Agony Hour Extra: Al Fresco

Last month, I took it upon myself to act as an agony uncle for readers who found themselves faced with difficult life choices. Unfortunately, not everyone was pleased with the advice I gave them and I received a couple of complaints. The most notable came from Mr A. Pacino of Los Angeles, who requested a face-to-face meeting to set the record straight regarding his public image. The following is an unedited transcript of an interview I conducted with him at his home in Beverley Hills.

WORDJAM: Before we begin, Mr Pacino, I'd just like to take this opportunity to thank your lawyers for arranging this interview today.

PACINO: It's a privilege.

WORDJAM: Now you're here to address criticisms about the current state of your career.

PACINO: Zersetzung.

WORDJAM: Sorry?

PACINO: Zersetzung. German word. You know what it means? To corrode. To undermine. That's what these critics are doing. They pride in it. Know what they call that?

WORDJAM: Schadenfreude.

PACINO: Whatever. Point is, the critics are wrong. My career's as solid as it's ever been. You know why? I adapt. I change. It's a little thing Charles Dawkins called evolution.

WORDJAM: Well, let's go back to the '70s and early '80s when you were really at the height of your acclaim.

PACINO: Please.

WORDJAM: You starred in a number of highly regarded films: Dog Day Afternoon, Scarface, Serpico - and, most notably, The Godfather.

PACINO: That movie changed my life. It changed all our lives. People still talk about it. Yesterday I got a call from this guy at the rental store. He said I owe fifty bucks in late fees. You know what it was for? The Godfather. That's how powerful it is. And it was an honour to work with the great Marlon Brando. May God rest upon his soul.

WORDJAM: Some people saw it as the baton passing from one great actor to another.

PACINO: Whatever. But it made me big. Real big. And I kept growing. By the time I won the Oscar for playing that blind guy in Scent of a Woman I was like a T-Rex: a big, blind dinosaur.

WORDJAM: A Douyouthinkhesaurus?

PACINO: What?

WORDJAM: Doesn't matter. Go on.

PACINO: Like I said, I was a dinosaur. And you know what happened to the dinosaurs? They got too big. I didn't want to be like that, so I evolved like they did. They had to. I had to. I became a bird. Not a big bird, like an emu or ostrich, but more emblematic. Like a hawk or an eagle.

WORDJAM: A turkey-?

PACINO: Even better.

WORDJAM: That was around the time you started focusing on theatre work, wasn't it?

PACINO: I was the proverbial turkey rising from the flames of a smouldering movie career. I learned so much from that experience. I knew nothing about theatre. I thought Ibsen was a kind of refrigerator. But I studied hard. I read all the greats: Shake-a-speare, Volt Hair, Pinto...

WORDJAM: Pinto-?

PACINO: The pause guy.

WORDJAM: Pinter.

PACINO: Whatever. The guy didn't understand actors. If I wanna pause, I do it in my own time. On my own terms. Sometimes. When it's not. Necessary.

WORDJAM: Some people say it was your return to the stage that- Well, let's just say it started to effect your screen performances to the point where they've become, for want of a better word, hammy.

PACINO: When you tread the boards, you've gotta hit the back of the house. In a movie theatre, you're looking at two, maybe three hundred people at a time. That's intimacy. It's like fucking everybody in the auditorium and making them feel like it's one-on-one. In the theatre, you've got a thousand people there, all expecting to be fucked. More people watch a single movie than the whole run of a play. So I thought: Al, why not combine the two great arts? Why not fuck further than you've ever fucked before? So when you watch me in Godfather Part III or Heat, or especially in Devil's Advocate, I want the audience to feel like they've been well and truly screwed by my performance.

WORDJAM: You mentioned Heat. That was your second film with Robert De Niro, of course.

PACINO: Right. What happened to that guy? Just kidding! Bobby's done all right. Rocky and Bullwinkle, Showtime, Meet the Parents...

WORDJAM: Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, Goodfellas...

