Agusti Villaronga’s adjustment of a praised “grimy realist” novel takes viewers on an immersively obscene voyage through Old Havana.
A lady is lethally shocked, her upset child bounced to his passing, an elderly witness kicks the bucket of a heart assault, while a horndog youngster unfairly bites the bullet for the greater part of this. Furthermore, that is just in the initial five minutes of “The King of Havana,” a shamelessly torrid urban drama that will delight or repulse viewers or, perhaps, both with its forthright. up-in-your-face abundance. Adjusted from a territorially well known novel by Pedro Juan Gutierrez, Cuba’s driving light of purported “messy authenticity,” Spanish helmer Agusti Villaronga’s ready, classless film conveys the soil (in all faculties of the word) in spades.