By Elizabeth Newby, Columnist
Scarface was probably the first movie I ever fell in love with. Before I fell for Superbad, a film that perfectly defined our generation’s awkward high school years—only with cool Richard Pryor T-shirts and wittier penis jokes—there was Scarface.
Growing up in a conservative Christian household, the film was like visual vodka. I was mesmerized by the surplus of shoulder pads, Tony Montana’s over-the-top Cuban accent, all the gaudy architecture, and the piles of cocaine just sitting around in every scene.
Scarface is the reason I want a pet tiger. And, I feel like there are a lot of logical reasons for anyone to want a tiger as a pet.
It represented everything I wasn’t supposed to do, complete with an endorsement from my future husband Jay-Z and pretty much the rest of all of my favorite rappers. Sorry, Beyonce.
I continue to enjoy the film at my distinguished age because of its significant cultural impact. You know the profound social commentary on excess, the perversion of the American dream, and the exploitation of power, blah, blah, blah.
I would never watch a film because it’s funny when the characters say the word “f—” more than 300 times (for real) in two-and-a-half hours. That’s absurd. I mean, my cinematic taste is refined now.
So all of you college students should join me in becoming more cultured and academic-like at a one-night-only screening.
Not only do you get to see a young Al Pacino kill it on the big screen, but you also get to see Michelle Pfeiffer play a stone-cold, drugged-out badass. I know you performance majors flip your lids for Pfeiffer. Don’t even try to play.
Be sure to make the trek 20 minutes north and look for me in the seats. I’ll be the one sitting next to P. Diddy with my face buried in coke.
If I buy the coke, hopefully Diddy will buy the popcorn. (I’m referring to the soda, of course.)
Scarface showed at 7:30 p.m. Aug. 31 at Quail Springs AMC 24, 2501 W. Memorial Road.
