, and Jamel, seduced and essentially abandoned, went off to play in European leagues. The news broke his mother's heart. And it couldn't have been easy for anybody in that household to know that Jamel and Sebastian's cousin, Knicks star Stephon Marbury, had been drafted as a college freshman in 1996. Sebastian's fortunes seem to be déjà vu all over again. ''Through the Fire" follows a young man being lured by the NBA, and quietly captures his transformation as he sails into the corporate marketplace on an endorsement deal. Doubters worry that if Telfair doesn't head to Louisville, he'll be ill-prepared for professional basketball. More than once we hear that he's too short (5 feet 10 inches or 6 feet, depending on which skeptic you ask) and that his shooting is streaky.

The movie is wonderfully attuned to revealing Sebastian and his family as developed characters. Hock clearly likes Telfair, in part for the same reasons that we do: He has a killer smile, and he loves his momma. But he's not a momma's boy. Telfair's miked during some games, and throughout one contest you could fill a dumpster with the trash he talks. At the McDonald's All-American Game, he calls his fellow All-Americans country boys and, during the main event, cajoles players to pass him the ball so he can hand it off to a scorer -- with enough assists he could break a record. Hilariously, he's praised for his selflessness after the game.

Telfair's brazen antics are tinged with burgeoning materialism, and because Hock's aim is a kind of objectivity, he doesn't use commentary from the player's family and friends about his evolution, although his brother Daniel Turner and his coach seem to be just as preoccupied with success' trimmings. But it's hard to blame Telfair for letting his celebrity go to his head. If I were on the cover of Sports Illustrated in the 12th grade, there'd be no living with me either.

Since the NBA drafted Darryl Dawkins and Bill Willoughby in the 1970s, it has always fretted about whether high school kids belong among its elite. The second-guessing began again in 1995 with the drafting of Kevin Garnett: There's no proven farm system in the NBA to groom the players; it sends a bad message about the value of a college education. The association recently set the minimum age at 19. But this is a social dilemma as much as it is a sports-entertainment problem.

What we see in ''Through the Fire" is what we see in urban neighborhoods all over the country. Basketball transcends the merely recreational. It's a vocation for a lot of young men and women that, given the low odds of professional success, seems like a dream that crushes far more spirits than it lifts. But the stakes for a prodigy like Telfair seem unfairly high. College? Or a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to raise a family out of poverty? It's sad, but Rick Pitino will probably lose every time.

By RONNIE SCHEIB

Coney Island hoop prodigy Sebastian Telfair's story is told by documaker Jonathan Hock in 'Through the Fire.'

Jonathan Hock's docu jettisons ethical quandaries about the questionable relationship between corporate-funded sports and kids from the projects in favor of a heroic, suspense-filled story that plays like well-structured fiction. With a real-life athlete as talented and charismatic as Coney Island hoop prodigy Sebastian Telfair, almost any outcome would probably have made for good drama, but Hock lucked out when life provided a happy ending. Upbeat Urbanworld documentary prizewinner, full of strong personalities and crisply edited court action, could score well in sports venues.

Since sixth grade, Telfair qualified as a legend in his basketball-obsessed neighborhood. Now in his senior year of high school, scouts follow his games, sportswriters analyze his every move, and Jay-Z and Spike Lee are frequently in the stands watching.

Telfair calls a well-attended press conference to announce his choice of university (Louisville), and when his high school team wins the championship for the third straight year, speculation is rife as to whether he will join the ranks of young players drafted by the NBA straight out of high school.

No sooner does Telfair answer that question, opting to try for pro ball (helped along by the stick-and-carrot coincidence of a fatal shooting where he lives and the offer of a multi-million dollar sneaker contract), than the press begins to turn against him, emphasizing his spotty shooting record and under-6' height. The suspense then shifts: Will he be drafted by the NBA or will he wind up like his talented, older brother, passed over after a stellar college season, and now playing professional ball in Greece?

