The Search Goes On: De Niro and Pacino

My good friend Ella Ampongan mailed me an article in the Los Angeles Times which chronicles the thespic fall from grace of both Robert De Niro and Al Pacino. Now, much like many Filipinos' morbid fascination with vehicular accidents, the descent, by two of the finest actors of their generation, into crass commercialism and unbearably ponderous vanity projects, is something I can't stop writing about. Before I embarrass myself by asking if longtime readers of this blog remember the times when I lamented the fate which these fine gentlemen seem to be hurling themselves to, let me just move on and provide links to fellow cineastes who can't help themselves as well. Here's an oldie on from the wonderful people at Fametracker on Robert De Niro:

When did Robert De Niro stop acting? And when did he start saying yes to everything?

Granted, he's never terrible. In fact, that seems to be his biggest problem. He can show up, do his schtick (the squinting, the shrugging, the head bobbing from side to side), collect his check, and head home.

But when was the last time he surprised you? We don't mean surprised by his choice of role - as in, "De Niro's in Rocky & Bullwinkle !?!?!? Really!?!?!" - but surprised by what he did with the part.

Sam Rothstein in Casino was just an echo of Jimmy Conway in Goodfellas -- which was itself an echo of better work in Raging Bull and The Godfather Part II. Ditto for his parts in Cop Land, Heat, and Jackie Brown. He was intense as Dwight Hansen, the menacing stepdad in This Boy's Life, but hardly revelatory. How about Max Cady, the tattooed psycho in Cape Fear? Or maybe Stanley of Stanley & Iris?

Folks, those roles were more than ten years and twenty-five films ago. Yes, you read that right. Twenty-five films.

Or have you forgotten Backdraft, Sleepers, Night and the City, Mad Dog and Glory, Analyze This (and, while you're at it, That) Heat, The Fan, Great Expectations, Men of Honor, Meet the Parents, 15 Minutes --

15 Minutes (!?!) --

The Score, Ronin, Showtime --

Showtime (!!?!!)

City by the Sea, Godsend, and, finally, the just-opened Shark Tale.

Excuse us. We need to sit down and catch our breath.

It's some kind of testament to De Niro's -- what? Longevity? Reputation? Savvy? Greed? -- that he's managed to make more bad movies in the last decade than most actors have made movies, period. And we know what you're thinking: Those movies weren't terrible, with the exception of Showtime, 15 Minutes, and a few others. Meet the Parents? Funny. Heat? Thrilling-ish. Ronin? Downright serviceable.

Yes, sure, fine. We concede that. We like to see an urn full of someone's mom's ashes smashed in the fireplace and then sniffed at by a fuzzy cat as much as anyone.

But don't you remember when Robert De Niro showing up in a movie was an event? When it meant something? We're not even talking about his heyday as a live wire in the '70s, when he crackled with such committed intensity that he fried every other actor on the set. (Joe Pesci has a made a whole career out of the simple ability to appear onscreen with De Niro and not get sizzled to charcoal.)

We're talking about the 1980s. Hell, even the early '90s. We're talking about a time not that long ago. Back when you'd hear about a film like, say, The Untouchables, and think, "Hmmm." Then you'd hear De Niro was playing Capone -- and packing on the pounds and shaving back his hairline to do it -- and you'd think, "Hey! De Niro! Now that's the stamp of quality!"

Robert De Niro is no longer the stamp of quality.

There's something undeniably ironic about the fact that a generation's most famously committed actor -- the guy who got fat for Raging Bull, the guy who'd self-inflict any physical degradation in the name of his beloved Method -- should spend his retirement as, arguably, the laziest and most formulaic movie star in Hollywood.

To Ate Cecile: yes, I realize that the picture above has nothing to do with the post. And yes, I'm doing Pacino tomorrow. Enjoy!