No one in film has so dissected and anatomized diabolical corpi with more dedication and precision than Al Pacino.

Not even the combined forces of Martin Scorcese and the chilling characters he created with Robert DeNiro can come up with the living, breathing reality of what Pacino only began to discover with his Michael Corleone of The Godfather.

Prophetically and, I imagine, presciently, I initially spelled Godfather as Todfather.

Yes. The Deathfather!

That rather says it all.

Three film titles initially leap to my mind when I think of Al Pacino’s entire body of work: The Godfather (1972), Devil’s Advocate (1997), and Insomnia (2002).

Pacino’s greatest performance to my mind can be experienced with the film Insomnia, and his portrayal of the LAPD detective, Will Dormer, an indelibly scarred soul farmed out to Alaska. He finds himself in, of all places, Alaska. A town called Nightmute. 

Perhaps that is the author’s version “Nightmare” in the language of First Nations.

“Will Dormer” is there to possibly keep himself far away from the limelight of an Internal Affairs investigation back in L.A.

This obvious hero of the LAPD may have cut a few too many corners in a murder case on his home turf.

Why is Will Dormer my favorite Pacino performance?

It is this born performer’s genius filled to the brim with the miracle of normal humanity.

Though evil is an ocean this great actor swims in as if it were his own bubbling Jacuzzi, I always waited for him to come down to earth and play a simple human being.

He carries such a portrayal to divine heights with his “Will Dormer.”

The great excitement in the film is that he is paired with another, specifically comic genius, Robin Williams, who is equally given to a Shakespearean range of theater games.

Both of these volcanoes play the most divinely impressive game of who can out-underplay the other. With explosive possibilities rumbling within the Pacino/Williams Showdown, what we’re invited to watch are two extraordinary artists laying out the mysteries of two seemingly normal but tragically flawed men.

The hero of Insomnia, as always with great drama, is the Truth.

Pacino and Williams wallow divinely in the dual dances of death they perform to escape the truths of their own lives.

Aren’t all of us, in some small or large way, doing that? Until we, like Al Pacino’s role, heroically face the truths of our life, and balance the scales of justice before we die.

Insomnia is a great film with two exceptionally sacred performances.

Why sacred?

We’re dealing with Good and Evil; and on the most disturbingly personal level.

Insomnia is, therefore, a sacred dance of death.

The dance of good and evil within Al Pacino’s life as the Boswell of Evil, however, has its greatest metaphor in that capital of The Devil’s Advocate: New York City.

More specifically Manhattan.

Central Park and the upper East Side.

What a film is The Devil’s Advocate!

As a former cave dweller in Manhattan, it is hard to know where to begin in praise of this achievement.

The Devil’s Advocate lays bare the central disease that has not only plagued New York but now engulfs all of America: hypocrisy.

The land of the “inalienable right to life” has legalized abortion for 38 years, and, in my opinion, Roe v. Wade is the most diabolical of American hypocrisies. It is akin to the Supreme Court’s legitimized slavery with the Dred Scott decision.

No one and nothing can so expose hypocrisy with more precision than Lucifer himself.

Caught staring in the headlights of their own self-delusion, one “sheep” within The Devil’s Advocate after another falls to the insatiably smiling fangs of Al Pacino’s “wolf.”

Holy airs surround the family of our central figure, Kevin Lomax, performed by Keanu Reeves as a younger version of Arthur Miller’s Willy Lomax in Death of a Salesman.

Lambs led to slaughter?

As the Devil of Al Pacino might gloat, “They danced there of their own free will!”

I danced to such slaughter until I met Janet Reno in the backroom of a Washington D.C. hotel. The sulfur rising from our chicken dinners was prophetically tyrannical. It was a preview of the enlightened despotism to be found in the Progressively Marxist New World Order of the Obama Nation. Such sulfur literally pores out of Joe Bidon’s pro-abortion Catholicism as his high-speed train pummels us more firmly into debt.

Here’s a glimpse of the Biden Dream as envisioned by Aftermath Cartoons:

Diabolical delusions of grandeur which carry Cairo, Egypt, and Madison, Wisconsin into civil unrest that presage the anarchism of hell.

Al Pacino’s prophetically named character, John Milton, 17th Century author of Paradise Lost, eventually sees his own, infernal heaven on earth destroyed by his son’s suicide. His progeny’s complete rejection of Satan’s rule on earth.

Of course, such a finale would be too generously sentimental.

At the end?

There is Al Pacino’s bad boy smile assuring us that The Devil’s Advocate is only Act One.

All of America is now in the third act of a five act, Shakespearean saga easily the equal of Richard III, Macbeth, Titus Andronicus, and King Lear combined!

Where is the hero Henry V?!

Ironically posing as Falstaff or a Latter Day Bible’s David and Goliath of New Jersey.

Meanwhile, Al Pacino can smile within a certain, very Catholic state of grace.

Why?

No actor has followed the call of a very Jesuitical vocation in the theater more profoundly than Al Pacino.

He is film acting’s C.S. Lewis: fiction’s version of The Devil’s Boswell.