Helmer Hock, whose credits include the ESPN skein "Streetball" and the Imax "Michael Jordan to the Max," sticks like glue to Telfair. Sebastian's coach and brothers provide running commentary on his career while lenser Alistair Christopher's HD camera trains on Telfair as he ducks, bobs, weaves, passes and dunks his way through crucial, nail-biting championship games and attempts to prove his worth as a team player.

Extensive media coverage of developments in the unfolding saga neatly colors pic's exposition. But more than anything else, Hock's job is expedited by Telfair himself -- the kid's clean-cut looks and million-dollar smile clearly as relevant as his athletic prowess in winning him his lucrative sneaker contract, his front-page spread in "Sports Illustrated" and even his effortless domination of the screen.

Having had years to fully accept his talents and assume responsibility for parlaying his gifts into a better future for his family, Telfair appears serenely conscious of all the forces at play. Extremely media savvy (his cousin is Knicks star Stephon Marbury), Telfair seems capable of taking the hoopla in stride.

Given his subject's supreme self-confidence, Hock's up-close-and-personal approach is relentlessly forward-driven and leaves no room for questioning anything beyond the unfair arbitrariness of a fickle system that rewards one brother with millions and another with exile to Greece.

Tech credits are polished.

Nov. 14, 2005

Through the Fire

By Michael Rechtshaffen

The ill-fitting generic title aside, "Through the Fire" is a highly satisfying documentary tracking the hoop dreams of basketball bright light Sebastian Telfair as he made that rare leap from high school all-star to NBA draft pick.

In possession of a killer smile, the charismatic pride of Coney Island, N.Y., makes for an ideal central subject, and co-directors Jonathan Hock and Alistair Christopher work in a no-frills, straight-ahead style that lets Telfair's involving story speak for itself.

It's one that includes the 6-foot point guard's older half-brother, Jamel Thomas, who had been passed over by the NBA years earlier and plays basketball in Greece to help support the large family, while another brother is content to remain in the background as an assistant coach at Telfair's Brooklyn high school.

Accompanied by some terrific game footage, the film, shot on digital video, is there beside Telfair when he lands the Sports Illustrated cover and signs an Adidas sneaker deal. The cameras also capture numerous intimate, quietly emotional moments, most movingly when he finds out he's been drafted by the Portland Trail Blazers amid the publication of numerous newspaper articles that weren't exactly enthusiastic about his chances.

Bottom line: "Through the Fire" is a highly satisfying documentary.

Copyright 2005 The Hollywood Reporter

Village Voice (2/8)

Tracking Shots

'Through the Fire'

by R. Emmet Sweeney

February 7th, 2006

A riveting doc of hoop dreams realized, Through the Fire follows Coney Island legend (and current Portland Trail Blazer) Sebastian Telfair through his final high school season, focusing on his decision to skip college and go pro. An ESPN production (scheduled to air on March 12), it's slickly shot and structured like a Bruckheimer sports weepie, but director Jonathan Hock also shows the image-production of Telfair as star. Living in the projects, Telfair sees his cousin Stephon Marbury hit it rich in the NBA, while his brother Jamel Thomas, a starter at Providence, is left undrafted and has to join a European league to pay the bills. Jamel takes every precaution to ensure Sebastian's success on and off the court, coaching him to convey a "Tiger Woods" image, clean and smiling. Media and player are mutually manipulated—Telfair puts up a front, Sports Illustrated gets its cover boy, and the sneaker contract gets signed. Various other mentors want a piece: his vociferous coach Tiny, Louisville coach Rick Pitino, Adidas execs, his oldest brother Daniel—even Jay-Z shows him some love. Despite all the distractions, Sebastian remains committed to basketball, as the reams of eye-popping game footage attest. The kid's got a sick hesitation move. Jumper's still spotty, though.

