Aubrey MaloneManglehorn (12A)
Long years of living alone – and pining for Clara, a woman he loved but didn’t marry – have left Texan locksmith A.J. Manglehorn (Al Pacino) difficult to be around. Unkempt and unshaven, he lopes around his dilapidated house like a lost soul, eating junk food and dreaming of the what-might-have-beens.
His world is barren and forlorn. His marriage broke up many years ago. He’s alienated both from his wife and son. Even when he gets a positive feedback from someone, like the friendly bank teller Dawn (Holly Hunter), he ruins a date with her by harping on about Clara.
The other love of his life is his cat, Fanny. He drools over her as another person might over a child. One day Fanny swallows a key and has to have an operation to have it removed. He keeps the key as a memento. Will it also be the key to open his heart?
This is a beautiful little film about a damaged life. A.J. isn’t a bad person but he has a habit of making scenes wherever he goes. Life has dealt him a hand from the bottom of the deck and he seems to think this gives him a right to behave badly to people.
True
David Gordon Green’s direction rings unerringly true in every scene. Some of them seem dream-like, even incantatory. A car crash has surreal overtones. A mime artist on a trampoline seems like an emanation of Manglehorn’s subconscious.
A man comes to the bank one day holding a flower and starts singing a negro spiritual song. Instead of ushering him out, a member of staff joins in. The fact that we don’t bat an eyelid is a testament to the amazing world Green has built up for us. It’s extraordinary in its ordinariness.
The general mood of the film is mesmeric. Pacino’s hoarse voice as he reads out his (unanswered) letters to Clara remind you of Tom Waits growling out one of his bittersweet melodies. The film itself is like a country-and-western song about a star-crossed lover and his dog – or cat. (Only one scene disappointed me: the unnecessarily graphic one of the cat’s operation.)
Pacino has rarely been better, coming so soon after Danny Collins, a film in which he was suaveness personified, it’s a total metamorphosis to the blue collar world of Manglehorn. No matter. It’s a transition this chameleon star could make in his sleep. He hasn’t been this earthy since Scarecrow, a film most of you probably haven’t seen (and I recommend you do). An almost unrecognisable Hunter is also excellent as the lonely eccentric with sunshine in her eyes.
Manglehorn ends on an upbeat note. I felt the tone changed a little too suddenly for comfort from the foregoing grimness but few will quibble with this. After 90 minutes of existentialist fare we probably deserved it.
Cinema needs more films like this with its gentle nudge towards emotional regeneration.
****
Excellent