Actually, you might be surprised.

If you haven’t seen “Glengarry Glen Ross” recently, maybe you should see how Roma’s described on Wikipedia:

Although Roma seems to think of himself as a latter day cowboy and regards his ability to make a sale as a sign of his virility, he admits only to himself that it is all luck. He is ruthless, dishonest and immoral, but succeeds because he has a talent for figuring out a client’s weaknesses and crafting a pitch that will exploit those weaknesses. He is a smooth talker and often speaks in grand, poetic soliloquies.

Those who’ve read about Spector’s brusque, often downright crazed interactions with musicians in the studio, his turbulent relationship with ex-wife Ronnie Spector, and a notorious obsession with firearms which—no matter how you spin the story of the night a woman named Lana Clarkson ended up dead in his home—was directly responsible for his eventual incarceration will certainly see some immediate similarities between him and Roma. After seeing HBO’s “Phil Spector,” you will see even more of them. What you will not see, however, is a movie that matches “Glengarry Glen Ross.”

But, then, you probably didn’t expect that, anyway.

Discerning the difference between a good Al Pacino performance and a bad Al Pacino performance is a bit like the old “Remote Control” category, “Dead or Canadian”: sometimes it’s awfully hard to tell.

Take, for instance, his turn as John Milton in 1997’s “The Devil’s Advocate,” which was so insanely over the top that…well, it wasn’t what you’d describe as good in the traditional sense of the word, but it’s got such a can’t-take-your-eyes-off-the-screen quality to it that it’s hard to write it completely off as bad, either.

This is not what you’d call an isolated incident within Pacino’s filmography, but he’s certainly not beyond the point of being able to disappear inside a character. In particular, there seems to be something about working for HBO which brings out the very best in him: he’s earned the Emmy for Outstanding Lead Actor in a Miniseries or Movie twice now for his efforts in the network’s production, first for playing Roy Cohn in 1993’s “Angels in America,” then for his depiction of Dr. Jack Kevorkian in 2010’s “You Don’t Know Jack.” The quality of work might also have something to do with a desire to do justice to his portrayal of real people. Whatever the reason, his performance in the latter role effectively made me an Al Pacino fan all over again, because I forgot I was watching Al Pacino. Hand on heart, I cannot begin to tell you the last time I’ve ever experienced that, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s because it was the first time it had ever happened.

Suffice it to say that it does not happen during “Phil Spector.” Or, at the very least, it does not happen with enough consistency that viewers will ever truly find themselves lost in Pacino’s performance. Part of that may come from the fact that it would be impossible for anyone to play Phil Spector without a certain amount of flamboyance, thereby sending Pacino down a road where it becomes almost inevitable that he will fall victim to his tendency to go over the top. Certainly, the need to wear several different wigs and at least one fake moustache don’t exactly help one’s suspension of disbelief, either.

Still, you may have noted the caveat in the previous paragraph which implies that there are, in fact, some occasions where, despite whatever get-up he may be wearing at the time, Pacino captures the viewer’s attention successfully enough to vanish into his character for short periods. There’s definitely a special kind of magic when Mamet’s dialogue and Pacino’s delivery meet, and it’s evident during Spector’s soliloquies about his career, his way with women, and various and sundry other topics. Sometimes they come across as considered and thoughtful, other times they play like the ravings of a lunatic, but when Pacino’s given the opportunity to get on a roll, he delivers.

Oftentimes, however, Spector’s rants are interrupted by his attorney, Linda Kenney Baden, played by Helen Mirren, which shatters the magic. As a result, the back-and-forth between the two of them isn’t nearly as effective as when they’re provided their own spotlights, or when Mirren gets to play against Jeffrey Tambor, who plays her fellow attorney Bruce Cutler.

It’s also worth noting that there’s a slightly mind-bending announcement made at the beginning of “Phil Spector” which may affect your appreciation of the subsequent events:

“This is a work of fiction. It’s not ‘based on a true story.’ It is a drama inspired by actual persons in a trial, but it is neither an attempt to depict the actual persons, nor to comment upon the trial or its outcome.”

So what the hell is it, then?

Ultimately, it’s a reminder that Mamet and Pacino can, when the circumstances are right, work magic together, but whereas “Glengarry Glen Ross” was pure wizardry, “Phil Spector” is just a couple of nicely-executed card tricks: it’s not entirely unimpressive, but you’ve seen ‘em do better.

Yes, before there was Sex on the Beach and the Screaming Orgasm there was this week’s bluntly named — at least by prohibition era standards, anyways — libation. On the other hand, it’s also probably a lot more appropriate for Mother’s Day weekend than you might care too think, given that cocktails like this are very often the mother of motherhood, if you will.

