Danny Collins

Maybe I'm just a sucker for formidable acting, or subtle Al Pacino-in-crisis performances, or a witty, if occasionally sentimental, script, or the songs of John Lennon, but I loved "Danny Collins" and I'm not ashamed to admit it!

Fine, Pacino may not be the most believable pop/rock star (he's more Dean Martin than Neil Diamond). And the film may feel more '80's throwback than current/trendy in approach and style (I'm guessing that was deliberate). But it works.

So why do I begin my review on the defensive? Well, I had a feeling, while watching and thoroughly enjoying the film, that certain self-important critics and bitchy bloggers might dismiss it. Just in case that happens, I wanted to cry a loud, preemptive foul and urge movie lovers to ignore the naysayers and give this film a look-see.

"Danny Collins" begins with a title card that reads, "The following is kind of based on a true story, a little bit." And true(ish) it is, since screenwriter Dan Fogelman, making his feature directorial debut, was inspired by the fact that British singer Steve Tilston received a letter from John Lennon over three decades after it was sent, a letter that included Lennon's home phone number.

Fogelman has taken that life-shattering piece of information and created a story about a fictional '70's pop star named Danny Collins (Al Pacino), whose signature song, "Hey, Baby Doll," is utterly repetitious and infectious. Danny has moved from serious songwriter to sell-out and finds himself seriously unfulfilled. His life now consists of rehashing his old songs for sing-along blue hairs, dating a gold-digger (Katarina Cas) who he knows cheats on him and getting through his maudlin days with a good dose of cocaine.

Out of the blue, his dry-witted manager (Christopher Plummer) discovers a note meant for Danny from 1971, after he gave a radio interview admitting his love for Lennon and expressing his fears of having success change him. Lennon wrote him back in care of the radio station, and ended the note with, "Call me, we can discuss this." The disc jockey held onto the letter for selfish reasons, and then died.

Danny, who hasn't written a song in 20 years, is naturally gobsmacked by the discovery and wonders what might have been. "Maybe my whole life would have turned out different; maybe I could have avoided such a bullshit life." So he decides to pack some things and journey to New Jersey to look up his grown up son (Bobby Cannavale), whom he's never met -- the product of a one-nighter with a groupie back in his heyday.

Checking into the Woodcliff Lake Hilton, Danny immediately puts the moves on the pretty, but guarded, hotel manager (Annette Bening), who repeatedly turns down his dinner requests. While in New Jersey, Danny decides to give songwriting a try again and is determined to do whatever he must to heal old wounds with his very angry son, his son's wife (a funny Jennifer Garner) and his ADHD-impaired granddaughter (adorable Giselle Eisenberg). I will not give away any more of the plot, since so many of the joys come from the surprises -- and from the ensemble.

Al Pacino adds another indelible character to his rich roster. His Danny is conflicted without being bitter, and hopeful where most people would feel helpless. It's a rich, understated turn (that's two for him already this year with his performance in "The Humbling") that goes so far beyond the charmer aspect of this has-been celebrity.

Bobby Cannavale continues to prove he's one of the most underrated actors working in film today. Cannavale could have taken the obvious "I hate you, you were never around" type of approach; instead he cuts deep into a guy who certainly is filled with resentment, but also has a true desire to know who his father is because he can acknowledge the deep need he has carried around all his life.

Christopher Plummer is given the funniest lines, and delivers them in a deliciously tart manner. "Oh, look, I can see her vagina again," he drolly spits when Danny's fianc� walks by semi-nude. And his numerous NJ-bashing quips never get old.

Annette Bening, channeling herself some quirky Diane Keaton, is just a delight, and makes you wish her role were larger and a bit more substantial.

Fogelman's script is intelligent, although it does contain a number of self-important and clich�ed lines. Luckily, most of the time, the talented actors toss them away as afterthoughts.

The film is enhanced by the use of nine prominent John Lennon songs (including "Imagine," the film's original title).

"Danny Collins" is a moving, lovely work, and the scenes between Pacino and Cannavale are master classes in what film acting should be.