Scent of a Woman
1992
Martin Brest
My apologies to any blind folks who cannot read this blog post. But if Chris O'Donnell is there to help you, continue on to see what Film Club had to say about this film.
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Sunny
What an insane piece of '90s nostalgia. I knew nothing about this movie going in. Not even knowing Pacino was blind, I thought "Scent" was referring to... I dunno, a trail? Maybe it was a mystery / crime caper?
No, in fact it was closer to The Holdovers or Dead Poets Society, a genre I didn't even realize was a thing: boys boarding school flick. Thanksgiving flick. Grumpy-old and spiritually-marooned-youth buddy flick.
The particular character of this movie—the Pacino Best Actor-ness of it all—is what shines through all the comparisons and eye-rubbing '90s tropes. From moment ONE you know he is ACTING. The follow-up being... Acting as what, exactly?
There are some clear moments where I said "give him the Oscar!" like when he eats the paper with the phone number, or when he chokes Bradley Whitford. You've got pretty good supporting in the Dean and PSH playing a too-clever-by-half prep school kid. Still, the movie is waaaay too long in that '90s way, with the phone-it-in soundtrack, and a story framing that makes barely any sense. What is this prank exactly? What is this trial at the end? Why is Pacino allowed to grandstand? Why not I guess. And then who are these Elders who make the final rulings afterwards?
Some scenes are also bizarre and too long even if memorable (tango scene), but net out with another scene featuring a short Pacino quip or racist diatribe that would get me going.
What else did Brest go on to do? Oh, shit, Gigli? My man.
3.5/5 hoo-ahs
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Sam
Here is exhibit A for a movie that receives a Best Lead Actor nomination (and win!) that should not further be rewarded. I can't tell if this movie is mediocre or flat out bad. But Al Pacino is so good, the formulaic approach, incredibly terrible supporting actor performance, and gratuitous long scenes fade away (to an extent). I just want Lt. Col. Frank Slade to yell at me—hoo-ah!
"Never Seen It" works best for me when Joe's blank spot and my own interest align. While I'll certainly watch any movie and love to be surprised by something I have never heard of (see Pillow Talk), I appreciate when a classic like Scent of a Woman—with the culturally colossal Pacino performance—jumps the line on my watchlist, and I can take it in with friends—hoo-ah.
And Pacino more than lives up to it. Certain actors over time become parodies of themselves. They are punchlines for late-night comedians or archetypes in National Lampoon movies. But in reviewing the source material, people like Pacino, Jack Nicholson, Marlon Brando, and Katharine Hepburn, for example, demonstrate why they become fodder for imitation. Pacino here comes off so unique and big and crazy, it's easy to want to pretend to be them. It is the highest form of flattery to run off Frank Slade non-sequiturs—hoo-ah!
Mixed up in the analysis is the open question of whether Pacino is even remotely portraying a person who is blind accurately. There's a certain "Bugs Bunny pretending to be blind to avoid Yosemite Sam" quality to his performance. But I won't be so woke to even remotely suggest that an actual blind person stand in for Al here. The critique lies more in the thematic device that being visually impaired means. Slade has become blind as sort of a punishment for all his bad behavior and indicates his fall from grace. It's almost as if the movie is saying being blind is one of the worst things that could befall a person, and Slade, in his depressed moments, does long for the visually sumptuous moments that life formally gave him. It's very comically '90s for the logline to be "Al Pacino—but blind!" But I'm not looking for accuracy, and at minimum, Pacino's portrayal is reeking with humanity, so maybe, he's ok—hooh-ah?
