The Godfather

It's been called the greatest movie ever made, a modern classic, a landmark film of our time. No, I'm not talking about Casablanca; I'm referring to Francis Ford Coppola's epic 1972 film The Godfather. It was this movie that introduced the world to the Corleone crime family, with the aging Don (played superbly by Marlon Brando), the hot-tempered Sonny (James Caan), and the young and innocent Michael (a very young Al Pacino) who is destined to lose his innocence. I'll confess, I almost don't know what to write here, for what can I say about The Godfather that hasn't already been said? What kind of praise can I lavish upon the film that ranks among the greatest? Well, I'll start by saying that The Godfather, no matter how many times you view it, feels timeless. I largely attribute this to it being a period piece, and in general I find period pieces very fascinating to watch.

But Coppola's understated, subtle filming style is what makes The Godfather so remarkable, so epic, so powerful. It doesn't blast the audience with dazzling special effects and super-cool slow-motion camerawork. Instead, Coppola slowly lets the story unfold, naturally, gently, allowing the audience plenty of time to let it all sink in and feel its raw power. Take, for example, the opening trumpet fanfare. Just that solo instrument issuing those low, single tones almost becomes an omen of what's to come, the dangers that will be encountered—and the Shakespearean tragedy that the audience will ultimately bear witness to as the Corleone family progresses through the ages (I think The Godfather was supposed to cover a span of roughly 10 years).

The film opens on the wedding day of Connie Corleone, played by a pre-Rocky Talia Shire (Francis Ford Coppola's sister, I might add; talk about having connections!). As Michael explains to his girlfriend Kay (a very young and surprisingly pretty Diane Keaton) at the outdoor reception, it's Sicilian custom for the bride's father to grant every wish made of him on his daughter's wedding day—and as such, Don Corleone is sequestered for much of the reception in his study, entertaining visitors and well-wishers who also seek his help.

In these early scenes, Marlon Brando gives us our first taste of this legendary character, from his dressing down of Bonasera, to his skillful negotiations with Tom Hagen (played by Robert Duvall), and lastly to his promises to aging singer Johnny Fontaine (a character supposedly based on Frank Sinatra). We're subtly told that the Don is a man of great and fearful power, that his friendship can mean the world to many people—but whose wrath can be equally terrifying, particularly if he "gives you an offer you can't refuse". And perhaps in the movie's most infamous scene, the Don made such an offer to a movie producer who didn't want to give Johnny Fontaine a movie role that would be perfect for him. The Don sent Tom Hagen to meet Woltz, the movie producer, to persuade him to grant Johnny Fontaine the role he wanted, but Woltz ultimately refused . . . only to find the decapitated head of his favorite horse laying in his bed the next morning. (Suffice it to say, Johnny got the part.)

But these scenes are merely meant to exemplify the vast power held by the Don. The real story of The Godfather doesn't begin until later, when the Don is approached by Virgil "The Turk" Sollozzo to join with another major crime family, the Tattaglia family, in a deal involving narcotics. The Don, not wanting to get his hands into the drug trade, respectfully turns down Sollozzo—only this results in a hit being ordered on the Don, who gets gunned down in the street while buying oranges. The Don survives the hit, but it prompts a frantic reorganization of the family's power—internally and within the larger context of 1940s New York (because the Don has sway over many New York politicians). The hot-tempered Sonny, being the oldest son, assumes command of the family, but he has to be kept in check by Tom Hagen because Sonny's emotions blur the lines between family business and personal vendettas. Michael, the one who never wanted to join the family business, doesn't even begin to involve himself until he pays his father a visit at the hospital late one night.

And I love this scene where Michael walks alone through the hospital at night . . . because the tension in that scene is unbearable. The tension comes from knowing the Don is a marked man, that he's all alone in the hospital, that there are no bodyguards or even policemen there to protect him, and in these circumstances, something could happen at any second—but it's outside the hospital, where Michael and Enzo act like bodyguards, that Michael shows us his earliest signs of how he can effectively fill the role of Don. The family meeting that follows, when Michael lays out his plan for killing Sollozzo and Captain McCluskey, builds onto this early Don-like persona. Just his posture alone, when he's sitting in the armchair explaining his plan, carried a larger-than-life presence and command. And in the restaurant later on, when Michael finally pulls the trigger on Sollozzo and Captain McCluskey (in another scene of terrible tension, where we know precisely what Michael has to do but not when and how he'll do it), Michael crosses a line he never hoped to come anywhere near . . . and even he knows there's no going back now.

