Scarface

Based loosely on Howard Hawks’ eponymous gangster film, Scarface follows Al Pacino’s Tony Montana as he claws his way to the top of Miami’s drug scene – with the film detailing the character’s meteoric rise and inevitable fall. There’s little doubt that Scarface, at a running time of 170 minutes, is much, much longer than it generally needs to be, as the movie boasts an episodic midsection that revolves mostly around Montana’s various drug deals and his ongoing efforts at winning the affections of Michelle Pfeiffer’s chilly Elvira Hancock. It is, as such, worth noting that the film, while consistently watchable, is never as engrossing or compelling as one might’ve expected, although it’s just as clear that director Brian De Palma, working from Oliver Stone’s bloated screenplay, does a nice job of peppering the narrative with sequences and interludes of a palpably electrifying nature (eg Montana’s tense encounter with a chainsaw-wielding psychopath). The relaxed atmosphere admittedly grows more and more problematic as Scarface strolls into its languid second half, as it becomes increasingly difficult to shake the feeling that De Palma and Stone are spinning their wheels in the buildup to the climax (ie the film is simply too talky and repetitive for its own good). Such concerns are generally allayed by Pacino’s engaging and frequently hypnotic performance, with the actor’s chameleon-like turn as the central character proving instrumental in sustaining the viewer’s interest through the movie’s more overtly lackadaisical stretches. By the time the insanely violent (and tremendously entertaining) finale rolls around, Scarface has confirmed its place as a sporadically electrifying endeavor that could’ve used a few more passes through the editing bay.

*** out of ****