A Dream Come True

by Warren Curry

I first caught the documentary "Through the Fire" at the AFI Film Festival last November, and I spent the remainder of 2005 telling anyone who'd listen that it was the best film I'd seen that year. With its forthcoming theatrical release (it will also air on ESPN in March), only time will tell if it will be my favorite film of 2006, although I can't imagine I will encounter many better. Spirited and utterly absorbing, "Through the Fire" chronicles the year that changed the life of New York City high school basketball superstar Sebastian Telfair (and residually, those close to him). Even viewers without a passion for basketball, or sports in general, will connect with this accessible, exciting, rags-to-riches story.

Making headlines since the age of nine, 5'-10" point guard Sebastian Telfair entered his senior year of high school in 2003 already a bona fide New York City basketball legend. Attempting to lead Brooklyn's Lincoln High School to an unprecedented third straight city championship, Telfair is the focal point of a media blitz as the season begins, which only intensifies over time. Injected with a ferocious competitive spirit, Telfair's broader goals include attending the University of Louisville to play for renowned coach Rick Pitino, eventually landing in the NBA and lifting his family out of their impoverished lives in Coney Island.

As Telfair, the cousin of NBA star Stephon Marbury, pushes his team toward another city title, his outstanding play invites a whole new level of fanfare and scrutiny. ESPN televises his games to a national audience, and celebrities such as Jay-Z, Spike Lee and New York Yankees' all-star Derek Jeter, not to mention a host of NBA scouts, are regular fixtures in the stands. Telfair's appearance on magazine covers is next, and soon it appears a jump straight to the NBA, complete with a multi-million dollar sneaker endorsement deal, is well within his reach. Of course, when it appears his stock has risen to its highest point, a wave of critical backlash predictably crashes in from the so-called basketball experts.

What keeps Telfair's head from floating into the clouds are memories of his family's collective heartbreak when his older brother Jamel Thomas was shockingly snubbed by the NBA after a standout a college career. Coney Island, like many American inner city areas, offers its residents very few dreams, and when those dreams are shattered, it can exact a crushing toll. The documentary's most sobering moment is provided by Asher Beard (aka Tick Tick Boom), a former Coney Island teen hoops sensation who didn't make it to the next level, when he comments while sitting in a neighborhood playground, "As long as I'm here, it's pain." It becomes apparent in short order that Telfair is carrying the hopes of his family and community on his shoulders, and only the strongest individuals will refuse to buckle under the weight. Sebastian Telfair is that individual, and it's impossible not to admire his determination.

NBA fans will know going in that the story has a happy ending, as Telfair is currently a starting point guard for the Portland Trailblazers. But this does nothing to diminish the stakes of the drama, or its ultimate payoff. Director Jonathan Hock gives the film a relentless momentum, creating a palpable sense of excitement at every turn. Telfair has charisma to spare, and with the guidance of Jamel, who supports his family while playing professional basketball in Greece, and his other older brother Daniel Turner (who also serves as Lincoln's volunteer assistant basketball coach), appears to have been groomed from an early age to deal with the onslaught of attention. He's brash, confident and exudes the fiery (and occasionally mean) competitive attitude required to achieve athletic greatness.

"Through the Fire" will inevitably draw comparisons to the fantastic 1994 documentary "Hoop Dreams." It, more or less, picks up where "Hoop Dreams" left off, narrowing its sights on a person making the difficult jump from amateur phenomenon to professional success. While it's much smaller in scope and offers less social commentary than "Hoop Dreams," "Through the Fire," to borrow a sports' cliché, plays within itself exceptionally well. The eventual denouement -- even though most viewers know the outcome -- still manages to be completely satisfying.

"Through the Fire" is the kind of crowd-pleasing (but not necessarily "feel good") entertainment that warrants mass audience applause at its conclusion, and the rare documentary I feel confident highly recommending to anyone and everyone.

