BY TODD GARBARINI
I
originally saw the Brian De Palma/Al Pacino version of Scarface (1983) on
laserdisc in 1994 and again in a 20th anniversary theatrical
screening in New York, but not since. Recently, I decided to have revisit it on
Netflix and was amazed that I recalled very little of it. The constant use of
profanity and the intensity of some of the violent set pieces, in particular
the notorious chainsaw scene, are tamer than the language and the most violent moments
of HBO’s The Sopranos (1999 – 2007) and Showtime’s Brotherhood
(2006 – 2008). However, in 1983 Universal Pictures was prompted to release the
film with the following caveat in the newspaper ads when the film was released
in December: “CAUTION – Scarface is an intense film both in its use of
language and depiction of violence. We suggest mature audiences.†While one
might think this was a publicity stunt with the objective to get as many people
to see the film as possible, it could very well have instead been a compromise
to having the film released without the dreaded X rating. Director De Palma was
no stranger to sparring with the then Motion Picture Association of America
(MPAA) and its president, Richard Heffner. Previously, Mr. De Palma’s 1980 film
Dressed to Kill needed to be altered to avoid an X and he went back and
forth with the MPAA on the violence and overt sexual nature of the film until
it was releasable. It is interesting to note that the X rating, generally
associated with explicit sexual content as opposed to violence, was also given
to John Schlesinger’s Midnight Cowboy when it was released in May 1969
(later changed to an R rating), Stanley Kubrick’s masterful A Clockwork
Orange in December 1971 (also later changed to an R rating following the
removal of several seconds of footage), and most famously, to Bernardo
Bertolucci’s Last Tango in Paris in February 1973 (recently changed to
NC-17). Tango garnered critical acclaim from New Yorker reviewer Pauline
Kael and, arguably because of the promise of sex scenes with the then
45-year-old Marlon Brando, did boffo box office. These are the cinema’s most
notable examples, with Cowboy winning the Best Picture Oscar and Clockwork
being nominated but losing to William Friedkin’s The French Connection
(1971) for that top prize. In the end, Scarface received an R rating and
grossed several million dollars shy of its $23.5M budget but, like so many
films of that period, cleaned up later on from ancillary sources such as home
video and cable television airings. It has become one of the most famous and
beloved motion pictures in recent memory, adding Al Pacino’s famous line about
saying hello to his little friend to the American lexicon, right up there with
Roy Scheider’s quip about needing a bigger boat in Jaws (1975).
It
is interesting to note that the very existence of Scarface began with the
original film of the same name made roughly fifty years prior to it and served
as the blueprint for Mr. Pacino’s interpretation of Cuban arrival Antonio
Montana and his rise to fame in the cocaine-laden backdrop of Miami, FL. Directed
by Howard Hawks between September 1930 and March 1931 and written by playwright
Ben Hecht, Scarface (1932), then billed as Scarface, the Shame of a
Nation, opened at the Rialto Theatre in New York City on Thursday, May 19,
1932 and, like the remake, also suffered its own share of controversy for
violence and sexuality, though not due to the same intensity as the remake. Coming
on the heels of Mervyn Leroy’s Little Caesar with Edward G. Robinson and
William A. Wellman’s The Public Enemy, both from 1931, Scarface
is widely considered to be the start of cinema’s depiction of and fascination
with gangsters and crime dramas. We are in 1920s Chicago in the time of Al
Capone (upon whose life the film is loosely based) and gangland wars between
the city’s North Side and South Side. The film begins with a single take that
runs just over three minutes in a setup that sets the tone. This must have been
deemed very suspenseful at the time and, while not nearly as intricate as the
three-minute mobile crane shot that opens Orson Welles’s Touch of Evil
(1957) or the three-minute Panaglide shot that starts John Carpenter’s Halloween
(1978), it manages to build tension for an audience not used to seeing such
cinematic techniques at the time.
The
story gets underway with “Big†Louis Costillo (Harry J. Vegar), the most
successful crime boss on the city’s South Side, talking and laughing with
members of his crew at a restaurant when heads to a phone booth. In the
shadows, still in the same opening take, Antonio “Tony†Camonte (Paul Muni),
Costillo’s own hired muscle, appears in silhouette and kills him in a murder contracted
with him by John “Johnny†Lovo (Osgood Perkins), his new boss. This being the
era of Prohibition, the main source of income is not cocaine but beer to be
delivered to speakeasies. A police officer heads to a barbershop the next day
and brings Tony in for questioning, determined to finger him for Costillo’s murder.
A lawyer pulls some strings and gets Tony out of it, but the police want to
catch him in the act of a crime, and they are more determined than ever. As it
stands Johnny, Tony’s new boss, now controls the South Side, with Tony and the
reticent Rinaldo (George Raft in a menacing performance) at his side. Rinaldo
reminds me of Al Neri, Michael Corleone’s reticent henchman in The Godfather
films, played icily by the late Richard Bright.
The
North Side is run by a man named O’Hara and Tony’s thirst for power begins to
swell. Johnny warns him not to mess with business associates on the North Side
because, in the words of Tony Soprano, “it attracts negative attention†and
potential violence. Tony also has his eye on Poppy (Karen Morley), Johnny’s
girlfriend, who initially shrugs Tony off, but warms up to him later when his
flirtations increase as he becomes more intrigued by her. In his apartment, he
shows her the sight of an electric billboard across the way advertising Cook’s
Tours beneath the slogan “The World is Yours,†taken to excessive extremes in
the De Palma remake.