PACINO: Whatever. The guy did pretty well for himself. But I said to him when we were shooting Godfather Part II: "Bobby, no one's ever gonna believe you're Italian-American." And no one ever did. He just makes comedies now. Good luck to him.

WORDJAM: It's nearly three o'clock now, I know you said you have to leave by five past. I just want to ask very quickly if you've got any projects on the go at the moment.

PACINO: I'm working on two movies right now.

WORDJAM: Can you tell us anything about them?

PACINO: I wish I could, Richard. I really wish I could.

WORDJAM: In that case, it just leaves me to say thank you, Mr Pacino, for...

PACINO: The first movie's a dramatized version of my stage show, An Evening with Al.

WORDJAM: A dramatized version?

PACINO: There can be no other kind. But, you know, there's a saying in Hollywood: "you're only as good as your next movie."

WORDJAM: Which is-?

PACINO: A personal project. I got the idea when I was in England promoting Insomnia. Like the character in that movie, I couldn't sleep. I had insomnia. So I turned on the TV and there was a documentary about this British guy who runs a convenience store. He was tough, relentless - but he had a good heart. He fed the poor, the loveless, the disadvantaged. This was a movie. Wall Street meets Franz Capra.

WORDJAM: Frank Capra.

PACINO: Whatever. Dale Winton's Supermarket Sweep hits movie theatres this fall.

WORDJAM: Mr Pacino, thank you for your time.

PACINO: It's a privilege.

Fraudulent advertising strikes again

This guy lives in a bin, isn't human and doesn't have National Insurance, a job or a bank account, so how is he eligible for a mortgage? And wouldn't security get a little suspicious about his companion walking into a bank with a violin case?

It's nice to know Rachel Jordache from Brookside is doing well for herself, but her poor judgement here makes me wonder if she's really cut out for a bank job.

Agony Hour

If you're anything like me, you'll no doubt have been saddened by the death of This Morning's resident agony aunt Denise Robertson earlier this year.

As a tribute to the great lady, I've decided to use this post as a platform to offer advice for any personal problems you may have. I've received literally tens of queries from people in distress and consider it an honour to share the benefit of my life experience with all of you out there, wherever you are.

[NOTE: Unfortunately, I can't enter into any personal correspondence: partly for security reasons, but mostly because I don't really want to.]

 

* * * * * 

Dear Richard,

My girlfriend and I are big fans of Ian McKellan, but she reckons Magneto could totally kick Gandalf's ass in a fight any day. I disagree and it's driving a wedge into our relationship. Please help.

- Worried, Bolton

 

Richard says...

Relationships are based on compromise. Take me and my girlfriend for example: she's a Star Trek fan, whereas I prefer Doctor Who. Instead of arguing which show is better, I go out and sleep with other women while she stays at home watching her Gene Roddenberry crap-fest, wondering where I am. Works for us. (Well, me.) If you really want to save this relationship, however, another compromise would be to find a role where McKellan plays a character even more bad-ass than his turns in X-Men and Lord of the Rings. Might I suggest Richard III, or the Nazi-on-the-run in Apt Pupil? Those guys are seriously hard core. If you can't agree after that then there really is no hope for you both.

 

* * * * *

Dear Richard,

I heard a song on the radio this morning and it's been stuck in my head all day. What should I do?

- Frustrated, Kent

Richard says...

Sue the radio station and the record company. It's costly, but worth it. I took Mousse-T to court after "Horny" and he's now working in a kebab shop on the Uxbridge Road. Serves him right, the bastard.

 

* * * * *

Dear Richard,

I painted this for my mate Manuel in 1797:

 

Bit cheeky perhaps, but I was well chuffed with it. Everyone was so impressed with her saucy stare I even did a sequel where she's got her kit on. Anyway, imagine how pissed off I was when I found out Édouard Manet painted this in 1863:

Okay, she's lying the other way and he's put that woman in the background, but he's just copying me. She's even got the same 'come-to-bed' look on her face. I've tried having it out with Édouard, but he just spouts a load of bollocks in French. I don't know what to do and it's doing my head in.

- F. Goya, Madrid

 

Richard says...

