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COCAINE COWBOYS
Directed by: Billy Corben.
Produced by: Corben & Alfred Spellman.
Director of Photography: Armando Salas.
Edited by: Corben & David Cypkin.
Music by: Jan Hammer.
Released by: Magnolia Pictures.
Country of Origin: USA. 118 min. Rated: R.

The gruesome and tragic documentary Cocaine Cowboys feels so wrongheaded. Though uncovering the cocaine wars of the 1970s and ‘80s that simultaneously ravaged South Florida and established it as a major economic center, it plays like a bloody, gore-filled episode of TV’s Miami Vice crossed with a sickeningly twisted COPS rerun. No matter how entertainingly morbid, it does a great injustice to the gravity of the real-life crimes by largely, and perhaps inadvertently, glamorizing criminals, particularly drug smugglers Jon Roberts and Mickey Munday, who serve as “bad-boy” anti-heroes. Although Miami crime writer Edna Buchanan and police sergeant Al Singleton are among those who offer a perspective of the victims of the lucrative drug trade, they are more a Greek chorus to the accounts by the convicted criminals.

In its first moments, the doc depicts the 1979 Dadeland Mall massacre, the opening salvo of the turf war between Cuban and Colombian drug traffickers, through a montage of stock footage and news clips. Set to a tacky synthesizer score by original Miami Vice composer Jan Hammer, this technique is used to the point that it becomes difficult to distinguish between the authentic crime scenes and the graphics and stills used for dramatic effect. This obvious flaw becomes acute as the stories get wilder, from the human toll of the wars (single-handedly responsible for South Florida’s precipitously high homicide rate) to its effect on the region’s economy (transforming it from a retirement backwater into a thriving, internationally known hot spot) and even to the skyline-enhancing renovations and construction projects (financed by drug money). Overall, it is Roberts (a Republican contributor), Munday, and hit man Jorge “Rivi” Ayala’s firsthand accounts of the atrocities by the deranged Griselda Blanco (aka “The Godmother” or “The Black Widow”) that incredulously stand out.

The facts fly by so fast that they are not the point. The pervasive wrongdoing is. It is interesting how this cynically minded doc portrays the corruption with such naiveté. As Roberts puts it, “Everybody has a price.” Maybe because of the former drug runners’ accessibility, the overall result is more a lionization of their criminal activity than an exposé. Aren’t their smooth sound bytes doubtful? Don’t they or Ayala feel remorse at the number of lives lost? Instead of these genuine concerns, the filmmakers have emphasized in the press notes that the film’s quick cutting feels like being high on cocaine. This approach conveys that to understand vice, one must identify with it. Reymond Levy
October 27, 2006