Last Call!

She became the country’s first Black Billionaire, she has maintained the crown of Queen Of Daytime for the last 23 years,  she’s built schools in Africa and convinced Americans to read whatever book she suggests, no matter how ridiculous.  She even started her own magazine appropriately called “O” during a time when the printed magazine market was being pummeled by digital delivery via the Internet, and it has somehow succeeded. 

So, what’s left for her to do?  What could possibly feed an ego of that size?  It’s an ego that insists she appear on every cover of her magazine and claims that her readers insisted on it. Egos are a funny things because they actually have an appetite, so when I read that she’s ending her run in 2011 as the Queen Of Daytime, I realized that she most likely isn’t abandoning the single largest source of food for her internal animal but, in fact, would use it to catapult herself in a position that her money and power could never buy: Vice President of the United States.

Sure, Joe Biden would have to be dealt with, but that’s nothing for the woman that helped Obama get elected and it sure doesn’t hurt that Joe Biden can’t seem to show up at any event without acting like the manager of a used car lot.  Oprah is a regular visitor to the White House and also from Chicago, so she certainly knows the CHICAGO WAY.  With the President’s daily tracking poll dropping below 50%, he realizes he’ll need more than change and hope to get re-elected.  He will need the power of “O,” but not just as a supporter, but as powerhouse with unfettered access to money and media. Not to be overlooked, Obama and Oprah could both take even a larger part of history by getting not only the first woman elected as VP but the first African American woman. Can you just imagine the size of the ego that would emerge from such a victory?

I’m not privy to the square footage of the Vice President’s official mansion but I am certain it would need expansion.

Now, before you go calling me a racist or chauvinistic pig, I will admit that Oprah has done some amazing things.  She’s helped a tremendous number of people and put her money towards many great causes — so I try not to judge those actions as an ego-boosting activity, although these good deeds are bound to make one feel as though they somehow deserve greater gratitude than others.  Nonetheless, I applaud her good deeds.

MY PREDICTION: As we move closer to 2011 you will see Oprah’s shows become more and more focused on political issues and figures –  wait… it’s already begun.  Sarah Palin’s appearance might have been the first shot at defusing a potential contender in the next election.

After all, Palin’s “Going Rogue” is not listed on Oprah’s book of the month, even though it was a best seller even before its release.  Let the battle begin…Something tells me this will be a long and painful three years of television.

NOTE: No bears were actually hit by a bus during the making of this video. Actually, I think there was an incident in Wyoming, but that wasn’t us.

“We’re here today, Mr. President, about the project that is due our studio, …on your contract,” the man with rectangular blue Goutier glasses crisply announces to the gathered party of the President and his people. He adds, “I assume Mr. Emanuel explained everything to you… Sir.

According to our pre-election agreement Mr. President, our television divisions were to provide you with substantially positive coverage, while at the same time focusing on the fringe of the losing party, and their…. ‘ideas.’ You know the birth certificate thing, the anti-Christ, …yada.”

(Smiles and chuckles about the room.)

“Ha! They just keep playing into our hands,” David Axelrod taps the President on the shoulder as he crosses the Oval Office. The President limps a tired thumbs up and a half hearted off-camera smile towards his Chief of Staff, but his focus remains on the young studio executive.

The executive continues; “We have here several scripts which we would like you to look through. All are favorable to you of course, and you’ll have final approval of the script and be able to see a preview of the film for any notes that you might have for us.”

“Notes?” President Obama asks.

“Notes, yes… creative suggestions, such as louder music there, or less laughter there, or cut that scene shorter…you know …notes.  Now today, we’re here to run some titles by you and then possibly zero in on one…or two,” the smart executive advises. 

So, here we are – I’ll just read them off and then give a brief synopsis of the plot.

First we have;  “A Tree Grows in Chicago” 

We figured we could ’split-screen’ the planting of an acorn, with the rise of a community organizer. Great imagery. Big, big sweeping score, a real tear-jerker. An edgy kind of modern urban-type John Ford film. It’s really a kind of a poem. Denzel, of course.

“Whistle Stop”

A bit of fun, kind of edgy-type drama picture. The inauguration train gets stopped by crazed Palin whackos, Michelle gets a little heroically violent with them and saves the day by tricking them into confessionals at a Baltimore church,… then locking them in.  Also, a bit of comic relief when the VP finds the key to the bar car.”

(Guffaws about the room)

“Denzel?” Asks the President. 

“Denzel, oh yes.” The young man assures.

“The Two O’s”

Oh, this is pure heaven. Two stories that meet in the end. Oprah’s struggle to media superiority, and a young handsome man from Hawaii’s rise to the Presidency.  Of course, Oprah will play herself, (except for the young girl parts), and you are yes; Denzel… of course.

“The Stinkers”

Oh, this one is fun. This is a Bush-bash from beginning to end! (Laughter) We open with Bush being really mean to the staff at the White house. He does all this mean crap, and then he curses out and kicks a gardener who’s down on his hands and knees toiling on the South Lawn.

“I heard he did that.” interjects an intern. (Most folks nod seriously in agreement.)

