faces
Diane Keaton’s memoirs have me lusting after Al Pacino all over again. There’s nothing quite as delectable as the sight of his face circa the Godfather Parts I and II. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a face I want to outright lick as bad as his. It was made to be devoured. God, the sugar! I think I might enjoy it even more than Robert Redford’s Butch Cassidy mustache, which is a bold statement as I’ve been in love with that mustache since before I can even remember. I like to pretend that when I have kids (and when they’re old enough) I’d show them old films like these and tell my daughters, “Now you see that? That’s the kind of beauty you ought to be looking for,” and tell my sons, “If you ever want to get a woman like your mother,” (and isn’t it true that that’s exactly what a lot of men want?) “you better take some notes.” Not that I’d really teach my kids that looks or sex appeal is what matters, but it would be fun to have a daughter to giggle over Hollywood icons with the way my mother and I do for Robert Redford. Keaton writes in her memoirs “It was too bad he wasn’t available at the time, but neither was I. Even so, for the next twenty years Al Pacino would be my only recurring ‘unattainable great’.” Too bad indeed. Can you imagine being Woody Allen and watching your girlfriend/lady friend/whatever (who admittedly crushes on almost every leading man she’s acted alongside) film a movie with the young Pacino? I’d have been annihilated in that battle of self-esteem. Especially when she says something like this: “To me, that’s, that is the most beautiful face. I think Warren [Beatty] was gorgeous, very pretty, but Al’s face is like whoa. Killer, killer face.” Like whoa? Agreed.