With Michael's gradual ascension to the role of Don, The Godfather is largely a story about the corruption of the prodigal son. Michael, you see, was the one who broke away from his family by going off to fight in World War II, and by initially choosing to marry a non-Italian (Kay). In terms of "family matters", he chooses to keep his distance . . . but again, it was only with the hit on the Don that Michael begins to get involved in the family business. And when Michael fully embraces the role of Don, we see him not as the sweet, patriotic boy from Connie's wedding. He's now a man who's far more ruthless and powerful than his father ever could be, and everything he does is purely a business deal, no matter how terrible the act or what the cost may be. Tessio, Carlo—it was all business, even though both men were very close to him and his father.

Truly, the most heartbreaking moment of The Godfather comes in the very last scene, when Kay looks back into the study to see Clemenza kiss Michael's hand and address him, "Don Corleone". With just those two words, prodigal son Michael has fully transformed into his father . . . and is forever the Godfather.

I've recently read the book, and reading the book actually helped me understand some of the more subtler ideas presented in the movie, i.e., the reasonings behind some of the scenes. For example, the opening scene with Bonasera asking Don Corleone to kill the two young boys who beat his daughter. When you watch the movie for the first time, you see how Don Corleone initially refuses Bonasera's request, but only grants it when Bonasera starts to show some respect. When you read the book, just how Bonasera is being disrespectful becomes more clear, whereas it may not be as clear when you see the movie. Because Bonasera's request isn't asked for in a state of friendship, in a proper give-and-take manner. Instead he just asks for a certain job to be done and offers money. But for the Don, it isn't about the money—it's about respect and loyalty.

Another example is why a hit took place on the Don. You see, when he turned down Sollozzo's business deal, Sonny made the mistake of actually showing interest in said deal. As such, Sollozzo and the Tattaglia family ordered the hit to affect a line of succession in the Corleone family—i.e., if Sonny became head of the family, then the narcotics deal that Sollozzo initially proposed would become official between the Corleone and Tattaglia families. In other words, the hit on the Don was done in the interests of business.

And lastly, the final execution of all the heads of the Five Families. In the movie, you're left with the impression that Michael ordered it in order to cement his power—but in the book, it was actually initiated by Don Corleone himself, as retribution for Sonny's murder. But the Don was patient, bided his time, allowing his promise to not break the peace settle in on everyone's mind. When the Don dies, the responsibility then falls to Michael to carry out his father's wishes. Though Coppola put the final execution together brilliantly, intercutting it with the baptism of Connie's baby. Seeing it unfold on screen, you literally feel a chill at Michael's power and viciousness when his orders are carried out.

Which leads me to another point: for a movie made in 1972, the violence factor was surprisingly high. Sonny's toll-booth assassination comes immediately to mind, along with the accidental murder of Apollonia, and most of all, the wiping out of the heads of the Five Families. I mean, can you name another movie from the early '70s where you saw a close-up of someone getting a bullet in the eye? I only point this out because I'm more accustomed to seeing violence of this caliber in today's movies, and not necessarily in anything from the early '70s.

But on a more positive note, the camerawork in The Godfather was wonderful. The scenes of Michael's sojourn in Sicily were unbelievably beautiful. The pastoral motif of Italy was very lush and very classical—almost to the point where you felt you were there yourself. The passing of time with the newspaper roles I found very smooth, perfectly set against the captivating piano ditty in the background (Coppola reveals in the DVD commentary that it was an original composition of his musician father). The acting all around was spectacular, too. Marlon Brando's realization of the Don has since become his signature role, and personally, I think his boardroom scene where he meets all the other New York Dons was his moment to shine as an actor. James Caan's hot-headed Sonny steals the show, and Al Pacino, with his portrayal of the youthful Michael, started down the path toward his own illustrious acting career.

The Godfather was awarded Best Picture of 1972. It also won Oscars for Best Actor for Marlon Brando (whose acceptance of said award was somewhat controversial) and Best Adapted Screenplay. If The Godfather hadn't been in the running that year, Cabaret probably would have won Best Picture. Cabaret actually picked up 8 Oscar wins that year, but lost Best Picture to The Godfather—rightfully, in my opinion. With that in mind, I also would have taken two of the Oscars given to Cabaret and given them to The Godfather instead: Best Director (for Francis Ford Coppola instead of Cabaret's Bob Fosse) and Best Supporting Actor (to James Caan instead of Cabaret's Joel Grey, even though many think it should have gone to Al Pacino).

But in the final analysis, The Godfather was a monumental film that was based on an equally monumental story. Both book and film have since become a staple of our culture, and I give The Godfather a perfect 10.