![]() ![]() ![]() Above me, camera shutters clattered.Īt that moment, Pacino was reclining in a deck chair at the far end of a wide lawn behind the house, doing business on a cell phone. ![]() On my second day with Pacino, I happened to be parked in front of his house as a tour bus rolled up. Nonetheless, the buses stop, the guides burble, and the tourists crane for a sign of the actor or his children. Green canvas has been woven through the bars of the long iron fence to hide the place from street level low-hanging Indian laurel trees seal off any visible signs of life from above. Inevitably, they stop in front of his rented house, which, like the actor, is elegantly dishevelled. ![]() (Pacino, who has never married, also has a twenty-four-year-old daughter, Julie Marie, an aspiring writer and filmmaker.) Every half hour or so, an open-topped tour bus crawls its way along the wide, manicured boulevard where Pacino holes up for most of the year, with a cargo of rubbernecking out-of-towners, cameras at the ready. At seventy-four, Pacino has managed to avoid the courts but not Beverly Hills, where he has taken up reluctant residence, for more than a decade, in order to share custody of his now thirteen-year-old twins, Anton and Olivia, with their mother, the actress Beverly D’Angelo. Nearly fifty years ago, when Al Pacino was at the start of his career, Marlon Brando gave him two pieces of advice: don’t go to court and don’t move to Los Angeles. ![]()
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