Saturday Night at the Movies
Rich and strange: Danny Collins & Welcome to New York
By Dennis Hartley
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| Aging rocker: Pacino in Danny Collins |
Al Pacino may be one of the finest actors of his generation, but he cannot carry a tune in a bucket. Now, if you can live with that, his new vehicle Danny Collins is likely to leave you with a smile on your face, and a song in your…well, erm…with a smile on your face.
Now picture Pacino as geriatric rock star Danny Collins. Danny, whose heyday was in the 1970s, still indulges in the sex, drugs and rock’n’roll lifestyle (though he’s beginning to look a bit peaked). He makes his grand entrance in a manner akin to the protagonist of the 2013 Italian film The Great Beauty (my review), feted by well-wishers and hangers-on at a wild and decadent birthday bash being thrown in his honor. There is ample evidence that Danny has done well financially; judging by his opulent mansion, and his hot young trophy fiancée (who is currently passed-out shitfaced, on the edge of the pool).
Yet, there is Something Missing. Because all of these nifty trappings came at a steep price…his Integrity (oh, the humanity). When Danny first burst onto the scene back in the day, he was a gifted young singer-songwriter. But “gifted” doesn’t pay the bills. Eventually, he had a breakthrough hit, but it was a Neil Diamond-ish singalong that he didn’t compose. So he went the way of Elvis; becoming more of a “showman” than an “artist”. And he’s about to get the icing on this bittersweet cake. His longtime manager (Christopher Plummer) gifts him with a handwritten letter from John Lennon, praising Danny’s work and offering to mentor him. Here’s the rub: the 40 year-old note, sent c/o Danny’s first management, was never passed on to him; it was instead sold to a collector.
And so Danny’s game of “what if?” is afoot, and he hits the road sans the usual entourage (much to the chagrin of his manager, who is anxious about Danny’s upcoming string of big tour dates), in search of his long-lost Muse (ah, the luxuries of the creative class…amirite?) What ensues is a bit like Searching for Sugarman…in reverse. In that 2013 documentary, a filmmaker sets out to track down a talented American singer-songwriter who released two obscure LPs in the 70s, then dropped out of the biz. Unbeknownst to the artist, he had essentially become a superstar in South America over the decades, based solely on the two LPs (and so by default, kept his integrity). Danny, on the other hand, knows that he is a superstar, yet yearns to find and restore his integrity.
This is the directorial debut for Dan Fogelman, who also scripted. While the tonal shifts can be jarring (the curse of all “dramadies”) the affable supporting performances by Annette Bening, Jennifer Garner and Bobby Cannavale, coupled with one of Pacino’s better turns of recent years, wins the day. It doesn’t hurt to have a bevy of great Lennon tunes on the soundtrack. And as long as Al doesn’t quit his day job, our ears will be safe.
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| Alter cocker: Depardieu in Welcome to New York |
The timing of the film’s release is interesting, in light of the current banking crisis and plethora of financial scandals. From what I understand, certain elements of the story are based on the B.C.C.I. scandal. I predict this will become the new trend in screen villains-the R. Allen Stanfords and Bernie Madoffs seem heaven-sent to replace Middle-Eastern terrorists as the newest Heavies du Jour in action thrillers. You can take that to the bank.
While it is not a “action thriller” per se, Abel Ferrara’s new film, Welcome to New York, is likewise “ripped from the headlines”, involves an evil banker, and agog with backroom deals and secret handshakes. More specifically, the film is based on the Dominique Strauss-Kahn scandal. In case you need a refresher, he was the fine fellow who was accused and indicted for an alleged sexual assault and attempted rape of a maid employed by the ritzy NYC hotel he was staying at during a 2011 business trip. The case was dismissed after the maid’s credibility was brought into question (Strauss-Kahn later admitted in a TV interview that a liaison did occur, but denied any criminal wrongdoing).
I’m sure that the fact that Strauss-Kahn happened to be head of the International Monetary Fund at the time (and a front-runner in France’s 2012 presidential race) had absolutely nothing to do with him traipsing out from the sordid affair smelling like a rose.
There’s no question that Bronx native Ferrara loves New York; nearly all of the two dozen or so films to his credit have been set in the Big Apple. And like many New Yorkers, Ferrara loves a parade, which is likely why he opens his new film with a veritable parade of high-priced call girls, rotating in and out of one particular NYC hotel room in cadres of three or four at a time. Their insatiable client is one Mr. Devereaux (Gerard Depardieu), a powerful international financier. Sweaty, wheezing and boorish, he’s nobody’s dream date, but the sad fact remains…money talks, bullshit walks (bringing to mind my favorite line from Swingers: “What do you drive?”). Sometime after the revelries subside, a maid enters (thinking the room unoccupied), and encounters our apparently still frisky Mr. Devereaux, fresh from the shower. Ferrara cleverly (and thankfully) pulls away before we can bear witness to what happens next, but then devotes the remainder of the film dealing with the fallout from what may or may not have ensued.
This film left me feeling somewhat ambivalent; I think this is because the director seems to be ambivalent toward his subject. Not that a film inspired by a true story (especially one that so closely mirrors the details of the actual events) is required to be didactic, or a morality play, but Ferrara has taken a hyper-realistic approach that can be stultifying at times. Still, in the film’s more compelling moments, it is interesting watching the hulking Depardieu wrestle with the motivations (and what passes as the “conscience”) of his Dostoevskian character. It doesn’t make this creep any more sympathetic, but it is a fearless late-career performance, as naked (literally and emotionally) as Brando was playing a similarly loathsome study in Last Tango in Paris (not to go so far as to say that the ever-provocative Ferrara is quite in the same league as Bertolucci, mind you). It was a pleasant surprise to see Jacqueline Bisset back on the big screen (she plays Devereaux’s long-suffering wife). She’s made a graceful transition into a full-blooded performer; while perennially easy on the eye, I used to consider her wooden-but she brings more “character” to her work nowadays (funny how that works, as I get older myself…hmm).