Warren Curry/reviewed: 2006-02-09

For February 10 - 16, 2006

THROUGH THE FIRE Jonathan Hock's entertaining documentary about a year in the life of high school sports phenom Sebastian Telfair is a Horatio Alger tale for the bling and basketball age. Though some will see this fast-paced film as proof that hoop dreams really can come true, the real strength of Through the Fire lies in its careful, often indirect questioning of the moral universe of professional sports and big-money endorsements. Exiled to Greece, where he plays bush-league basketball to support his family, Telfair's older brother (and former NBA prospect) Jamel Thomas lives in the shadows of dreams deferred, and his scenes give the story dramatic, almost mythic weight. This ESPN Films release may not have the patience, scope or nuance of the seminal 1994 basketball documentary Hoop Dreams (which holds up as the cinematic equivalent of a Theodore Dreiser novel), but Through the Fire shares its spirit, even if the film's deeper views on its subjects — and society — are seen only in flashes. (James C. Taylor)

the leading source on independent film since 1996

Winning Night: "Rize" and "Through the Fire"

[Tribeca daily dispatch by Eugene Hernandez.]

Seeing a good movie really can make for a fun evening. In the case of the Tribeca Film Festival last night, two heartwarming documentaries made for a great night downtown. David LaChappelle's "Rize", which I watched twice back at Sundance, is a terrific film about the emergence of a fast-paced form of dancing in South Central Los Angeles, the people that LaChapelle follows include local celebrity Tommy the Clown, leader of a group of kids turning to clown and krump dancing as a way to express themselves. So, the real discovery for me last night was Sebastian Telfair, showcased in "Through The Fire", Jonathan Hock's loving look at the basketball player's senior of high school as he struggles with the decision to either go to college or try to break into the NBA.

Cheers and a standing ovation greeted the film at its special screening last night, with many of Telfair's friends and family from Coney Island in attendance. Telfair, a savvy young kid with a winning smile and a warm family, shines in this sharply shot and assembled doc. While the movie probably should have dug deeper into the complex dynamics of the Telfair family and the cut-throat, seductive world of high school athletics, its hard to fault a film packed with so much warmth. Telfair, the cousin of Knicks star Stephon Marbury, faces a tough decision as a middle child among a family of basketball brothers and at the end of the film, audiences may debate whether he made the right choice, but no doubt they understand his reasons and applaud his success.

Comparisons to the more complex and in-depth "Hoop Dreams" are inevitable but not really justified. "It is about rebirth and community, just like this festival," enthused Hock on-stage during yesterday's Tribeca Film Festival press conference. "Like this neighborhood, the Telfair family did not have things always break their way," but he added, "They did not lose sight of their dreams."

Buyers were buzzing after Thursday's screening, with some execs planning to show the picture to higher-ups at various companies. Another showing is on tap tomorrow in Tribeca. Cinetic Media is selling the film and it will undoubtedly find a distributor.

AFI Fest day 10 - the final stretch...

Day 10 I attended the TIMESTALKS 2 - The War Documentary: A Panel Discussion... I left the panel a little early to jump into Through the Fire. Let me start by saying that I only know a couple things about basketball:
1. Los Angeles has 2 basketball teams.
2. You have to put the ball through the hoop to score.

Other than that I'm pretty clueless. Through the Fire follows Sebastian Telfair through his senior year of high school basketball. It doesn't take long to figure out that this film is gonna be good. About 20 minutes in I looked at watch and noted in my notebook, "I'm invested." That says a lot! For someone who couldn't care less about basketball to want all the hopes and dreams of a Coney Island high school baskeball player to come true. Sebastian Telfair is charismatic, he loves his mom and for a 5 foot 10 inch player he kicks ass on the court.

I loved this movie. It has suspense, great music and editing, it shows passion and confidence, fleshed out real characters and as I sit here while the festival awards ceremony is taking place I predict it will win an award or two.

Emmy award winning filmmaker Jonathan Hock has done a tremendous job illustrating the exuberance of an athlete born to play basketball. I even found myself searching my TiVo today to see if I could find Telfair playing any games coming up. And…that speaks tomes for someone who has never watched a televised basketball in her life. - Sarah Jo Marks

Upscale Magazine
November 2005 Film Reviews
By Dwight Brown


Through The Fire (***1/2)
Hock Films

College or basketball? On the surface you'd want your children to get a higher education. But these days, hitting the books and not the court isn't an easy decision.

