Pacino's Way

Unlike De Niro, cineastes have been kinder to Pacino. According to our wonderful friends on Fametracker, which, sadly, is still on hiatus, the reason for that is simple. Read on:

How many actors of Pacino's stature still work so hard to entertain you? Wait a second -- how many actors are there of Pacino's stature, period? Only three Method giants survived the '70s unhobbled: Pacino, De Niro, and Duvall. All inarguably brilliant, each now following his own path. For Duvall, that means writing, directing, and starring in his own small, interesting films, such as The Apostle (with the occasional paycheque cameo in Gone in 60 Seconds). For De Niro, that means Rocky and Bullwinkle -- i.e., a long and leisurely retirement spent doing the same tics and twitches in about fourteen films a year, his rent-a-behind now firmly situated on his laurels.

Pacino, however, is working harder than ever. He works so hard, he spits. Think about it -- he's actually ramped up the energy since he started. His breakout role was as the near-somnambulant Michael Corleone, a guy who barely raised his voice. Fifteen years later, the older Pacino was tearing through every part like the hyperactive love child of the Tasmanian Devil and Cosmo Kramer.

I, for one, continue to hold out the hope that precisely because he works so hard, eventually good old Al will eventually come around to producing quality stuff. Till then, we ought to sit back and relax. He might not be hitting a very high percentage, but one of the hardest working actors of his generation remains one of the singular entertainment acts of all time. Let me leave you, therefore with another excerpt from our sadly inactive friends at Fametracker:

One of the more curious footnotes to the career of Al Pacino is that he was offered, and turned down, the part of Han Solo in 1977's Star Wars.

Now take a moment to imagine this: the young, pouchy-eyed Pacino reclining in the captain's seat of the Millennium Falcon, enjoying a moment with Chewie. Or the young, pouchy-eyed Pacino shouting "Hoo-wah!" as he zips like a frenetic elf up the ramp of the Falcon, trading blaster shots with attacking stormtroopers. Or the young, pouchy-eyed Pacino flying in like the cavalry in the film's climactic battle and, just before sending Vader's TIE fighter spinning madly into space, screaming, "Shay jello to my wittle vrend!"

Now, we're not saying that this would have been a better movie. But it sure would have been a more interesting one.

Which, really, is the best thing you can say about the very, very great Al Pacino. Or this: If you had to choose the films of one modern actor, and only one, to take with you into desert-island exile, whose oeuvre would you choose?

We submit Al Pacino. Here, you get cinematic art (the first two Godfathers; Dog Day Afternoon); you get high quality, high-satisfaction treats (Glengarry, Glen Ross, The Insider, Donnie Brasco) and you get delicious, delirious cheese (Scarface, The Devil's Advocate, City Hall). What more do you and your volleyball companion need? And, though we haven't seen every single Al Pacino movie, we are confident in asserting this: There's not a boring frame among them.

Enjoy!