Film Review: DANNY COLLINS

Danny, giving his fans what they came for. 

Finding something on Netflix that isn't a frothy rom-com, a grisly horror movie, a documentary about a heinous murder or something starring Jennifer Lopez is a daunting task. Last night I almost gave up but then stumbled on Danny Collins, a star-studded movie released in 2015 that sounded interesting. Turned out it was. Starring Al Pacino, Bobby Cannavale, Anette Bening, Jennifer Garner and Christopher Plummer, and directed by Dan Fogelman (This Is Us, Only Murders In the Building), it's a funny/sad/quirky comedy/drama that almost defies description, but I'll try.

Pacino plays Danny, a fading superstar who's still raking in the dough from sold-out concerts filled with aging fans, married to a girl one-third his age who cheats on him with the pool boy, and hates his life. Sick of filling his empty soul with booze and drugs, Danny has an epiphany when he learns that a letter from Beatle John Lennon written to him eons ago, inviting him to get in touch, never reached him. Stunned, Danny realizes how different things might have been if he had gotten it! 

Deciding it's not too late to start over and do good, he tracks down the adult son (Bobby Cannavale) he fathered with a one-night stand 35 years ago and never met. As one might expect, Danny's flashy arrival at his son's middle-class New Jersey suburb is not met with open arms. But soon enough Fate steps in and makes all things possible.

Pacino's over-the-top performance as a buffoonish, drug-fueled lounge-lizard is as far from The Godfather's Michael Corleone as one could get, making it clear that he is one of our greatest actors of all time. Transformed by love and an adorable granddaughter, Danny's
good heart comes to the surface. By the last scene, I needed tissues.