And I won't dwell on this, but Chris O'Donnell is such a terrible empty suit foil to Pacino. Pretty much everyone else in the movie is better than him. The casting director put way more time in lining up bit parts for better actors with Philip Seymour Hoffman, June Squibb, Bradley Whitford, and (comically as the last-minute love interest) Frances Conroy. We're supposed to see O'Donnell as a surrogate son (which is explicitly said) or young Frank dealing with the old boys club while he stands up for what is right. But he is mealy mouthed, mumbly, and forgettable—he still didn't have a speech up his sleeve at the end. Take The Holdovers as evidence that a young actor (Dominic Sessa) can stand toe-to-toe with a big character (like Paul Giamatti) and the movie can withstand that push-pull of focus. O'Donnell just can't spar with Pacino, and the movie misses out on what could have been if similarly aged Matt Damon, Ethan Hawke, or Leonardo DiCaprio were in his shoes—hooh-ah :(
But let's not dwell on "what could have been"s. Let's enjoy what was there. I said earlier this movie is formulaic, and I think that's true. But what I mean is just a series of pretty ludicrous setups and character interactions that allow Pacino to flourish, so that's ok. He is such a lightning rod, we want to see Frank in every imaginable scenario, including, but not limited to: court-room drama, domestic holiday dinner squabble, high stakes action (the blind driving(!) Ferrari scene), and even a big Hollywood dance number. This formula won't always work for Pacino going forward: Frank Slade as football coach, Any Given Sunday; Slade as an Italian fashion scion, House of Gucci; Slade as a larger-than-life music producer, Phil Spector; and of course, Slade as Satan, The Devil's Advocate. But that alchemy works perfectly here. Slade as Slade is all I want and need: HOOH-AH!
4/5
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Joe
The very first thing that I did was go back and watch the Dunkaccino commercial from Jack and Jill. I just wanted to see if Scent of a Woman made the cut, now that I would recognize a reference to Scent of a Woman. Yup, they snuck a "hoo ah" in there! Very good, very good. I've definitely heard that phrase uttered around the pop culture landscape otherwise, and may have even been able to tell you that it was connected to Al Pacino in some way, but it was good connecting this particular set of dots. It always is.
But when that's my first reaction, it makes me wonder if that's all there was to that particular movie. Yes, Pacino won his only Oscar for his role in this. Is that all there is? Or is there a beating heart to this movie that I missed? I just get weary sometimes of what we talk about when we're talking about a film's value. I think a movie can be good even if there is an overwhelming sense that it's just ticking boxes. That is what I'm leaning toward when I think about Scent of a Woman. It's like I'm too far into the game now, and can recognize the mechanisms grinding away and levers being pulled as they are happening.
Like for example, the fact that Al Pacino plays a blind man, and this is the role that won him his Academy Award. That's a thing, right, where the Academy is more likely to reward you if you're playing someone with some sort of disability? I doubt this was a "thing" in 1992, but here in 2026, I've already seen Tropic Thunder. So it's tough to go back and see this as "fresh." Or like the scene with the gun, to give you a more general example. I had two competing feelings about it. One was that it was effective, since here was Chekov's suicide gun, foretold by the man intending to use it on himself, and the two characters having forged a bond strong enough that it prevents the gun from being fired. Two was that this was not revelatory by any means, that I've seen this before, in films either before or after Scent of a Woman it doesn't matter, that when the gun was introduced, you knew exactly how it was going to play out. I was satisfied because it was a good thing, but I wasn't surprised, which prevents it from being a GREAT movie.
And I'm just wondering if this is a just a limitation of a film project that involves going back and watching important (or "important," depending on the situation) movies, that they were foundational in some way, but we as a cultural have built upon that foundation, and it's tough sometimes to go back and see that foundation for what it was, now that we have all this other cool stuff on top of it. Sure, I'm talking about the pop culture references like the hoo ah in the Dunkaccino commercial, and the thousands of other characters who have said the phrase as a reference in countless TV shows and movies. But I'm also talking about taking the themes presented here and making them seem less obvious and more interesting. Like maybe a movie like Wim Wenders' 2023 masterpiece Perfect Days, which dealt with the theme of loneliness and solitude without having the oversized characterization of "blind man" in there.
And then I feel stupid when I try to pull something from the themes of a movie like this when I can feel the machinations at work, almost like I'm trying to be too clever or something. Here's a thought I had during Frank Slade's monologue during the school tribunal: both sides of the plot are about the theme of "seeing," i.e. Frank can't see and Charlie won't see. In forcing us to consider what it means to see, what seeing something might do to one's conscious, the idea is juxtaposed with the idea of being like Frank and literally not being able to see. Is this what the filmmakers intended? I am forced to think that yes, it is, but only because it's that type of film. It's obvious. It's good but it's an obvious film. There's nothing subtle about a blind Al Pacino yelling as loud as he can about Charlie's right to not see and not say. That means it's a good movie and not a great movie.
GRADE: 3.5 pukes out of 5
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GROUP AVERAGE GRADE: 3.67 pukes out of 5
Check out the comments hoo ah.
(NEXT TIME: Bobby gets Weird when we check out UHF together.)
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