Sonny Boy: A Memoir
By Al Pacino
In the summer of 1968, a young Al Pacino was navigating the bustling world of theater, rehearsing for a now-obscure play titled “Huui, Huui” at the renowned Public Theater. It was during this time that the theater’s visionary, Joseph Papp, took him aside and made a bold proclamation: “You will be a great star one day.” Ironically, shortly after this encounter, Pacino found himself fired from the production. Fast forward a few years, and while working on the iconic film “The Godfather,” director Francis Ford Coppola summoned him to a restaurant where he was dining with his family. Without inviting Pacino to join them at the table, Coppola delivered a harsh reality check: “You’re not cutting it.” Under the looming threat of being replaced by the studio, Pacino went on to film one of cinema’s most unforgettable scenes—Michael Corleone stepping into a dimly lit restaurant bathroom to retrieve a hidden gun, transforming into a killer. The raw intensity and palpable fear etched on Michael’s face in that moment remain hauntingly powerful.
Pacino shares anecdotes like these with a sense of humility and a casual shrug. “In this business, you’re up, you’re down, and you’re up again,” he reflects, and these moments of candor are among the most charming elements of “Sonny Boy.”
However, the memoir oscillates between being a heartfelt exploration of the art of acting and a somewhat formulaic overview of his life and career up to the age of 84. While Pacino refrains from indulging in gossip or delving deeply into his personal life, his passion for acting shines through. One might imagine a collaborator or editor nudging him to include more sensational details, like his affair with Tuesday Weld, as the book sometimes veers toward a cliché format. In the acknowledgments, he expresses gratitude to both his collaborator, Dave Itzkoff, and editor, Scott Moyers.
“Sonny Boy,” named after the affectionate nickname his mother gave him during childhood, begins in a conventional manner, recounting his early years. Pacino’s parents divorced when he was just two years old, and he grew up in a working-class neighborhood in the South Bronx, surrounded by his loving yet emotionally delicate mother and his grandparents. With genuine fondness, he reminisces about running the streets with his childhood friends, Cliffy, Bruce, and Petey. Tragically, all three would later succumb to drug overdoses—a fate that Pacino narrowly escaped, thanks in large part to his family’s watchfulness. This section of the memoir is earnest but lacks significant depth; many boys endure tough childhoods without achieving the greatness Pacino has.
As the narrative unfolds, Pacino’s true voice emerges when he delves into his passion for acting and his quest to authentically embody his characters. At the age of 16, he left the High School of Performing Arts, took on odd jobs, and performed in obscure, off-Broadway venues. His life changed dramatically while performing in Strindberg’s “Creditors,” where he experienced a profound epiphany. “Words are coming out, and they’re the words of Strindberg, but I’m saying them as though they’re mine,” he reflects. “I’m lifting off the ground.” From that moment on, the pressures of fame and fortune became secondary to his artistic pursuit. “I eat, I don’t eat. I make money, I don’t make money. I’m famous, I’m not famous,” he states, capturing the essence of his dedication to art. This sentiment resonates deeply with Pacino’s lifelong commitment to exploring the sincerity of artistic expression, a journey that includes directing small films such as “Looking for Richard” (1996), which examines Shakespeare’s “Richard III,” and even taking on the role of King Lear in an upcoming film.
His early success included winning a Tony Award, but it was the world of film that truly transformed his life. During the 1970s alone, he portrayed a range of characters, from a drug addict in “The Panic in Needle Park” to the iconic Michael Corleone in “The Godfather I” and “II,” as well as roles in “Serpico” and “Dog Day Afternoon.” These films were largely shaped by his unique conviction and dynamic presence.
Throughout the memoir, Pacino shares a few behind-the-scenes stories from his cinematic journey. For instance, while filming “Scarface,” he was rushed to the emergency room after a machine gun fused to his hand when he grabbed the overheated barrel. However, he excels in analyzing his performances. He notes that the drug-fueled crime boss Tony Montana in “Scarface” is purposefully portrayed as two-dimensional. “The way I played him, the character never has any inner conflict until the moment he kills his best friend,” he observes. Furthermore, Pacino acknowledges his reputation for overacting, particularly in his often-quoted line “Hoooooo-ah!” from “Scent of a Woman.” With a touch of humility, he admits, “I did go overboard sometimes in that part.”
