Chances are that if you grew up in a Latin American country in the 1980s to ‘90s, then you know of Walter Mercado. The famous Puerto Rican astrologer was omnipresent in television for decades, and he also set a standard replicated by many other TV personalities. His template was easy to follow, but no one else among the “astrology experts” has achieved the same level of his international fame and enduring celebrity, and not only in Latin America—he was even interviewed by Howard Stern.

Sometimes Mercado appeared in short sections on TV shows (usually news or morning shows). On other occasions, he hosted special programs. He read the tarot cards, made global predictions, and conducted a roll call of each zodiac sign while offering positive messages. (He always said goodbye with a catchphrase, wishing “happiness, peace, and above all much, much love”).

All this was just the tip of the iceberg because what made Mercado so unforgettable was his theatricality. You didn’t have to believe in astrology to be fascinated by this unusual, flamboyant, and androgynous man. A suitable comparison would be if Liberace preached about a destiny sealed by the stars instead of playing the piano. Even so, it’s hard to categorize the astrologer. You got to see him to understand. Walter Mercado was an original.

Mucho Mucho Amor: The Legend of Walter Mercado is officially the first artistic exploration of Mercado’s life and the international phenomenon he represented. The documentary functions as a detailed biography about a showman who found in astrology a vehicle of faith and expression. It also provides a moving portrait of the last year of his life after more than a decade of unexplained retirement.

For many, the film will be a chance to learn what happened to Mercado after his disappearance from television. His name was in the news again a few months ago with the announcement of his death (November 2, 2019), so watching this film now will feel like a reunion with a dear old friend. That’s how Lin-Manuel Miranda remembers Mercado before finally meeting him in person for the first time, a standout moment for the documentary.

Miranda and Mercado profess mutual admiration with tenderness and humility, so it’s an important moment for both when one of them is a revered artist and the other is a former star who needs reminding that his legacy hasn’t been forgotten. For Miranda, it means feeling again like a child who watched the astrologer alongside his grandmother. This specific experience is probably a memory that Latin Americans will share (including me). Today it’s hard not to be more critical and think of Mercado as a sophist, even an impostor, but his charm transcends that. His combination of oratory and performance is something that never ceases to mesmerize.

Maybe there is a wasted opportunity for the film to challenge the official story behind Mercado and reflect to what extent his work was more about spectacle than real faith. I’m not implying that Mercado didn’t believe in what he preached—and the documentary is very persuasive that he did. However, Mucho Mucho Amor at least dares to address two controversial subjects, which, if ignored, would have diminished the entire documentary tremendously as mere promotion for the Mercado estate.

One delicate matter is the eternal discussion about Mercado’s sexuality. He was an easy joke, constantly mocked in the eyes of homophobic Latin American society, though he never publicly came out (he remained ambiguous about the subject). One gay activist in the film remembers an old saying: “Lo que se ve, no se pregunta” (what you see, you don’t ask), meaning it’s extremely obvious and you don’t need clarification. Mercado’s presence (the makeup, the grandmotherly hair, the jewelry, and the flashy costumes) and effeminate gestures were a different model of masculinity that was not to be found in Latin American television, unless it was portrayed in a comedic sketch in a humiliating way. Now he is perceived as a queer symbol ahead of his time.

The other dark subject in Mercado’s history is the years of forced absence in television (before his actual retirement) after signing a contract where he transferred the rights to his work, name, and likeness to Bill Bakula, an entrepreneur he loved as a son. For years, Mercado wasn’t legally able to use his own name publicly or appear on television. According to many, this sad situation started the progressive deterioration of his health. He won back his rights and retired from the public eye until a final appearance last year at a HistoryMiami Museum exhibit, which honored his legacy, a few months before his death from natural causes at age 87. The event is a triumphal moment for a unique icon in Latin American pop culture.

Walter Mercado has aroused interest for new generations, whether in the form of a meme or as an early example of gender-fluidity and nonbinary sexuality on television. Mucho Mucho Amor is an exhilarating, funny, and rewarding biography, and a much-deserved fond tribute.