My attitude to this film can be simply compared to my dislike of pineapples - despite there not really being an intelligent blog-worthy reason as to why they make my face scrunch up in blatant old-school distaste, I still avoid them like diseased German bean sprouts from the supermarket shelf.
And whilst I'm neither a heavy handed Al Pacino basher who stamps, seals and delivers him as an overrated bunch of twitching muscle fibres nor a member of his loyal butt-kissing brigade, I'm still cradling the belief that his 'bling-bling' gangster perfomance is far and gone from the best in his celluloid history.
Plus, the whole film seems as tacky as five dime hooker's pyrex outfit and resembles more of a hyperviolent rap music video than it does a 'critic's little darling' gangster classic. Or maybe that's just me.
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