In Dan Fogelman‘s Danny Collins (3.20.15), Al Pacino plays a successful but creatively frustrated songwriter who apparently decides to churn out deeper, more personal songs after learning that John Lennon wrote him a fan letter in 1971. That’s 43 years ago. Pacino’s titular character couldn’t get his more soulful mojo going on his own? Got to strike your own match. On top of which Pacino/Collins thinking he might have developed his artistic potential if only he’d read Lennon’s letter in ’71…? Forget it. And not getting around to this until his 70s? Pacino/Collins is also hoping to rekindle his relationship with a son (Bobby Cannavale) and perhaps bask in a little forgiveness for being a selfish shit, but of course that doesn’t come easy. I think we’ve seen this story a few dozen times. The only “formerly selfish old guy looking for forgiveness and redemption from his kids” movie I’ve ever half-liked was Wes Anderson‘s The Royal Tennenbaums. Oh, and I can’t roll with the name Danny. I have this very stubborn, deep-rooted resistance to it, as I explained five and a half years ago.