 

There's a fine line between homage and grand larceny, but it strikes me you're being a little unreasonable here. I don't doubt that you're an accomplished and influential artist, but are you sure it's your painting Manet's copying? Just take a look at this little number from 1538:

Notice the maids in the background, the floral motif and the way Venus is covering her thatch? I'd say it's more likely that Manet took his inspiration from Titian. For the sake of balance, though, check out how the subject gazes lustfully towards the viewer... Perhaps your painting isn't as original as you thought it was? I think you should take comfort in being part of the grand tradition in Western art of depicting naked chicks in all their beauty and splendour.

 

* * * * * 

Dear Richard,

I like to wear t-shirts with funny messages on them such as "JESUS IS COMING - LOOK BUSY!" and "NOBODY KNOWS I'M A LESBIAN". I think they're hilarious, but no one else seems to find them even remotely amusing. Should I stop wearing them?

- Confused, Peterborough

Richard says...

You wear these t-shirts because you want people to see you the way you see yourself: as a witty and charismatic individual spreading laughter and sunshine everywhere you go. Sadly, these t-shirts have the opposite effect and allow them to see you for what you really are: a pathetic attention-seeker whose desperate apparel compensates for your lack of personality. If you have even a shred of self-respect, I suggest you stop wearing them. Alternatively, you could take to wearing a baseball cap that simply says "TWAT" - at least that way you're being more honest with yourself.

* * * * *

Dear Richard,

I was a truly great movie actor back in the '70s, but then I did a lot of theatre work and my subsequent film performances have suffered. Now everyone describes me as a pretentious ham whose glory days are behind him. What can I do to make people recognise just how brilliant I was?

- A. Pacino, Los Angeles

Richard says...

Retire. NEXT-!

* * * * *

Dear Richard,

Will the mullet ever come back in fashion?

- Hopeful, Auckland

Richard says...

Not unless something goes desperately wrong with human civilization. Speaking of which...

 

* * * * *

Dear Richard,

I suffer from severe anxiety. Where would be the best place to hole up in a zombie apocalypse?

- Terrified, Reading

Richard says...

We all know from Night of the Living Dead that the cellar is the safest place when it comes to private residences. The only problem is you run the risk of having your head blown off by dumb yokels when they come looking for survivors. The mall in Dawn of the Dead seemed pretty secure until the bikers came, but it was more the self-alienating materialism and greed of the main characters that led to their inevitable downfall. I would suggest pursuing a career in science or the army because that way you might be selected to work in a top secret underground bunker, but if Day of the Dead has taught us anything it's that scientific and military minds don't mix. Actually, I think The Walking Dead has the solution: stay on the road and don't settle anywhere for too long. Complacency is a far greater threat than a whole shuffle of ravenous zombies. More important than anything, though, and I can't stress this enough, make sure you get on with the people you're stuck with in this desperate fight for survival. When the shit hits the fan I'll be too busy mating with Cate Blanchett to resolve your personal conflicts.

 

* * * * *

Dear Richard,

I'm a billionaire tycoon and currently standing as the Republican candidate for President of the United States. People say I have a boorish, insensitive personality and my domestic and foreign policies are deeply flawed. I'm not asking for advice, however, as I don't give a fuck what anyone thinks.

- D. Trump, New York

* * * * *

...And that's all we have time for, I'm afraid. Until we meet again: take care of each other.

Onwards, folks.

Picking a fight with innocence

Yeah, it's beautiful and all - but are we supposed to believe that a teddy bear tethered to bunch of balloons can escape the heat-shield of the Earth's atmosphere and just drift into space?

You've got a fucking nerve, Specsavers.

Natural Born Rimmers

Just watching the episode of The Big Bang Theory where Leonard terminates the roommate agreement with Sheldon. (C'mon, you must've seen that one: this show's been repeated more times than the Zapruder footage.) Note how the latter tries to win back their friendship by offering Leonard a Red Dwarf box set.

