Just last week this column trotted out the movie industry’s defense — post-Colorado “Batman” shootings — that films don’t influence actual behavior. Now along comes “7 Días en La Habana (7 Days in Havana),” a raucous compendium film that features scene after simmering scene of people getting righteously hammered on shots of the local firewater, good old Cuban rum. Did I mention that one of the film’s main backers was Havana Club International?

So why was it I felt like hopping on a plane and heading over to La Habana for some of that tasty late-night action, where every bar boasts impeccably faded 1950s retro ambience, and the ripe chicas are shimmying sultrily as round after round of rum shots flow over the bar?

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