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Review: Al Pacino memoir ‘Sonny Boy’ goes all in with swagger, sorrow and why he skipped the ’73 Oscars

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Review: Al Pacino memoir 'Sonny Boy' goes all in with swagger, sorrow and why he skipped the '73 Oscars

As a dedicated fan of Al Pacino’s work, I must say that “Sonny Boy” has been a captivating journey through the life of an iconic actor. Pacino’s raw and honest account of his tumultuous childhood, struggles with fame, and battles in Hollywood provides a unique insight into the world of cinema.

Al Pacino spent his childhood roaming the streets of South Bronx with his pals, finding themselves in various kinds of mischief. In his recently published memoir titled “Sonny Boy,” he refers to their group as a band of cunning, adolescent wolves with sly grins. Tragically, his three closest friends, Cliffy, Bruce, and Petey, succumbed to heroin overdoses. Pacino would later channel his drug-addled existence onto the screen through his groundbreaking performance in “The Panic in Needle Park” in 1971. He is quick to acknowledge that it was art that ultimately saved him.

Throughout this discursively soulful book runs a series of interconnected questions: Why did I make it when so many others didn’t? Why can’t I just practice my craft and leave the stardom and celebrity part out of it?

“Being labeled as the one ‘most likely to succeed’ in junior high didn’t mean much to him: ‘It was just a lot of people knowing your name. Who needs that kind of attention?’ Later on, he acknowledged that handling fame could become a self-absorbed issue and perhaps it’s better not to speak about it. However, he has too much to express to remain quiet.

Review: Al Pacino memoir 'Sonny Boy' goes all in with swagger, sorrow and why he skipped the '73 Oscars

At the age of 84, Al Pacino, co-author of “Sonny Boy” with arts journalist and writer Dave Itzkoff, no longer needs to be cautious about upsetting potential employers. He openly discusses creative disagreements he experienced with directors such as Norman Jewison on “And Justice for All” and Arthur Hiller on “Author! Author!”. A caption accompanying a picture of an emotionally-charged Pacino in “Justice” reads: “I want out of this movie!

But kiss-and-tell gossip isn’t really Pacino’s métier. He comes across as a New York theater actor fiercely devoted to the mysteries of the craft, high on the poetry (and, for a long while, booze and drugs), and reluctant to embrace the high profile that followed the star-making success of “The Godfather” in 1972. Never terribly practical, he walked away from movies for a few years in the ’80s — “I began to question the very essence of what I was doing and why I was doing it” — and went broke in 2011, writing, “I had fifty million dollars, and then I had nothing.”

Due to his widespread recognition from numerous film roles, it’s as if you can hear him delivering these lines in characteristically Pacino fashion – be it the honest cop from “Serpico” (1973) or the cunning real estate broker from “Glengarry Glen Ross” (1992). This is one reason we are drawn to movie stars, even those who prefer different careers. We feel like we have a connection with them. Pacino’s extensive body of excellent work, spanning classics like the “Godfather” movies, “Dog Day Afternoon” (1975), “Scarface” (1983), “Sea of Love” (1989), “The Insider” (1999) and “The Irishman” (2019), makes reading “Sonny Boy” feel like stepping into a chronicle of American cinema over the past half-century.

As a film enthusiast, I find myself yearning for more insight into certain cinematic gems that have left an indelible impact on me. For instance, Michael Mann’s “The Insider,” a masterpiece I believe stands among the greatest films of the past fifty years, seems to be overlooked in many discussions. Similarly, David Mamet’s “Glengarry Glen Ross” appears to receive less attention than it deserves. C’mon Al, Always Be Closing, as they say in the world of sales, but in this case, I’d say Always Be Appreciating these undeniably powerful works of art.

However, what makes “Sonny Boy” captivating is its quirky character of Sonny, and the unique tone of the book showcases a successful partnership between Pacino and Itzkoff. In fact, it’s Pacino who first acknowledges Itzkoff in his thanks, expressing that his substantial aid and determination encouraged him to take paths he wouldn’t have otherwise explored.

These pages hold sadness stemming from Pacino’s mostly absent father and deeply depressed mother, loss of childhood friends, and the hardships and unpredictability of his upbringing in poverty. There is also a spark of awakening, like when a theater group visited Pacino’s preferred cinema at age 15 to perform Chekhov’s “The Seagull,” igniting a passion within him. As Pacino puts it, “Chekhov became my companion.” Known for his habit of wandering the streets of New York, Pacino would often shout his favorite theatrical soliloquies aloud.

Reflecting on the tragic demise of my friends due to drug overdose, I find myself questioning, “Why was I spared? Why am I still breathing when they’re not? Was it just a matter of chance? Was it fate, or was it the hand of Chekhov or Shakespeare?” However, in another context, when asked why I succeeded while others didn’t by aspiring actors, I simply respond, “I had to. You wanted to.

If industry-related chatter appeals to you, Pacino attempts to comply. In his recent musings, he shares an age-old gossip, suggesting he skipped the 1973 Oscars due to being nominated for ‘The Godfather’ in the supporting actor category instead of the lead one. However, he proposes a less complicated reason: fear. “This sheds light on the detachment I felt when I ventured to Hollywood,” he writes. It could also clarify why he didn’t secure his first (and only) Oscar until 1993 for ‘Scent of a Woman,’ where his performance was far from his best (he has been nominated nine times). He discusses his numerous romantic liaisons in Hollywood, which included Jill Clayburgh, Tuesday Weld, Diane Keaton, and Marthe Keller. Pacino openly admits to being a compulsive workaholic, a trait that hasn’t served him well beyond the camera and stage. Nevertheless, he portrays himself as a dedicated father to his three children.

“Theater people are vagabonds, wandering gypsies,” he writes. “We are people on the run.” And for all of his movie stardom, Pacino makes it clear that he is, at heart, a theater person. The two-time Tony Award winner is an artist who happens to have the career of a celebrity. He makes a convincing case for himself as an outsider who crashed the party, driven forward by the work above all. Is this a self-serving portrayal? Perhaps. But most celebrity memoirs are. At least “Sonny Boy” is also shot through with what certainly feels like self-deprecating honesty to go with the well-worn Pacino swagger.

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2024-10-12 17:31

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