Manglehorn (2015)

Originally published July 16, 2015 on FrontRowCentral.com

If ever you were hunting for a film in which Al Pacino plays a sad old cat lady, Manglehorn is the film for you.

In actuality, the latest from director David Gordon Green is a fairly straightforward film, and while the story loses steam well before its 97 minutes are up, the star of the show absolutely does not disappoint. This is a film worth seeking out, if only for the sight of Al Pacino fussing over his sick cat. Trust me, it’s more affecting that it sounds.

As the film opens, we meet Angelo Manglehorn (Al Pacino), a lonely old man working as a locksmith by day, and tending to his cat by night. During the course of his day, we learn that he constantly writes letters to a woman named Clara. He’s still pining after the one that got away, to the detriment of every other relationship in his life. The film him on a series of encounters that conspire to shake him out of his crotchety, isolated routine. Leading the charge to keep Manglehorn in the world are Dawn (Holly Hunter), a bank teller clearly smitten with him, and Gary (Harmony Korine), a former protégé who badgers his old mentor into joining him for parties and checking out his new tanning salon.

Just from that summary, you can probably guess that this is one of those “slice of life” pieces where plot takes a deep backseat to character development. Paul Logan’s screenplay (his feature debut) doesn’t follow any prescribed formula for how these characters and their lives shake out, which finds them in some uneasy places in the latter half of the story. For as heavily as the film emphasizes the sights and sounds of this man’s world — bees swarming around his mailbox, breakdancers competing in the park — it occasionally feels like Green is forced to fill in certain gaps with images of his own design. The structure of his encounters feels episodic, particularly those involving Gary. He pops in to butter our main character up, but I get the feeling his only real purpose is to show that no matter how bad Manglehorn may seem, there are always worse people lurking just out of sight.

Don’t look now, but there’s a metaphor behind you.


Green gives his star plenty of room to do his thing, though, and with that sort of freedom Pacino delivers one of his best performances in years. His Manglehorn is a complicated individual. He’s gregarious and kind in public when he needs to be, but one-on-one, his people skills leave a bit to be desired. (And I suddenly realize I just described half a dozen people I know, including myself.) Earlier, I joked that he’s basically a cat lady, and it’s more true that you might guess. Pacino spends a good deal of his screen-time talking to his cat, even when there’s no cat in the scene. He treats it like a fragile child, talking softly and being ever so delicate. It’s a bit of a shocker to see this kind of performance from a guy who shouted and “Hoo-aah”’d his way through most of the last two decades. You know, it’s nice to see and old pro remind you that he’s still got it.

As the centerpiece of the film, it’s a lovely performance that never ventures over the top. It’s a shame, then, that the film affords Pacino so little to actually do. While Manglehorn’s emotional journey is satisfying in its own right, the script is just thin enough for it to ultimately seem kind of trite. His tentative courtship with Dawn is by far the most effective piece of the puzzle (and Holly Hunter shines opposite Pacino), but scenes between Manglehorn and his son (Chris Messina) provide next to nothing to the overall picture. It turns out Manglehorn, Jr. is a more successful businessman than his father, but also twice as much of a grump. Harry Chapin wrote a song about that once, not that either of these characters have ever heard it.

The seeds for a more affecting story are littered throughout this picture, and it’s disappointing that Green and Pacino couldn’t harvest something more out of them. Manglehorn ultimately becomes something of a one-man show. While I’d argue that Al Pacino’s portrait of a late bloomer is worth the price of admission, it would be much easier to recommend this one if there were a little more substance backing him up.

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