Scarface (1983)


Brian DePalma directs Al Pacino, Michelle Pfeiffer and Steven Bauer in this Cuban immigrant / Miami coke trafficker update of the 1930’s Howard Hawks gangster classic. 

Let’s get down to brass tacks. If you aren’t a wannabe rapper or a bedsit weed dealer then this Scarface is a bit dull a lot of the time. It is 90 minutes of plot stretched out to nearly 3 hours with a lot of extra white, a little tit, some juicy dismemberment and Pacino’s most incoherent and first truly indulgent performance. We aren’t in full on HOO-HA territory just yet but he certainly isn’t interested in subtle or complex, even at this early point. There is a garish spaced out charm to it all and DePalma bungs in a few of his experimental set pieces to keep us buffs dazzled. But it is too fucking long. Like a cokehead at a party it rambles loudly and obnoxiously and repetitively in your ear for twice the time any sensible person would. Say goodbye to my lengthy friend.


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