Scarface
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Tony Montana has taken just so much shit his whole life. Hes been oppressed and repressed and mocked and called a spic and turned on by his own country (Cuba) that hes just not going to take any shit anymore. Hell shoot someone just for pissing him off, which is almost admirable, or at the very least understandable. Im not advocating violence; all Im saying is that we all have our limits and if someone treated me the way Tony Montana had been treated his whole life – if they spit on me, and degraded me, and mocked me and doubted any power I might have, I might want to prove them wrong.
Of course, its a movie, and we know it well; Scarface with Al Pacino as the Cuban immigrant turned drug lord with his mountains of coke and his beautiful but, basically dead, wife, Elvira, living what he believes is the American dream.
Elvira, Tonys wife, played perfectly by Michelle Pfieffer, is beautiful and so cool shes ice cold, whose only job is to be an ornament, and who comes from somewhere in Baltimore, were told, and whose only goal, it seems, is to just be taken care of by all these rich and violent thugs. She doesnt seem phased by all the guns and underworld thugs that hang around the house, but then, her nose is so packed full of coke that this is not really a surprise. Most of the time, shes got this false cocaine-calm aloofness that lends itself to comparisons with a mannequin.
Her power and her trump is that ultimately, we get the sense that its a role shes chosen – not one that was ever put upon her. That its all within her control. Men like Tony Montana are brought to their knees by her cool beauty and icy aloofness. Shes like coke they cant buy or trade or snort or get enough of, but surely as powerful . But ultimately, shes just some middle-class chick form Baltimore who was probably really bored and moved to Miami for some excitement. Shes a bitch. As Tony says to her, “You got a look like you havent been fucked in a year.” And its true. Maybe she knows her power is in the withholding, but this can only last for so long; a tease works because ultimately, there has to be something at the end of it. If its all attitude and cock tease, after a while, that gets boring and the furthest thing from sexy. Somethings gotta give.
Tony Montana wants, as he says, “whats coming to me,” which is “the world and everything in it.” Never satisfied, never settled, the immigrant with the chip on the shoulder who sees Miami as ” a great big pussy just waiting to be fucked,” and hes the guy to do it. I love that he sees himself so well endowed; it shows a moxie and an appealing verve that todays sensitive men lack (or more accurately, feel they must keep under wraps.) Tonys energy is violent, sexual, intense; hes all about conquest and triumph and most of all, proving himself. A guy who knows that in “this country, you gotta get the money first” That money is power and all flows from that.
When Elvira laughs and mocks at his tiger-striped, tricked-out Cadillac (read; his interpretation of money versus what people who have money do), he goes and buys a new car, bringing her along. She canpick the car. Hes adapative, comprising, and mostly, wooing. That hes willing to shake-off the guido-trappings he can then have the ultimate American male accessory – the beautiful and aloff womean who doesnt give a shit, and as she says, “doesnt fuck around with the help” which is him, but not matter. She will. The icier she is, the harder he tries. Its a little dance we see a lot on our society and I wonder why we cant just say what we mean and mean what we say and why we have to pretend were not interested in the first place. But okay.
Her nose is packed with coke, she needs to relax more than a little and should be doing Valium and Prozac and Ritalin instead of coke and she does look like she needs to be fucked, especially by someone like Tony Montana. But what Elvira fears is her own sexual appetite – and basically anything that makes her human, and this reminds me of other girls.
My point is that Elvira is afraid of need and wanting which is like a lot of girls in the world that I see every day. We kill our natural desire will pills and yoga and shopping and expensive highlights and blow-outs and make-up from Nars and Armani that we dont need, but believe are The Answer, because all these panaceas makes us feel better – for a brief time.
Am I the only one who finds it odd that we pursue the latest make-up or perfume to create the seasons smoky lid and crimson lips and cheeks all flushed and wear blush called Orgasm and wear perfume that smells of musk and civet (from the balls of a wild cat), all in an effort to create the illusion that we have just had a night of mind-blowing, boot-banging, spank me-fuck me sex with some guy like Tony Montana.
Why not just fuck Tony Montana or whoever it is that appeals. Were just trading dependencies by falling into consumerism instead of relationships. Product cant talk back or betray or hurt us the way a person can, and god help if us we should live life and take a chance at love, and yes, that includes hurt. Its fear that controls us, but ultimately were not living. Instead, we create this illusion of life, like the illusion of post-coitus achieved with make-up and hair-texturizers with names like Bed Head. Its stupid.
For our all of our so-called liberation and advancement as women, I think we had a helluva lot more fun in the seventies, when women were just beginning to enjoy the sort of rights men had always enjoyed; a time when women grew their hair long and brown and used Herbal Essence in the original green bottle and didnt feel the need