Sebastian Telfair, star player on Lincoln High School's championship basketball team, stands at a life-altering crossroads. He's a senior being scouted by the pros. As the cousin of Knicks' hoopster Stephon Marbury, he's tasted the good life. As the younger brother of Jamel, a thirtysomething minor-league player who was once courted by the NBA but never drafted, he knows defeat too. What do you do when you've got eight brothers and sisters, a single mom and people being shot outside of your housing project? College or courts?

Emmy Award winning director Jonathan Hock's camera is invisible. You read Sebastian's mind. Share his fears. Dream with him. His home life is an open book. His mother's nurturing spirit is comforting. Jamel handles surrogate father duties like a saint; when Sebastian is oh-so-close to being drafted but faltering, Jamel gives him basketball boot camp training and a tough love that turns the anxious boy into a man.

A riveting film. You'll be pinned to the edge of your seat. You'll want Sebastian to make the right choice. Will he? Bring your hoop dreams. Bring a hanky too.

THE GOOD:

I'm no sports fan. I find no interest in sports, and I really don't watch it, but "Through the Fire" is not about sports. You don't have to like sports to know how damn good this is. It's typical to say such a thing, but as a man who hasn't seen a full basketball game in eleven years, it says something about the sheer quality and excellence of "Through the Fire", that it was able to grab a hold of me and keep me glued to the screen. It's not an insider documentary, it's not a new look at sports, and it is not an exploitative peek at a man who ruined himself. It's simply a down to Earth story about a young man who worked for his dreams and achieved them.

"Through the Fire" is a wonderful, and exciting look in to a year in Sebastian Telfair's life and struggle to make the NBA draft. Through this journey we discover not only him, but we also discover his family. His loyal mother, immensely loyal brothers, and just pure family love. These are brothers whom stick by one another and pour all their energy in to Sebastian to help him make the NBA draft. "Through the Fire" is an excellent inspirational documentary about how anyone can really rise above their surroundings if they work hard enough. Why Sebastian Telfair? Well, why not? He's a legend in his home town (grew up in the same city as I), he's smart, he's charismatic, he's humble even when literally everyone is pulling him aside saying it's all about him, and he's focused. Not to mention he has amazing skills on the basketball court.

The film, beautifully directed by Jonathan Hock, has an exuberance and energy about it that will take even those not fans of sports and bring them in to the story. Speaking as someone who qualifies as a non-fan, even I was engrossed in the basketball scenes. Telfair is utterly amazing on the court, and everyone around him is drawn in to him and he repays them for it. Celebrities appear at the games he plays in, and reel in their seats, nearly jumping in utter awe at his moves. And the director plays off of their reaction using the soundtrack and great camera shots to his advantage. He involves the crowd in to the scene of this young man and lets us connect with him. His brothers, one a basketball coach, one a basketball player who didn't make the draft but went on to basketball in Greece yet poured his energy in to Sebastian, and, in a heart wrenching sub-plot, Sebastian's youngest brother who worships the ground he walks on and hopes to become like him in the future. And Hock doesn't just hog all the spotlight on Telfair.

Any hack would have focused on Sebastian and only Sebastian, but Hock explores his family, and the film never loses its charm, or appeal when it explores their lives. The question raised from beginning to end is can this guy who is intelligent, charming, charismatic, and talented keep the NBA from corrupting him and turning him in to another sports prima donna? You're on constant edge wondering this, and you have no choice but to sit, watch, and wait to see if he excels, or becomes his own worst enemy. It also explores how one can set a path for themselves and by circumstances, or ones own zeal, can lose their focus and end up losing it all in an instant.

