A lyrical hymn to the mundane lives of Cubans after the revolution, Fernando Perez's "Suite Habana" aspires to the poetic but falls short because of a lack of dynamism. To the Cuban director's credit, his impressionistic verite documentary is a departure from the romantic tourista vision of Cuba, in which 1950s American jalopies make their way through narrow streets and palm trees sway in the tropical breeze, as a Latin beat pulses on the soundtrack. But a vital component of poetry, visual or written, is rhythm and "Suite" would have benefited from variation in its pacing, though it does pick up momentum in the last 30 minutes. Rep houses, cinematheques and Spanish language television are possible venues.

The action starts at dawn as Perez follows 10 ordinary denizens of Havana through a typical day. It begins promisingly enough with a young man peddling his bicycle through the streets with a pair of high heels strapped to the handlebars. Details of life are revealed in keenly observed small moments and the camera occasionally lingers on exquisite images. Caught in deadening, repetitive jobs, these people lead lives of quiet desperation with poverty and monotony their constant companions. It's a subtle indictment of Castro's regime that electric fans are the great equalizer.

In Perez's portrait, Cuba is a land of thwarted hopes and dreams that are deferred if not entirely denied. A young man longs to go to the U.S.; a child with Down's syndrome yearns to fly; and an elderly woman, who sells peanuts on the street to supplement her meager existence, confesses she "dreams no more."

Unfortunately, Perez doesn't adequately flesh out or give dimension to the people he has chosen. We watch what they do, but don't have access to what they feel and think. There is sparse dialogue and no narration. Bits of tantalizing biography that give insight into the characters are revealed only at the very end. One wishes this is where "Suite" had started.

What Perez does convey effectively is languid atmosphere: One can almost feel the humidity hang in the air and see the stream rise off the rutted, crowded streets. Dilapidated buildings retain vestiges of their former grandeur and old appliances in disrepair most likely will stay that way. Getting things fixed or changed requires wading through a numbing, inefficient bureaucracy, which drains people of initiative.

Shot on video and bumped up to 35 mm, the film looks remarkably good. A couple of beauty shots of the ocean crashing into the sea wall and the coastal promenade lit up at night are faint reminders that this crumbling paradise was once flush with luxury hotels and a haven for sensualists and high rollers.