Bobby Deerfield was one of those movies that were
singled-out, mostly unfairly, by critics as an example of the new Hollywood gone haywire; making many “worst of the year”
lists for 1977. Both director Pollack and
star Al Pacino were regarded as a little too-big-for-their-britches and needed
to be taken down a peg. It’s no
masterpiece, but it’s not bad either.
Pacino plays a burnt-out race car driver who goes to visit an injured
comrade and meets a quirky German girl (Marthe Keller) in the same clinic. Maybe a romance between Pacino and Keller
doesn't seem that plausible, but there’s certainly nothing hackneyed about it,
except for the good old terminal illness trope.
There is virtually no racing in the film and this may have been a source
of disappointment for viewers hoping for more of a visceral sports drama. As it is, Pacino’s profession is almost
irrelevant since the film is more about his lack of satisfaction in life and
his bemusement at meeting someone so different and completely unfamiliar with
his career and his celebrity. Pacino’s
subdued performance may also have been seen as a let-down after his famously
dynamic turns in Serpico (1973) and Dog Day Afternoon (1975). In any case, as far as the critical reaction
goes, it just feels like a case of wrong-film-at-the-wrong-time. This seems to happen to Pacino a
disproportionate amount for some weird reason.
Cruising (1980), Scarface (1983), The Godfather, Part
III (1990), Carlito’s Way (1993), (and Pacino’s performances in
them), were all disparaged pretty mercilessly by contemporary critics but have
since been accepted as classics or near-classics. I’m not saying Bobby Deerfield is in
that category, but it’s worthwhile enough to not be ignored out of hand simply
because it was such a notorious failure.
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