Gives us the Pacino of ordinary deeds, bumbling around and having his experiences, and we see that he is in service—in thrall—to Pacino the actor. And if a certain fuzziness or impressionism attends his memories, well, we get it: He doesn’t want to violate, with too much insight, the precious mystery at the core of his craft.
An uneven memoir that is sometimes a heartfelt consideration of art, and often a perfunctory cradle-to-age-84 overview of his life and career. Pacino doesn’t dish gossip or give much detail about his personal life, but he is passionate about acting ... You can respect his choice not to reveal more, but all those flyby references make the memoir feel forced, constantly straining against his immense imagination.
The book, written with Dave Itzkoff, preserves Mr. Pacino’s personality, with all his intelligence, his wit and his eagerness to talk about the theater history he loves ... If you like your star memoirs with a side of dish, Sonny Boy may disappoint.
