1974: The Godfather, Part II.

Michael Corleone (Al Pacino) finds it hard to live in
the shadow of his late father, Vito (Robert DeNiro).

Release Date: Dec. 12, 1974. Running Time: 200 minutes. Screenplay by: Francis Ford Coppola, Mario Puzo. Based on the novel, The Godfather, by: Mario Puzo. Producer: Francis Ford Coppola. Director: Francis Ford Coppola.


THE PLOT:

Sicily, 1901. Antonio Andolini is killed after defying Don Ciccio (Giuseppe Sillato) and his 9-year-old son, Vito, is forced to flee the country. Confusion at Ellis Island results in him being renamed "Vito Corleone." He settles in an Italian immigrant community in New York, working an honest job and eventually marrying and starting a family. He is poor but reasonably happy - until local big shot Don Fanucci (Gastone Moschin) costs him his job and then extorts him. Vito sees only one solution that will allow him to protect his family and retain his own dignity, an action that sets in motion his ascent to head of the largest crime family in New York.

Las Vegas, 1958. Vito's son, Michael Corleone (Al Pacino), has secured his position as head of the Corleone Family. He has moved his family to Nevada, where he hopes that his financial stake in several hotels and casinos will enable him to make the Family entirely legitimate, fulfilling both his promise to his wife, Kay (Diane Keaton), and his own original intention to stay away from a life of crime.

The centerpiece of his plan is a massive business deal with Hyman Roth (Lee Strasberg), an old associate of his father's who is attracting investors for development in Havana, Cuba. Keeping this deal on track requires turning a blind eye to the aggression of some of Roth's associates, angering Frank Pentangeli (Michael V. Gazzo), the successor to Peter Clemenza.

An attempt is made on Michael's life mere hours after he rejects Pentangeli's complaints. Michael knows that the architect of the hit was Hyman Roth. But he also knows that someone inside the Family must be working with him. Michael is left with increasingly few people to trust as he is faced not just with disruption of carefully laid plans, but with the very real prospect that he could lose everything he holds dear!

Michael realizes that he's been betrayed by one of the increasingly few people he trusts.

AL PACINO AS DON MICHAEL CORLEONE:

By the end of the first film, Michael had walled off anything in himself that might be considered "weak" in the process of adopting the mantle of "Don Corleone." This had to pose a challenge for Al Pacino for the sequel, because this movie requires him to start from that end point and carry it even further. The first film saw him suppressing what little warmth remained in him; the second film sees the remaining embers entirely extinguished.

One way both the script and Pacino manage to show this shift is by seizing on moments of warmth in the first half. He apologizes to Kay for having to associate with mafia figures at the initial gathering, promising that he's still trying to legitimize the Family (for the record, I think he's lying to himself more than to her). After the attempt on his life, he makes Tom acting don, calling him a "brother" and expressing full faith and confidence in him. In Havana, he commiserates with Fredo about how hard it is to live in their father's enormous shadow.

After the Roth deal implodes, the second half revisits each of these relationships, and we see that the previous hints of warmth are gone. Michael snaps at Tom, going so far as to directly question his loyalty near the end. He refuses to listen to Kay, shutting her out first figuratively and, eventually, literally. He insists on bringing Fredo back to the compound, only to tell him, "You're nothing to me now."

Pacino is masterful throughout. He shows genuine love for his family, albeit heavily suppressed, in the first half. After Michael is betrayed and after the failure in Cuba, he changes entirely. The coldness remains a surface, his soft and even tones still covering strong emotion - only now the emotion he's suppressing is rage. He is angry at everyone around him, most of all himself.

Vito Corleone prepares to make Don Fanucci "an offer he don't refuse."

ROBERT DE NIRO AS DON VITO CORLEONE:

Vito's rise to power is expanded from one of the few major pieces of Mario Puzo's novel not to have been included in the first film. I think these scenes are the true heart of this movie. Michael's story on its own would be too cold to retain viewer engagement. The cutaways to Vito inject warmth and a hint of humor.

Vito doesn't shy away from violence, but he is a caring man at his core. He disapproves of Fanucci, wondering why an Italian would use his influence to bully other Italians. When he gains power, we see him using it with generosity, such as when he pressures a slumlord to not only revoke a widow's eviction but to lower her rent as well.

Over the course of the movie, Vito gathers a close circle of friends and family, young versions of the same inner circle that surrounded him in the first Godfather, such as Clemenza and Tessio. In the 1950s thread, meanwhile, Michael sheds the people closest to him. Vito's final scene has him departing on a train with his family in tow; Michael's final scene sees him sitting entirely alone.

Robert DeNiro's performance respects Marlon Brando's original, but it isn't an imitation. He borrows the vocal rasp and a few mannerisms, but DeNiro otherwise creates his own interpretation of Vito, one that brings the character to life.

Tom Hagen (Robert Duvall) pays a visit to Frank Pentangeli (Michael V. Gazzo).

OTHER CHARACTERS:

Tom Hagen: He is unwavering in his loyalty to Michael, and he's genuinely touched when Michael refers to him as his brother. This twists the knife all the harder when Michael becomes increasingly short with him in the second half. Tom argues against Michael's ending orders as being vindictive and, worse, pointless. He remains loyal, as he has always been, but he's left to feel less like "Family" and more like a simple employee. When he talks with Pentangeli, the other man compares the Corleone Family to the Roman Empire. Tom agrees that "it was once," his phrasing showing recognition of a decline.

Kay Adams Corleone: As the movie opens, she's still a loving wife trying to accept her husband's less savory qualities and to believe him when he promises change. After the assassination attempt, she stops believing. As she and their children sit, waiting as the compound is searched, she directs a glare at Michael. I think that glare marks the moment that she begins emotionally disengaging from him. On this viewing, I find myself questioning whether she's telling the truth when she makes the declaration that repels Michael. She only says it after it's clear that he has no intention of letting her leave him. I'm not saying this was the intent - but I could see it being possible that she chooses a lie that would kill his feelings for her just so that he'll let her go.

Fredo Corleone: The first half stresses a closeness between him and Michael that was mostly unseen in the first movie. In a rare human moment, Michael lends emotional support as Fredo mulls living in their father's shadow, and he entrusts Fredo with bringing a cash payment to Hyman Roth. Later, Fredo lets show his resentment at being passed over in favor of Michael: "You're my kid brother, and you take care of me. Did you ever think about that? ...I can handle things. I'm smart. Not like everyone says, not dumb, smart! And I want respect!" John Cazale briefly out-acts Al Pacino in this moment, shaking with impotent rage, his gestures uncontrolled spasms that show his weakness even as he vents the frustration of wanting to be seen as strong.

Frank Pentangeli: Richard Castellano declined to return as Clemenza, whether because of salary or a desire for control over his dialogue or a reluctance to regain lost weight. Whatever the case, while young Clemenza (a spot-on Bruno Kirby) plays a major role in the story of Vito's rise, in the movie's present Clemenza has had a suspicious heart attack, leaving Frank Pentangeli (Michael V. Gazzo) in charge of his territory. Pentangeli fills the role that would have been Clemenza's, clashing loudly with Michael only to be left to fear that Michael has now turned on him. There's no question this would be more effective with Clemenza, not least because of the younger Clemenza's prominence in the flashbacks, but Michael V. Gazzo plays the role well and his scenes work.

Hyman Roth: Roth never passes up an opportunity to compliment Michael, and he makes a public show of making the younger man his successor - but the more he talks about his own ill health, the more Michael realizes that the old man intends to live forever. "He's been dying of the same heart attack for twenty years." Roth clings to the same refrain about "business" that pervaded the first movie, and it's still a lie. His motives for acting against Michael are entirely personal, as he reveals in a scene in which actor Lee Strasberg allows the genial front to drop away, revealing white hot fury. He outplays Michael, using a Senate hearing as a backup plan to strike against him if assassination fails, and is in general the embodiment of the saying, "Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young."

Sonny Corleone: James Caan appears in a single flashback, for which he received the same salary as the entirety of the first film. He just about earns that payday, seemingly effortlessly recreating the character while cranking up his screen presence to cover for the absence of an originally-intended Marlon Brando cameo. The scene shows the final family celebration before the war. The interactions as Sonny holds court strike another contrast against Michael's reign. Sonny argues with multiple people around the table, but everyone's relaxed, the people around the table feeling like a family. It's the one way in which Sonny actually would have been a better leader than Michael, if only he was less impulsive; he draws people to him, while Michael can only keep them in line through fear.

"I want respect!" Fredo (John Cazale) lashes out at his brother.

THOUGHTS:

"All our people are businessmen. Their loyalty's based on that. One thing I learned from Pop was to try to think as people around you think, and on that basis, anything is possible."
-Michael speculates about an attempt on his life as he cedes control of the Family to Tom.

There's an ongoing argument as to which is the better Godfather movie. It's a meaningless question, because while the two movies are stylistically similar, they are starkly different works. The first Godfather tells a perfectly structured story that ends with a satisfying climax. The second Godfather is messier and less intrinsically satisfying, growing more emotionally remote as it approaches its end. As a movie to watch, the first one is a lot more engaging; as a movie to think about, the second one is a larger work that offers more to chew on after its end.

The Godfather, Part II opens with a recreation of the first film's final scene, as petitioners pay homage to the new "Don Corleone." We see a close-up of Michael's face. Then the movie cuts to his father's empty chair. It is over that chair that the title finally comes up, emphasizing the absence of the man who actually deserved the monicker, "Godfather."

Michael's story, particularly after the Intermission, seems deliberately designed to push viewers away from him as he grows colder and more isolated. The first movie ended in a masterstroke as Michael consolidated his power. There's nothing comparable here, with Michael's final orders amounting to petty revenge that no longer serves any purpose. There's no sense of a climax - Just ugly incidents that clear Michael's board of a few remaining opposing pieces after the game has already been won.

In the first movie, Vito bristled at the undertaker thinking they were murderers. Vito insisted on using only the amount of violence that a given situation called for. By the end of the second movie, Michael has all but claimed the moniker of "murderer," telling Tom: "I don't feel I have to wipe everyone out. Just my enemies, that's all."

Vito and his family celebrate Fourth of July.

Francis Ford Coppola was at the height of his powers as a filmmaker, and The Godfather, Part II was the second of two masterpieces he released in 1974 (after The Conversation, a low-key thriller that is every bit as brilliant as this). I already discussed his mastery of frame composition and camera movements in my review of the first Godfather, and that remains just as true of the sequel.

The flashbacks to Vito are slightly but visibly sepia-tinted, which lends the impression of historical photographs come to life. Vito is frequently framed surrounded by either his direct family or his friends, like Clemenza, who will become Family. By contrast, even early in the film, Michael is shown wearing cold colors and is frequently framed alone. After Cuba, he almost exclusively dresses in black. His office is dimly lit, leaving him draped in shadows. He has few outside scenes after the Intermission and, by the end, he's frequently shot either through or against windows, as if to erect a barrier between him and the world and even between him and the viewer.

In the first Godfather, Michael tried to avoid involvement in the Corleone Family, only getting drawn in to save his father from those who would have killed him. He turned to crime to protect his family, just as we see Vito doing in the past. In the second film, Michael becomes ever more powerful... but in so doing, he fulfills the very worry he expresses to his mother: "By being strong for his family, could he lose it? ...Lose his family?" Alone and feeling betrayed by everyone, he surrenders the reasons that he sought power for the sake of power itself.

It's a haunting story, beautifully told... but if not for the Vito segments, I suspect it might be too bleak. It's ironic that Francis Ford Coppola would later reissue the final film in the trilogy as, "The Death of Michael Corleone"; to all intents, Michael the person dies here, leaving behind only the husk that is "Don Corleone."

Sonny Corleone (James Caan) holds court at the last family celebration before World War II.

SEQUEL AND ALTERNATE VERSION:

In 1990, Francis Ford Coppola directed The Godfather, Part III. Though its reputation has nose-dived, it was reasonably well-received at the time. Reviewers didn't pretend that it was a patch on the first two movies, but they acknowledged it as a well-made film in its own right. I haven't seen it since the 1990s, so I will withhold judgment until I rewatch it - and I will be taking a sidestep from Best Picture Winners to round out the trilogy with The Godfather, Part III, as a supplemental post.

When I covered the first Godfather, I noted the television mini-series version of the first two movies that was titled, The Godfather Saga. This version recuts the entire narrative into strict chronological order, restoring many deleted scenes in the process. This means the first "episode" of the mini-series is mostly made up of the DeNiro footage from this movie, which is not the optimal way to watch it. There is a continuous arc in Vito's tale, so it just about works as a narrative piece in its own right. However, the re-editing destroys the contrast between Vito's rise and Michael's moral fall, and it renders the final "episode" into a grim death march as Michael becomes ever more alone, without the Vito scenes to counteract that.

I would label the mini-series as interesting and worth viewing after seeing both movies in their original form - but even more so than with the first movie, I think the original release is by far the best way to watch The Godfather, Part II.


OVERALL:

The Godfather was an American masterpiece. Remarkably, co-writer/director Francis Ford Coppola manages to repeat that with the sequel. It's an emotionally colder work, matching its remote protagonist, and it's less immediately satisfying than its predecessor - but it's also a rich and compelling work, one that lingers in the mind long after viewing.


Rating: 10/10.

Preceded by: The Godfather
Followed by: The Godfather, Part III (not yet reviewed)

Best Picture - 1973: The Sting
Best Picture - 1975: One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (not yet reviewed)

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1973: The Sting.

Con artists Henry Gondorff (Paul Newman) and Johnny
Hooker (Robert Redford) find themselves in a sticky situation...

Release Date: Dec. 25, 1973. Running Time: 129 minutes. Written by: David S. Ward. Producer: Tony Bill, Michael Phillips, Julia Phillips. Director: George Roy Hill.


THE PLOT:

Johnny Hooker (Robert Redford) is a talented small-time grifter who has learned from the best around in his Depression-era tenement: aging con artist Luther Coleman (Robert Earl Jones). After they swindle an unsuspecting mark out of $11 thousand, Luther decides it's time to retire, urging Hooker to use his talents to work "the big con."

Then disaster strikes. Their mark was actually working for a numbers running operation, and he was delivering that money to the ruthless Doyle Lonnegan (Robert Shaw). Soon Luther is dead, and Hooker is left on the run - and with a burning desire to avenge his murdered mentor.

He looks up Luther's old friend, Henry Gondorff (Paul Newman). Once a master confidence man, Gondorff is now hiding from the FBI after a job gone wrong. But he still has his skills, knowledge, and contacts, and Lonnegan has enough wealth to be a tempting target... as long as they can pull off a con that will not only part the criminal with his money, but also keep him fooled so that he doesn't go after them.

With Gondorff's circle of veteran con men assisting, it doesn't take long to set a scheme in motion. But complications await: A corrupt cop (Charles Durning) nurses a grudge against Hooker; an FBI agent (Dana Elcar) is closing in on Gondorff; and Lonnegan's hit men are getting ever nearer. The smart thing to do would be to call the whole thing off - but that's the one thing Hooker isn't willing to do, regardless of the consequences.

Hooker baits Doyle Lonnegan (Robert Shaw).

CHARACTERS:

Gondorff: "Revenge is for suckers. I've been grifting thirty years, I never got any." By this point in his career, Paul Newman was moving toward character roles. He doesn't so much act the role of Gondorff as inhabit him, which perfectly suits the way the script treats the character. The viewer is never told who Gondorff is, but is instead left to observe him. What we see is a sort of grifter general, assigning roles to the various soldiers in his team. He watches events unfold, making notes about what problems will need solved. He's an excellent judge of character. He senses Lonnegan's weakness is his pride, and he exploits that by repeatedly insulting and belittling him over the game of poker that is the con's "hook." He also senses that Hooker isn't telling him everything, and he chides him for that: "You can't play your friends like marks."

