Dito Montiel

Dito Montiel, born smack in the middle of New York City, July 1965—man, that city runs in his veins. Anybody who’s ever seen “A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints” (2006) knows there’s no way you could fake that kind of gritty, lived-in honesty. Montiel’s stories? They’re raw, messy, kind of beautiful in their chaos. The dude doesn’t shy away from the ugly parts—he embraces ‘em, lays them out for you, no apologies. You watch his stuff and you get hit with this wave of nostalgia and regret, like you’re holding a shoebox of old photos you can’t put down, even though they sting a bit. Then there’s “Boulevard” (2014), where he flips the focus, digging into this heartbreakingly quiet unraveling of a life that got stuck somewhere along the way. He just has this way of pulling complicated, real people out of the shadows and shining a harsh, sometimes loving, sometimes brutal light on them. Honestly, it’s kind of relentless. But it’s honest. The city’s always there—New York itself feels like a character in his films, lurking around every corner, unpredictable and alive. And now with “Riff Raff” (2024), you just know he’s not letting up. Montiel’s not interested in sugarcoating anything for you; he’s serving up slices of life that are loud, awkward, sometimes hilarious, and often a little painful. He’s the guy you’d trust with your weirdest childhood secret, because he’d get it—he probably lived it. If you’re looking for slick, forget it. Montiel’s movies are for people who like their stories with a heartbeat, flaws and all.