Do it first, do it yourself, and keep on doing it.

I watched both versions of Scarface over the last few days: Al Pacino as a Cuban refugee in 1983 and Paul Muni, as an exuberant, gun-giddy Italian immigrant in 1932.

If push came to shove, I'd stick with the original. Maybe it's the surprise of Pre-Code grittiness you don't associate with Depression-era films (Fred and Ginger dont't come waltzing through any scenes here). Or maybe it's the crazy mix of slapstick comedy that shows up between the rattle of tommy guns and broken glass. There's an energy and experimentation, an excitement of pushing the envelope that doesn't translate into the Brian de Palma update.

I also think the dames in the original had more bite and character. Poppy and Francesca were tough and complex, not at all the powerless puppets the remake turned them into. The 1932 broads threw around guns, whereas in 1983 they just threw tantrums.

My favorite line may be Poppy's comment on Tony's new duds -
Tony: "Hey, wad's all the time bitin' you? You 'fraid of me?"
Poppy: "Well, that outfit's enough to give anybody the yip."

Mean Mr. Mustard

My sister-in-law and I had a day of antique shopping. I maintained a focus on practicality, old jars for my bulk grains. There is always a challenge to keeping that practicality. I overcame some expensive temptations. This $2 one, however, conquered me:


In a past life, he held strong horseradish mustard, this upright English banker. That's what he looks like to me, though the jar stamp says he hails from Chicago. His previous owner also found him endearing, as evinced by the tin foil lining the rusted underside of his lid.