Long before he became a Twin Cities radiologist, way back in high school in Bemidji, Benjamin May was intrigued by a story about a legendary basketball player whose life imploded due to drug addiction. The player, Lloyd "Swee' Pea" Daniels, was regarded as one of the best young players in the nation in the 1980s, but he had faded into obscurity.

A few years ago, May began to seek more information about Daniels. There was a book by John Valenti, "Swee' Pea and Other Playground Legends,'' which had gone out of print, but nothing more.

"I couldn't believe nobody had done a documentary film on him," said May. "He was made for a documentary."

May's wife, Annemarie Lawless, an adjunct professor of English at the University of Minnesota, had an idea for her husband: Do it yourself.

"I had never picked up a camera," said May. Yet he persevered, with the help of his wife and a crew, and directed a documentary that has gotten praise at several film festivals.

In a phone call after ­showing his documentary, "The Legend of Swee' Pea," in Colorado, May talked about the improbable journey that brought him into the fascinating but troubled world of Daniels, revisiting the tattered New York basketball courts where Daniels had astounded pro scouts, as well as the drug dens where he bought crack cocaine.

"It really opened up a whole different world," said May, 42. " I love my job in radiology, but you have to have a passion outside your job. When making a documentary about someone, you learn so much about yourself and about life, and about what you value. The hardest part was having the courage or recklessness to get started."

May reached out to ­Daniels through a magazine editor and found out he was interested in doing the movie. May raised $53,000 through a Kickstarter campaign, then got another $50,000 grant from the ­McKnight Foundation. After dozens of trips to film in New York and Las Vegas, May got money to finish the documentary from NBA superstar Carmelo Anthony.

The result is a compelling story about a complicated and contradictory man who is blessed with amazing physical skills but who is also haunted by demons. It's clear early on in the movie that Daniels' story is not over; May included phone recordings of Daniels begging the director for money and threatening to take his story elsewhere.

May said he had to walk a fine line. He didn't want to exploit Daniels, but he didn't want to enable his bad behavior either. He paid for a trip to Las Vegas to visit the home where Daniels, then the nation's top recruit for the nation's top team, University of Nevada Las Vegas, was busted for crack. May said the filmmakers also helped out Daniels' daughter, who is in college.

Daniels didn't see the movie until it premiered at the DOC NYC festival in November. May said Daniels cried during the movie and had to leave a couple of times. But after the movie ended, Daniels came up on stage and said, "Good job, Ben, I trust you now," according to an article in Newsday. "You just have to see where somebody's heart's at. Ben's a good guy."

May said Daniels' life story was begging to be told.

"He's really charismatic, you really like him right away," May said. "You can also sense that he's always looking for an angle, there is always a hustle going on."

It's not surprising given that others tried to use Daniels when his basketball skills became evident. His mom died when he was a kid, and his father was an alcoholic, so he raised himself on the streets. His former high school principal said he was the only student to never earn a single credit, but because his basketball skills were compared to Magic Johnson and Larry Bird, UNLV coach Jerry Tarkanian offered Daniels a full ­scholarship.

The demons remained, however, and Daniels was busted for drugs before he played a single college game. He was later shot three times after trying to steal an $8 ball of crack.

Miraculously, Daniels got sober and began to work out. Tarkanian had become the coach of the NBA's San Antonio Spurs and gave Daniels another chance, even though he hadn't graduated from high school or played a game in college.

"He was a 25-year-old rookie with bullets in his abdomen and years of crack addiction behind him," May said. "It was astounding he made it to the NBA."

Daniels was a shadow of himself at his prime, however, and had a mediocre pro career, jumping between five teams over six years. When May caught up with him, Daniels was coaching kids basketball.

"Lloyd is a very honest person, he's not afraid of the truth," said May. "I think it was gratifying for him to see himself up on the screen, warts and all."

"You could have done a film that exploited him, or made him to be a clown, which he isn't, or you could have made it a complete redemption story, but's that's not true either," said May. "It's just a very human struggle.

jtevlin@startribune.com • 612-673-1702