“There’s a montage part of the evil Bush presidency,” he continued, “and eventually after expeditiously exposing all the horror, the story takes on a bit of creative license with a hopeful peak into the future: The jailing of every single member of the Bush cabinet.”

“Not Gates or Powell, okay?” cautions the President.

“Ahhh notes! Okay. (The producer jots some notes in the, margin of the script.) Well, then of course Cheney and Bush get convicted of war crimes.” (More heads nod in agreement with smiles around the room.)

“Where do I come in this picture?” Asks the President.

“Well in this one you just make a very important appearance at the end. The climax of the film is you thankfully In the Oval Office, pondering a pardon of Bush and Cheney. We don’t exactly give the answer. But as you lift your pen to check either the ‘yes’ box, or the ‘no’ box on the pardon form, we fade out, then dolly onto the South Lawn. There we see the Bush-abused gardener snaring animals in a trap. We then reveal he’s just caught two big skunks! (Raucous laughter)  I think you get the idea.”

“Groundsweller”

This is a pure winner. Part documentary and part drama. We will use footage from the campaign, rallies, bus trips, coffee shops, you name it. A real Beatle-mania style, super energy movie. Fans, hugs, songs, tears of ground swelling excitement building, building, building to election day! We have some inside video that’s not very favorable to the McCain/Palin camp and we will show it in this film for the first time. Big tease in the ads and trailers. Should be an eye opener. Pure edgy stuff.

“You gotta be careful this one is not too Riefenstahl like,” cautions Ram Emanuel.

Who? Asks the Hollywood executive. 

“Anyway I’ll just leave these with you for you to look over. Please call us if you have any ideas or any more of those pesky notes!” the executive perks as he slaps his knees in meeting-ending fashion”

‘Umm, I have a note now…’ asks the President. ‘…Can my lines be on a teleprompter, I mean on the set, or whatever, uh, can the lines be prompted?

“Well yes, sure, Mr. President, but usually you will have time to learn your lines before the cameras roll. We won’t be going live anywhere – like on television.”

“Hey, come on, I don’t have time to read my health-care bill, how am I gonna have time to read my script?”

With that the young producer bids his goodbyes and exits the White House. As he leaves the doors, he is immediately on his cell phone calling in to the studio.

“Nah, this thing isn’t gonna happen. We should have done it before the election. They’ve peaked. And I think he’s gonna be a problem… keeps saying Denzel. Sh*t-can all the scripts but don’t tell the writers, string them along with re-writes just in case. Take the White House’s calls too, but just stall them,… I don’t know, insult the Republicans, I guess. We better go with the crazy chef movie. Okay I’m wheels up in 20. Later.”

Well, that was pathetic. And it wasn’t an accident. The fix was in from the beginning.

Last week’s lackluster “Beer Summit” featuring Sgt. James Crowley, professor Henry Louis Gates Jr., President Obama and Vice President Joseph R. Biden Jr. was orchestrated to end a national discussion on race, not begin one. That’s why there were no microphones, even though each participant showed himself to be perfectly qualified, astoundingly articulate and camera-ready for an illuminating and much-needed public debate.

The problem for the White House was the more the esteemed professor talked, the more trouble he created for his friend, the president. The clever photo-op sans audio was crafted to yank the director of the W.E.B. Du Bois Institute for African and African American Research off the stage, lest anyone begin to question what is being taught at Harvard these days.

Conversely, the more Sgt. Crowley weighed in, and his brave black co-workers spoke out, the more obvious it became that a national discussion featuring this cast of characters may not end with the results the professor and the president wanted.

The status quo was at risk, and Mr. Obama used his extraordinary powers to protect it.

Any serious discussion would have put multiculturalism on trial, but the pretrial public hearings showed America opposes this false and corrosive idea, an opposition that our chattering classes can only understand as bigotry and prejudice. In the public eye, being a victim of past injustices does not win the right to propagate current and future ones, and that’s intolerable to those in charge of the race industry today, whose power relies on maintaining forever a latent rage that can be turned on and off at the will of the nation’s elites.

America is Tiger Woods country for a reason, and she elected Barack Obama to punctuate this new reality. The nation’s laws, education system and media attitudes now need to catch up, but such catching up is exactly what Mr. Obama doesn’t stand for.

My long-held fear is that Mr. Obama is hiding something about his education. During the endless 2008 campaign, Mr. Obama would not release his college grades. Given that President George W. Bush and Sens. Al Gore and John Kerry all had proved mediocre grades were no impediment to a presidential bid, Mr. Obama likely had other concerns.

While I have no desire to see Mr. Obama’s birth certificate, I do want to see his college transcripts. My suspicion, one could even call it a conspiracy theory, is that Mr. Obama committed himself to a radical curriculum, aligned himself with the far-left professoriate, and sought to keep this biographical information from his political enemies, especially then-rival Hillary Rodham Clinton, for fear that they would paint the former community organizer and follower of the Rev. Jeremiah Wright as something other than an advocate of racial reconciliation.

You can read the column in full here.