I was somewhat enthusiastic about the upcoming HBO movie, Phil Spector, about the trial of–of course–Phil Spector. If you’ve lived in a cave for the last forty years, then let me fill you in. Phil Spector was the king of record production in the 1960s. He engineered what came to be known as the “Wall of Sound” and produced albums for practically everybody, from The Ronettes (of course) to The Righteous Brothers to The Beatles to The Ramones. He was also, certifiably, a batshit crazy alcoholic with a gun fetish. Who, eventually, murdered Lana Clarkson in his home as she was trying to leave, since she didn’t realize until it was too late that he was completely batshit crazy and marinated in a lifetime of self-loathing and booze.
To sum up.
So yeah, I was interested in the trial. Pacino has the crazy-eye thing, which seems right for this role. And it’s a lurid, telenovela-esque interpretation of something that happened to a famous person whose work I’ve been interested in for (literally) as long as I can remember. Down with that, yes? But when the costume department, in their deranged attempt to make Pacino become Phil Spector turned him into Maude instead? They lost me.
Let me put it this way: