Review: Danny Collins
Some things cannot be unseen. Take Al Pacino in the opening moments of Danny Collins. Coked and boozed up, skin bronzed, hair shellaced, gut girdled, the thrice-divorced, world-famous soft rock icon Danny Collins takes the stage to perform "Hey, Baby Doll," the song that secured his decades-long fame and wealth. Pacino has been a godfather, a merchant, a king, and a devil but an aging rock star? Pacino singing "Hey, Baby Doll" has to be seen to be believed, and even then...it's all levels of cringe.
One of the many pleasures of Danny Collins lies in how Pacino overcomes that cornball moment to win us over with a flamboyant and charming portrayal. One wants to resist, but resistance is futile. One can only hold up one's hands in surrender. Writer-director Dan Fogelman often comes close to undermining his actors and his own story by being too obvious with the details (particularly the soundtrack), but this is a film that succeeds precisely because it is formulaic, predictable, and sentimental with a capital S.
"Kind of based on a true story a little bit," the film takes inspiration from British folk singer Steve Tilston who, in 2005, came upon a letter written to him by John Lennon, who was responding to an interview given by the then-younger Tilston who worried that commercial success would compromise his artistry. Danny Collins receives such a letter, which is gifted to him by his longtime friend and manager Frank (Christopher Plummer). Already in a funk about the absurdity of being affianced to a woman young enough to be his granddaughter and feeling like "a court jester with a microphone," Danny wonders what would have happened if he had received Lennon's letter all those years ago. Would he have let the failure of his first album scare him into becoming a commercial sellout? Would he have kept on writing his own material? Would he have been a better man? Frank thinks Danny is just having a breakdown, but Danny knows he needs to make changes in his life. "I'm broken," Danny states, "there's nothing left to break."
After Danny cancels his personal and professional engagements, he holes himself up in a suburban New Jersey Hilton and sets himself several goals to achieve: lay off the drugs and booze, write a new song, woo the witty but wary hotel manager Mary (Annette Bening), and, most importantly, reconnect with long estranged son Tom (Bobby Cannavale). Time is spent with Tom's heavily pregnant wife Samantha (Jennifer Garner), who empathises with Danny's attempt at reconciliation but makes it clear in no uncertain terms that it was Danny and Danny alone who created the situation he now has to repair. As lovely as Garner is in that scene, it is wholly unnecessary because the minute Cannavale walks in, the look in his eyes tells you everything you need to know about the hurt, bitterness, and resentment that helped shape Tom into a decent and upstanding family man. "I've spent my entire life trying to become the man you aren't. I am exhausted," he tells Danny and Cannavale makes that exhaustion palpable. Cannavale's entrance is one of his moments in the film, a moment he immediately surpasses when Tom takes his hyperactive young daughter into his arms and begins to calm her down. Cannavale is terrific, compartmentalising his love for his daughter and hatred for his father.
Danny Collins has its moments of mawkishness (that ending) and narrative lapses (Danny's back-to-basics show), but they are superseded by moments of genuine heart and feeling. The cast is top-notch. Bening brings back the minxish radiance that she brought to the screen when she appeared in Postcards From the Edge, Valmont, and The Grifters. The great Christopher Plummer delights, most especially in his dry as ice delivery of the line, "This is my second time in New Jersey in two months. I am not happy about that."
Danny Collins
Directed by: Dan Fogelman
Written by: Dan Fogelman
Starring: Al Pacino, Annette Bening, Jennifer Garner, Bobby Cannavale, Christopher Plummer, Josh Peck, Melissa Benoist, Gisele Eisenberg, Katarina Cas, Nick Offerman
