By Dylan Masvidal | Staff Writer
One kooky catchphrase is all it took to steal the hearts and minds of audiences in the late winter of 1992.
Well, that and the alien artiste known by us earthlings as Al Pacino.
Devouring the scenery has never been lost on the man, despite the rather popular notion claiming he only started to relish in the moment as a sort of midlife crisis.
Pacino clearly loves for his on-screen persona to feel not of this world, and like it or not, he’s second to none in that regard.
So when you cross his penchant for the memorably bizarre with effective melodrama, the result is “Scent of a Woman”: a touching anomaly.
Of course, the concept of the movie star is to carry a film entirely by themselves, but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one more contingent on a singular performance than this.
It’s betting your house at the racetrack with no kind of backup plan whatsoever, just a dollar and a dream.
Director Martin Brest and screenwriter Bo Goldman were adept at naturally progressing an unsympathetic protagonist to a crowd favorite by story’s end, adding Pacino’s performance as Frank Slade to the tally.
Slade is a blind, nihilistic crank whose insistence on apathy to mask his inferiority complex should be a turnoff for viewers, except Pacino sells every line like it was a command from God.
His dialogue is written with such pointed wit and fervor, acting as a twisted Yoda to Chris O’Donnell’s Luke Skywalker.
In the eyes of O’Donnell’s character, Charlie Simms, Slade is a constantly exploding powder keg.
Their relationship is the emotional crux of the film, giving “Scent of a Woman” its identity as a Thanksgiving parable through and through.
Simms’ youthful integrity and clean-cut kindness are what chip away at Slade’s heart of stone.
O’Donnell’s inexperience as an actor also helps legitimize his quiet demeanor when performing next to Pacino’s mythic stature.
As milquetoast as he is, Simms stands for something, which Slade admires and respects.
They are bound by their crap situations, except Simms’ refusal to wave the white flag inspires Slade and ultimately saves his life in the process.
We all have met someone like Slade, whether it’s a close relative or a passing conversation in line at the grocery store.
Every phrase they utter becomes seared into your brain, yet there’s a lingering pain behind these morsels of “wisdom”.
Who cares how cliché it is: remind them that they matter.
Slade might have pushed away most of his family, but his niece loves him dearly despite his best efforts.
And once “Scent of a Woman” nears its final shot, he’ll have made a lifelong friend in Simms as well.
You don’t need to be Aristotle to understand how that is the essence of Thanksgiving today.
“Scent of a Woman” is the most family-friendly R-rated picture money can buy.
After your second helping of corn casserole, gather around the television set and let the magic unfold.
Nothing, and I truly mean nothing, is more wholesome than watching Pacino cuss out some prep school kids.
CLASSIC/10
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