Constantly, Hock introduces corporate elements as a factor that could spell doom for Telfair's training and personality. Sneaker companies, clothing companies, franchises all seek him out, and its his family element that must decide to keep his mind on the game or else it will all be in vain. Telfair looks like a great guy, he's not full of himself but is never afraid to gloat, he's humble, but he's also proud, and Hock knows how to pinpoint this young man's niche. But we also know he can be exploited, too, and we hope he doesn't. And when it wants to be "Through the Fire" is also an exciting look at how the game is played, but through it all you wonder of Telfair's fate, because Hock brings you close, and reminds us its not the rewards that matter, it's the journey.

SUMMING UP:
"Through the Fire" is a film for anyone seeking hope and inspiration in their endeavors, and its an excellent documentary in the spirit of "Hoop Dreams" with an engrossing and exciting look at working for your goals and accomplishing them win or lose.

MOVIE NOTES:

Telfair is the cousin of NBA star Stephon Marbury.

*****THE REEL DEAL: Reviewz from the Street*****

by Edwardo Jackson

BIASES: 30 (yikes!) year old black male; frustrated screenwriter who favors action, comedy, and glossy, big budget movies over indie flicks, kiddie flicks, and weepy Merchant Ivory fare

THROUGH THE FIRE (Unrated)

MOVIE BIASES: I've seen his game; it's time for the story behind the name.

MAJOR PLAYERS: Sebastian Telfair, producer/co-director Jonathan Hock (TV's "Streetball: The And 1 Mixtape Tour")

If you're a sports fan like I am, you're familiar with Sebastian Telfair. Appearing on magazine covers as a ninth grader – yes, NINTH GRADER – Telfair has spent the majority of his life in the spotlight. Unlike most coddled, pampered-since-pre-adolescence high school athletic superstars, Sebastian's story is as dramatic, engaging, and funny as anything scripted I've seen all year.

"It's like he's got a cult following. He's got a smile, he's marketable." That he is indeed. Picking up from the beginning of Sebastian's senior year, one in which the high school and pro basketball worlds hover with interest, "Through the Fire" follows the ups and downs of this personally tumultuous year. Sure, there are harder things in life than to be an extraterrestrially gifted basketball player, but in Sebastian Telfair's world, (as the saying goes) with "great power comes great responsibility." Embarking upon the goal of taking his Coney Island Lincoln High School team to an unprecedented third straight New York Public School Athletic League championship, Sebastian is beset by the problems of his own low-income, basketball-obsessed neighborhood, the expectations of his family and friends, the temptation to skip college (after signing with University of Louisville) and go pro, and the media scrutiny that comes with stardom of any ilk – always ready to tear down the pedestal for which they had built him. Underlying it all is the antagonist of Failure, a Grim Reaper who had struck his older brother Jamel Thomas by having dashed his NBA hopes when he went undrafted on Draft Night, lurking in the forefront of Sebastian's mind to do the same to him.

"Through the Fire," a case study on society's misplaced values of sports, celebrity, material wealth, and capitalism, is a film that's hard not to like. Hock, and his ubiquitous cinematographer Alastair Christopher (TV's "Streetball"), seemingly blanket Sebastian everywhere, capturing the true big business that has molested the fictitious sanctity of "amateur" high school sports. Hock and Christopher follow Sebastian from practice to personal appearances, eavesdrop on legal tightroping discussions between Sebastian and shoe company executives, and go on the road with Sebastian's high school team, which is also awash in Telfair's t-shirt-making, sweaty sock-autographing, demographically universal cult of celebrity. No doubt able to afford clearances for such Roc-a-Fella music as Jay-Z's "Moment of Clarity" (GREAT opening music and sequence for the movie) due to the mutual fandom between the rapper and the teenage basketball star, "Fire" uses only the best of urban hip hop around the time of the movie's filming, the 2003-2004 basketball season. While most of the footage is high definition handheld, the camerawork is extremely steady and informative, never distracting.

With a cast of characters so real, who needs fiction? If it isn't the unapologetic materialism of Telfair's brother/assistant coach Daniel Turner, then it's the equally unapologetic bravado of baby-faced head coach Dwayne "Tiny" Morton entertaining you. Jamel Thomas provides stern, loving leadership over his brother's career from afar, whether its spiriting Sebastian off to Greece where he plays pro ball to help him train or vetoing Sebastian's desire for tattoos as bad for his image ("Clean, happy, smilin' all the time, nice teeth…That's him.")

