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Nonetheless, the buses stop, the guides burble, and the tourists crane for a sign of the actor or his children. He keeps a well-pressed assortment of these dark camouflage outfits on a wardrobe rack in the alcove off his living room, alongside his infrequently used barbells and a folded-up running machine.
On my second day with Pacino, I happened to be parked in front of his house as a tour bus rolled up. His comfortable house, with its absence of texture, is remarkable for its indifference to externals: no paintings, no designer furniture or fripperies. I like it.” He pointed out a watercolor beside the fireplace. ‘New York in the Fall,’ ” he said, then steered me back into the living room and deposited me on a sofa to watch “Wilde Salomé,” a docudrama he directed, starred in, and largely bankrolled, which premières this month.
All of this info SHOULD be setting off DL alarms on red alert. Just because he's old and has never been married, doesn't mean he's gay. It's not just the fact that he's a committed bachelor.
He has often hinted at things and there has been rumors about him and other men.[quote]Just because he's old and has never been married, doesn't mean he's gay. Even "young and married" usually equals "gay" here. Fine, he's had a string of girlfriends, but so has Clooney.
Pacino’s focus, the house makes clear, is resolutely inward. And I understand myself in that way.” Pacino has given complex shape to some of his era’s most memorable creations: Michael Corleone, the college boy turned Mafioso, in “The Godfather” trilogy (1972-90); Frank Serpico, the police whistle-blower, in “Serpico” (1973); Tony Montana, the Cuban drug lord, in “Scarface” (1983); the hapless thief Teach, in “American Buffalo” (1983); Sonny Wortzik, the would-be bank robber, in “Dog Day Afternoon” (1975); the gangster Big Boy Caprice, in “Dick Tracy” (1990); Ricky Roma, the smooth-talking salesman, in “Glengarry Glen Ross” (1992); and Roy Cohn, the closeted lawyer, in the HBO version of Tony Kushner’s “Angels in America” (2003)—to name just a few of the more than a hundred roles he has taken onscreen and onstage. The film represents Pacino’s eight-year attempt to “inhale” Oscar Wilde by chronicling the mounting of a 2006 Los Angeles production of Wilde’s 1891 tragedy, in which he was Herod to Jessica Chastain’s Salomé. I think it was a mischievousness, a subversiveness.” Pacino relates to Wilde as an outsider.
As an actor, Pacino has always been unafraid to do what he needs to in order to be in the moment; he trusts his instincts and explodes with whatever feelings come up. In recent years, he has painted brilliant, eerie film portraits of such obsessives as the euthanasia activist Jack Kevorkian, in Barry Levinson’s HBO movie “You Don’t Know Jack,” and the eponymous swami of rock and roll, in David Mamet’s HBO film “Phil Spector.” Pacino regrets that many of his Hollywood movies of the past decade (“Righteous Kill,” “The Son of No One,” “88 Minutes,” “Jack and Jill”) have been business chores, taken on for primarily financial reasons. (“Wilde Salomé” will be released in tandem with a film of the play itself.) Pacino first encountered “Salomé” in London in 1989, without realizing that it was written by Wilde. I’d like to know this person,” he recalled thinking. “I feel like an outsider who got on the inside, so I’m inside out, if you know what I mean. Like “Looking for Richard,” Pacino’s 1996 movie about Shakespeare’s “Richard III,” “Wilde Salomé” is a dramatic mosaic that jumps from historical facts to performance to interview to enactment.
Performing, for him, is not so much a profession as a destiny. “If you don’t have that alacrity of spirit, then you have to check yourself—because where’s the pony in all this horseshit? “I worked for United Parcels once, and I don’t want to have that feeling with my own craft—that it’s just a job.” Because of the protean nature of his attack, Pacino has often been compared to Brando, another truth-seeking force of nature. Pacino is the director yelling at the crew to hurry up; he’s the lubricious Herod eying his gorgeous daughter; he’s the interviewer prodding Tom Stoppard, Tony Kushner, Gore Vidal, and Bono to talk about Wilde; he’s the professor offering tidbits of Wildeana; and he’s the anthropologist trudging through the desert with kaffiyeh and camel.