***1/2 (out of ****)
Starring Al Pacino, Steven Bauer, Michelle Pfeiffer, Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, F. Murray Abraham, Robert Loggia, Paul Shenar, Harris Yulin, Arnaldo Santana, Al Israel, and Miriam Colon
Directed by Brian De Palma & written by Oliver Stone, inspired by the 1932 film “Scarface, The Shame of the Nation” written by Howard Hawks from the novel by Armitage Trail
1983
170 min R
“Scarface” showcases one of movie history’s great over-the-top-performances: the legendary Al Pacino in the title character of gangster Tony Montana. It simply must be a job of over-acting, because Montana is just such a colossal fake. The gangster is a dreadful coward so massively insecure that he has created a caricature of himself, a façade, because who he is behind the mask is so insubstantial, and possibly even nonexistent. We can tell that this genuine, hidden personality is so pathetic because his façade has been thoughtlessly constructed from such a haphazard mishmash of swearing, tough guy clichés, and old Bogart movies. That Montana, who is Cuban, is not played by a Cuban actor is appropriate; even his skin feels faked. Throughout “Scarface,” I think Montana is referring to this self-imposed caricature every time he talks about that male organ that Austin Powers called “the two veg,” as in “meat and two veg.”
Without contemplation Montana follows this caricature, even to the grave, although we never see him enjoying it. He’s like a little child who knows he’s wrong but can’t stand to admit it, so he shouts and shouts and shouts about how right he is. He started life determined to act tough, and he’s too much of a coward to not follow that blatantly wrong determination to the bitter end. Even his decision to walk into a wall of gunfire and hose down his enemies without an assault rifle might not be bravery so much as an inability to see past this asinine lifestyle choice. It must have taken actor Pacino, screenwriter Oliver Stone, and director Brian De Palma much thought and hard work to create a character as stupid and self-unaware as “Scarface’s” Montana.
De Palma’s 1983 film is famous for its excesses, in Pacino’s acting, in the violence, in the continual swearing, and in the movie’s nearly three-hour run time. But a movie about a man like Montana must be excessive, because he is so excessive. Yet I was surprised by De Palma’s decision to film all this decadence from a distance. All the suits are loud and tacky. All the men wear gold chains around their necks. Michelle Pfeiffer never wears a dress that has a back and Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio never wears a dress that allows for a bra. Montana’s palatial mansion is ludicrously vast and vapidly gauche. And, yes, only a sentence that redundant can encapsulated its gaudiness. I was expecting something more like “Gangs of New York” in which we are in the, er, heat of the debauchery. Yet De Palma’s decision to detach his camera from everything makes it clear that he doesn’t admire drug dealers. They may have a lot of neat stuff but, goodness, are they tasteless losers.
“Scarface” is very much a movie of the 1980s, and not just because of the cheesy synthesizer music and the gunshot effects which sound a little muffled to our Dolby-ized ears. The movie is a warning about the grabbing hands of capitalism. Business is not my forte; I have no way of verifying Montana’s claim that all the wealthy are just as slimy as he is, except able to hide it. “Scarface” may not be an accurate portrayal of how commerce works or money changes hands, but the movie decries the idea of consumption becoming a religion. (In “Bart Simpson’s Guide to Life,” the 1980s are described as “Greed becomes a religion. Millions worship.”) If Montana, or his caricature, has a creed, it is “I deserve to own everything”—he even has a statue in his house which says “The World is Yours.” While De Palma’s film may show the consumer products to be gained by such a faith, it ultimately shows what an empty faith that is.
But on to the plot summary, which is a familiar affair of the rise, tragic ambition, and fall of a crime lord. Montana, a refugee from Castro’s Cuba, comes to America, makes a display of ruthlessness, joins the employ of a drug trafficker, works his way up the ladder, overthrows his former boss, gets everything, starts getting high, loses control, and gradually the plates stop spinning. A simplified, perhaps even simplistic theory of why organized crime tends to rise in hastily-made immigrant communities is that it provides an alternate form of law and order when local law enforcement is unwilling to get involved. This is showcased beautifully in “The Godfather Part II” in which Don Vito becomes something of a benign public servant. I recently visited the Eastern European ethnic enclave where most of my great-grandparents lived after entering the U.S. I half-jokingly wondered if they, too, had some godfather cutting corners on behalf of his people.
Page two of “Scarface” (1983). Back to home.