When Paramount decided to make a film of Mario
Puzo’s pulpy novel about a Mafia family, the subject matter was considered
déclassé at best, the domain of such grimy quickies as The St. Valentine’s
Day Massacre (1967). But the success of
the novel (something like 2 million copies sold in the first two years after
publication) convinced ambitious Paramount boss Robert Evans to give The
Godfather the A-list treatment. After the usual dance of overtures to other
filmmakers (Peter Bogdanovich, Sergio Leone), Francis Ford Coppola was hired as director and as Puzo’s cowriter on a script about
the ascension of crime boss Michael Corelone. Gobs of plot
from the novel were cut (and later repurposed for the first sequel), notably
patriarch Vito Corleone’s backstory. Getting the movie cast was an ordeal,
especially because Paramount hated Al Pacino for Michael even more than they
hated Marlon Brando for Vito. The studio pitched such unlikely alternates as
Ryan O’Neal for the son and Danny Thomas for the father.
Making the film was
fractious for all involved, with Coppola and Pacino constantly at risk of
termination—the director was targeted for overspending, the actor for
underplaying. Yet behind-the-scenes disharmony wasn’t enough to inhibit the
creative process, because The Godfather
represents a career high for everyone involved. As entertaining as it is
intelligent and soulful, the picture comfortably ranks among American cinema’s
true masterpieces. Working with famed cinematographer Gordon Willis, nicknamed
“The Prince of Darkness” for his moody lighting style, Coppola created a unique
look that evoked vintage sepia-toned photographs. Drawing on his own
Italian American heritage, Coppola blended his cast into a tight unit, thereby creating
a sense of familial connection that counterbalances the film’s violent
storyline.
As for the narrative itself, that should be familiar to all ’70s-cinema fans,
so here’s a brief sketch for those who haven’t yet had the pleasure. As aging
Mafia boss Vito Corleone struggles to maintain old codes of conduct during the
changing times of the World War II era, his three sons follow different paths.
Heir apparent Sonny (James Caan) is a hothead who advocates violence, ne’er-do-well Fredo (John Cazale) evinces cowardice, and golden boy Michael
(Pacino) avoids the family business until circumstances force him to embrace his destiny. Standing to the side of the action is lawyer Tom Hagen (Robert
Duvall), an outsider who’s nearly a fourth son to Vito, and Kay Adams (Diane
Keaton), Michael’s WASP fiancée.
The genius of The Godfather is that internal friction causes as much trouble for
the Corleones as external forces, so the film becomes a meditation on betrayal, disappointment, family, honor, and countless other epic themes. The acting is amazing,
from the stars to the perfectly selected bit players whom Coppola employs to
imbue every scene with gritty flavor. And although it’s essentially Pacino’s
movie, no one actor dominates, since The Godfather is an egalitarian ensemble
piece. It also features more classic scenes than nearly any other single movie,
from the canoli to the horse’s head and beyond. It’s not enough to describe The Godfather as one of the essential
films of the ’70s, because The Godfather
is one of the essential films of all time.
Astonishingly, Coppola and co.
nearly topped themselves with the sequel. Both ’70s Godfather films won
Oscars as Best Picture, a feat that’s unlikely to ever be repeated. In fact, many
fans argue that The
Godfather, Part II is the rare sequel to surpass its predecessor, though I
don’t share that opinion. Make no mistake, The
Godfather, Part II is remarkable in both ambition and execution, with
artistic and technical aspects either matching or exceeding those of the
original film. Moreover, the film’s painful storyline about a battle between
brothers cuts as deeply as the first picture’s depiction of a father trying and
failing to save his favorite son from a life of crime.
So when I offer my opinion that The
Godfather, Part II is incrementally inferior to The Godfather, it’s with the caveat that nearly all films, even great ones, are inferior
to The Godfather.
As has been
analyzed and celebrated by countless people before me, the big play that
Coppola made in The Godfather Part II
was telling two stories at once. In present-day scenes, hapless Fredo makes
a series of foolish decisions, forcing Michael to exercise his authority over
the family in heartbreaking ways. Meanwhile, in operatic flashbacks, Robert De
Niro plays the younger version of Brando’s character from the first film. As
such, The Godfather, Part II parallels
the formation of the Corleone family with its ultimate damnation, brilliantly
illustrating how the fateful choices that Vito made as a young man triggered a
chain of events continuing through generations. For my taste, the nettlesome
flaw of The Godfather, Part II stems
from directorial self-indulgence, which would eventually become a major problem
in Coppola’s career. As gorgeous and poetic as they are, the De Niro scenes
linger a bit too long, since it feels as if Coppola fell in love with every artistic
composition and balletic camera move that he and Willis created together. Even
the presence of famed acting teacher Lee Strasberg in a crucial supporting role
feels a bit precious, as if The
Godfather, Part II is overly aware of its own significance as a compendium
of extraordinary performance techniques. That said, we should all be so lucky
as to suffer from an embarrassment of riches, and the highest points of The Godfather, Part II (“I know it was
you, Fredo”) are breathtaking.
Regarding the subject of the much-maligned
cash-grab threequel The Godfather, Part
III (1990), I choose to pretend there are only two movies about the
Corleone family. FYI, compendium releases bearing titles including The Godfather Saga and The Godfather: A Novel for Television put
all the scenes from the first two pictures, alongside previously unseen
footage, into chronological order. Yet another version, The Godfather Trilogy: 1901–1980, integrates the third film and its
attendant deleted scenes. The running time on that version is a whopping 583
minutes.
The Godfather: OUTTA SIGHT
The Godfather, Part II: OUTTA SIGHT