 

This got me thinking about the character connections between the two shows. Sheldon is Rimmer, the anal and socially inflexible authoritarian; Leonard is Lister, the straight man who recognises a world outside his lifestyle but still navigates it on his own terms; Howard, like Cat, is a deluded egotist with quixotic loyalties; and Raj is Kryten, socially-awkward and consumed by self-doubt. Penny on the other hand is effectively Holly: although less intellectually able than the others, she operates as the brain and central nervous system of the group's social life. Perhaps there's a little bit of Kochanski in there, too... After all, the seemingly impossible romance between her and Lister was a major part of the early seasons in Red Dwarf.

 

Now before anybody starts firing off angry missives, I'm not saying Chuck Lorre and co. were ripping off Rob Grant and Doug Naylor: this is just a random observation. You've got to admit, though, it's a bloody good one.

 

For any academics, TV historians and/or critics reading this - all cheques made payable to Richard English, yeah?

A Medieval Bedtime Story

In November 1254, the port of Sandwich in Kent took delivery of an unusual cargo: a gift to Henry III from Louis IX of France. On his last crusade to Palestine, Louis acquired an African elephant and aware of his brother-in-law's passion for collecting exotic animals, felt it would make a worthy addition to the royal menagerie at the Tower of London.

Alongside big cats and crocodiles, elephants were considered the most fearsome beasts in creation. The first recorded elephant in northern Europe was the creature brought to England by the Emperor Claudius in  43AD. According to the historian Suetonius, it so terrified the armies of Caractacus, King of the Britons, that those who surrendered requested to do so to the elephant itself. By the time Henry took delivery of his own elephant over 1000 years later, Western rulers revered the animal as a totem of power.

The winter of 1254 was particularly harsh, so to keep the elephant safe its journey to London was postponed until the following year. On the 7th January 1255, a mandate in the Court Rolls ordered John Gouch, the Sheriff of Kent, "to provide for bringing the King's elephant from Whitsand to Dover and if possible by water to London". Travelling on foot, the animal's passage through Kent proceeded without incident until (legend has it) a bull in a field to the roadside took exception to the creature and charged it. The elephant is said to have thrown the bull with one sweep of its mighty tusks, the challenger expiring almost immediately.

The elephant arrived in London tethered to a great barge that floated down the Thames; Henry's subjects lined the riverbank to see the mighty beast soon to take pride of place in the King's collection. Elaborate renovations had already taken place at the Tower to accommodate the creature. Before it left Kent, Henry wrote to the Sheriff of London, "We command that ye cause without delay to be built at our Tower of London one house of forty feet long and twenty feet deep for our elephant".

The royal menagerie was first established in 1235 when Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II sent Henry a wedding gift of three leopards after his marriage to Eleanor of Provence. The Mayor of Northampton presented him with a bear in 1246, and in 1252 he came into possession of a Norwegian polar bear; muzzled and bound to an iron chain, it could regularly be seen catching fish in the River Thames. None of these animals, however, required the extensive provision that was afforded Henry's elephant.

Matthew Paris, a Benedictine monk of the Order of St. Alban, made two sketches of the creature for his now seminal document of life in 13th century England, Chronica Majora. In both illustrations, the elephant is being fed by its keeper, identified in the Latin text as Henricus de Flor. To the left of these images, Paris provides us with a number of observations about the animal, many of which would eventually be disproved. (At one point, we're informed that elephants don't have knees and are incapable of getting up again should they fall.) Among these many details, he not only informs us how, as Paris affectionately refers to it, the "Noble Beast" was received at court, but also what its diet consisted of.

As far as the medieval mind was concerned, a creature of such awesome stature could only be a carnivore - albeit an unusually passive one. To this end, the elephant was fed roast beef accompanied by the finest claret from the King's cellar. Two years later, having grown weak from the cold climate, the great beast died of alcohol poisoning. Henry was inconsolable and ordered the elephant's hide to be stripped and placed in the grand hall of his castle at Woodstock, near Oxford: "In memory of a Noble Beast's journey to the court of man".

When you really don't have anything else to think about...

Do you think these guys are really Italian?

Frankly, I'm not so sure.