And that IS him. Fairly egoless for a basketball phenom (despite being the all time New York State scoring leader, in the McDonald's All-American game, the point guard tries to set an ASSISTS record), Sebastian Telfair, with his great, ridiculous smile, clean-shaven, boyish good looks, and true leadership spirit, is a wildly charismatic persona that the camera simply adores. It's a two-way love affair: Who knew Telfair was so damn funny (on a trip to the Oklahoma State Capitol, in session, he remarks, "I'm not used to being around people with jobs")? When not playing natural comedian, he takes on the personal challenges of leadership and accountability very seriously, willing his team on to victory on several occasions. Knowing full well that "Everybody starts, nobody finishes when it comes to basketball" in hoops-crazed Coney Island, Sebastian takes the business of basketball very seriously, as he puts the wooing shoe companies through their paces while evaluating the difficult decision to go to college or turn pro. To you or me, that's not much of a decision – Telfair will eventually make it to the NBA, right? Well tell that to his brother Jamel, who did the so-called right thing and went to college for four years, even leading the Big East Conference in scoring at Providence College, yet ended up undrafted and forced to earn his roundball living overseas.

Although several similarly compelling stories war for attention in this movie, at heart, it's a story about two brothers, brothers in blood, brothers in talent, brothers in dreams. The interaction between the two of them, despite the younger one being the most talented, is protective, touching, and a tad businesslike. As if it were his own career in the balance, Jamel's fierce protection of Sebastian's image, exposure, mentality, and leadership is one of the more quietly moving relationships I've seen onscreen all year. In fact, the way the whole family and community rallies around Sebastian, not merely as one of their own who can make it, but also as a guy that they genuinely LIKE, goes a long way toward exploding stereotypes of hood behavior.

On the flip side, innocuously if not inadvertently, "Through the Fire" is an indictment on the failure of opportunity in capitalism. When a Coney Island native (truthfully) attests that "There would be nothing out here" without basketball, an activity that keeps kids in the community occupied and safe, what does that say about socioeconomic opportunities – and expectations – of young black men? Should the sportswear company wooing process be allowed to begin so early, with shoe companies sending dozens of boxes of product to Sebastian's home? Even though going to college and getting an education is encouraged, can you blame Sebastian for beginning to second-guess his decision when a shooting happens in his projects building? Is it worth it to keep his family in relative squalor while his precious gift could be taken away at any moment or, worse, go unrewarded like his brother's? And why is it that money and the prospect of having money, should bring out the most ghetto fabulous reactions out of people who've never had any? With Jazy-Z, Derek Jeter, and Spike Lee sitting courtside at his HIGH SCHOOL games, who and what defines celebrity? Why is it that old, white men in the South can embrace a young black man like Sebastian on the basketball court but most likely wouldn't want him marrying his daughter off of it?

In order to answer all of these latent – and blatant – questions, that would, of course, require a whole other movie. By wisely choosing to hone in on Sebastian's dream of going pro, the filmmakers have crafted an experience of surprising resonance and emotion that had my screening partner– yep – CRYING at the end of this documentary. Primed to pick up the critically lauded baton from "Hoop Dreams," "Through the Fire" is a complete movie, a cinematic happening that has left me buzzing ever since I've seen it. And it's all because of the indomitable personality, humor, and charisma of a Coney Island kid with the megawatt smile.

With a family full of personalities, including tangential links to his decade older cousin, New York Knicks player cousin Stephon Marbury, it's no surprise that the Telfair family mantra, Rod Tidwell-like ("Show me the moneyyyyy!"), is "The lights are ON!" The lights ARE on. Thanks to Sebastian and the Hock Films crew for allowing us to revel in its, and HIS, glare.

@@@@ REELS

(FOUR REELS)

An urban legend/instant classic.

© 2005, Edwardo Jackson