I wrote Miami Noir out of a deep respect for storytelling that lingers in shadow — the kind we used to see in the early days of film, where mood, mystery, and character mattered more than spectacle. There’s a nostalgia in that — a kind of cinematic honesty we don’t see enough of anymore.
But more than just a throwback, this story is personal. I’ve always admired dance, especially Latin dance, for its precision, elegance, and emotional power — everything I struggle with, yet deeply admire. It's not just movement, it's truth in motion. In this film, dance isn’t just a backdrop — it’s a language, a metaphor for intimacy, control, freedom, and misunderstanding.
At its heart, Miami Noir is about perception. About how we see each other — and how wrong we often are. It speaks to what happens when people assume the worst because they don't understand your world. I’ve lived that. Many have. Not every secret is a betrayal. Sometimes, it’s just a truth too complex to explain.
So yes, I love entertaining — but I made this film to remind people that style can serve substance, that nostalgia can still say something new, and that sometimes the most important stories are the ones hiding in plain sight.