Between the Sheets

1 ounce brandy or cognac
1 ounce white rum
1 ounce Cointreau or triple sec
1/2 an ounce (or less) fresh squeezed lemon juice

Combine brandy/cognac, rum, lemon juice, and triple sec or Cointreau in a shaker with lots of ice. Shake vigorously and pour into our old friend, the pre-chilled cocktail glass. Shake, put on some Marvin Gaye, Barry White, Beyoncé, or Perry Como (don’t say I don’t give you people some options) and sip sensuously.

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Between the Sheets is an unusual drink not only for its pre-1970s salaciousness, but in that it’s in the small but fascinating family of multiple base spirit cocktails with its rum/brandy combo. Admittedly, however, this is not as much to my personal taste as the Saratoga — which features brandy and rye — from a few weeks back, but it will do.

I tried it several different ways but no clear favorite emerged. The version with inexpensive Bols triple sec was not cloying, as some drinks made with it can be. Using the high end triple sec, Cointreau, added a classy but not super-enthralling note of complex bitterness. Both drinks were fine but when I got a bit more experimental and used orange curacao, which I generally tend to prefer to triple sec, the drink became annoyingly super-sweet. Not sexy at all.

It might not be a huge personal favorite of mine, but I encourage you to give Between the Sheets a shot. It’s a tasty enough drink and a reminder of the healthy, natural activity that brought us all into the world so we can enjoy cocktails and feel guilty about not calling our mother’s enough.

Now, a behind the scenes look at the making of the cocktail we call humanity.

We conclude our May 4, 2012 doubleheader with one of the most legendary of all cocktails and the ultimate Derby Day tradition. It’s also a drink, I’m ashamed to admit, I’ve only tried for myself in the last couple of weeks.

According to such experts as New Orleans bartender Chris MacMillian, the Mint Julep was to the 19th century what the Martini was to the 20th. As MacMillians also reminds us, this super classic drink’s roots actually go back far further — juleps were eulogized in 1634 by “Paradise Lost” poet John Milton in his “Comus,” which some of us old English majors have actually read, even if we don’t remember a word of it. Today, the bourbon, sugar and mint concoction is primarily associated with Southern belles and gents in old movies seeking a cool libation on a powerful hot day, not to mention the ultra-famed horse race which will once again be run tomorrow afternoon.

As I heard from numerous sources, however, the actual juleps served in recent years at the home of the Kentucky Derby have been anything but satisfying. If word on the cocktail street is correct, Churchill Downs has fallen prey to the #1 enemy of good cocktails — a pre-mix! Tragic, perhaps but also almost understandable given the enormous crowds who arrive each year for Derby Day. In any case, if you want a really good Mint Julep, you’ll have to go a high quality bar with a decent mixologist in residence or, of course, you may make one yourself.

The Mint Julep

2.5-3 ounces bourbon whiskey
1/2 ounce simple syrup or 1 tablespoon sugar and a splash of water
About 5-8 fresh mint leaves
Lots of ice — preferably crushed.

Combine mint leaves, simple syrup or sugar (preferably superfine or powdered) and water in a rocks/old fashioned glass or, if you have one (I don’t) a traditional metal julep glass. Gently muddle the mixture, being careful not to overdo it as, we are warned, over-muddling mint can release some displeasing bitterness. Fill up your glass with ice, add the bourbon of your choice, and stir. Toast your favorite racehorse and sip slowly.

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There’s no doubt about it, I’m a piker when it comes to the Mint Julep. I’ve made a few decent versions of it but I don’t own the special sack — called a Lewis bag — or the mallet needed for making the crushed ice fine enough to make the julep a sort of highly alcoholic snow cone and I also don’t own a blender. Even so, this drink works fine with lots of ordinary ice, particularly if you’re a bourbon lover, as I am. I made some very good versions of it using the remainder of my Angel’s Envy — I still had some left over from my exploration of the Chicago Sour — but I had  good luck as well using some very inexpensive yet sweeter and highly drinkable Evan Williams brew. I’m sure Maker’s Mark or really any brand of bourbon you like a lot would work delightfully.

The only problems I encountered were when I tried to dial back the sweetness. None other than James Bond in “Goldfinger” ordered his drink tart. When I tried it that way, the flavors simply didn’t come together. Just because you own a license to kill and save the world once a year doesn’t mean you know everything.

Of course, I don’t know everything either. Something tells me the drink, as prepared a bit differently from me by Chris MacMillian himself below, was really something.