This is, of course, what you get when you hire actors. My main complaint is that Clarke Peters didn't get more time and presence, but when you have Bob Hoskins taking center stage, I will forgive even such an egregious error. It's not a feminist gangster noir, but it's still got empathy for queer sex workers--if this were a cop story, they'd be expendable dumpster-filler. Here, they're at least people. Hoskins treats everyone with his gruff compassion, so the patronization feels a little less patronizing and the embarrassing love story feels like a critique of men's fantasies. Hoskins takes the role and makes it human in a way that emphasizes that despite the occasional cliche, this is a personal story, not a weapon of superficial representation (and this, nearly 40 years ago--don't talk to me about "but it was a different time"). It has a proletarian feel that suggests that its lack of judgment for those on the fringes of capitalist society is the point, that the goal is to see them as something more than. The politics of it--bosses are monsters--checks out.
