It's apparently a retread of the original Dirty Dancing, but I've never seen that film, actually, so I got pretty caught up in the adolescent passion, which isn't just of the sexual variety but also redolent with the rebellious itch of the almost grownup to really do something with this life thing.
A treacly clone in nearly every miserable, measurable aspect of the surprise hit of 1987, Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights' one point of deviation is that where the first film delicately pranced around the issue of race in its gentile/Jew Catskills confusion, its sequel stampedes over its own blue-eyed/brown-eyed intrigue roughshod with a plodder's grace.
With Puerto Rico convincingly standing in for pre-Castro Cuba and charismatic leads who learned to dance up a storm to Afro-Cuban and Latin music, this "Dirty Dancing" stays afloat until it sinks with cliched, perfunctorily relayed ideology and an unbelievably hokey wrapup.
In the 1987 "Dirty Dancing" and 2004's Havana-set remake, the settings of the stories are virtually the same except in their particulars: A Catskills resort, a Havana hotel; pre-JFK assassination America, pre-Batista overthrow Cuba.
Not if you experienced it in 1987 watching the original "Dirty Dancing."