Hooker: The main character, Hooker isn't a complete neophyte. He may be a small time grifter, but he's talented enough that Luther urges him to look up Gondorff. This makes him enough a part of the grifting world for it to be believable that he's a key part of the big con, but also enough of an outsider for Gondorff and his friends to relate exposition about their planned swindle to us through him. He's the character with the biggest emotional stake in the story. Gondorff was also Luther's friend, but he scorns the very idea of revenge, while Hooker is driven by a need to do something to Lonnegan, wanting to con him because "I don't know enough about killing to kill him."

Lonnegan: Robert Shaw is one of those mystifying cases of a great actor who appeared in multiple classics, and who somehow never won an Oscar. Lonnegan could have been a two-dimensional baddie, but Shaw puts layers into his malevolence. There's genuine menace in his glare, his growling voice, and even his movements, as if his every waking moment is a struggle to hold himself back from direct violence. Pride is his defining trait and his biggest weakness. This is a man who likely endured a plethora of insults in his youth, and he reacts angrily to even the suggestion of an insult now. He insists on killing Hooker less because he's worried about seeming vulnerable, even though that's the motive he claims, and more because he, himself, cannot abide the thought of having lost to "one lousy grifter."

Lt. Snyder: Actor Charles Durning would play variations on this role a lot: a corrupt, none-too-bright authority figure. When Snyder learns about the score Luther and Hooker pulled off, he immediately shakes down the young con artist, demanding a share under threat of tipping off Lonnegan. Hooker foists him off with some counterfeit bills, earning the policeman's wrath for the rest of the picture. Snyder is regarded scornfully by everyone: Hooker, Gondorff's girlfriend (Eileen Brennan), and the FBI all blow him off as a fool - but his proximity to the con and his knowledge of Hooker mean that he's not a fool who can simply be ignored.

The Gang: Though they're supporting players, each member of Gondorff's inner circle receives a few choice moments to contribute not only to the title sting, but also to the film's entertainment value. Harold Gould's Kid Twist is a consummate actor, at one point showing up in overalls to pass himself off as a painter to get into a banker's office, then unzipping the overalls to emerge in a business suit to adopt the role of a timid executive. Ray Walston's J. J. Singleton is entertaining every time he appears, and I particularly enjoyed his glee as he talks about Lonnegan's habit of cheating at cards. John Heffernan's Niles looks like an office worker, and he's enlisted to the con while actually working in a bank. Jack Kehoe's Erie was another of Luther's students, and he is as eager as Hooker to contribute to bringing down Lonnegan. Cumulatively, these characters round out the cast and help to bring this world to life.

Hooker and Luther (Robert Earl Jones) discover just how big a score they've made.
They don't realize how dangerous an enemy they've made at the same time.

THOUGHTS:

As much as I enjoy The Sting - which is a lot - it would not have been my choice as 1973's Best Picture. The Exorcist was just as meticulously produced and just as well acted, and it was clear even at the time that it was destined to leave a cultural impact. Even among films that weren't nominated, I'd point to Fred Zinnemann's excellent film of Frederick Forsyth's The Day of the Jackal, which more or less created the "lone assassin" subgenre as we know it. In my opinion, either of those titles would have been a better choice as Best Picture.

But as I've said before, another movie being more deserving doesn't represent a fault in the winning movie. The Sting is a great Hollywood entertainment. It features big stars at their most charming in a witty romp that creates excitement less through action than through expert plotting. It's the type of film that, after a viewing, almost demands a regretful sigh of, "They don't make them like that anymore."

It's been about twenty years since I last watched this, but I remembered the major twists. Given how much of this movie is built around double-crosses, reversals, and surprises, I had expected that it would lose something on rewatch. Oddly, I think I enjoyed it more this time around. The screenplay doesn't cheat. Each of the plot turns is carefully set up in a way that doesn't telegraph them for first-time viewers, but that is visible on rewatch. This makes it fun to spot these moments as they occur.

Gondorff's inner circle reviews information and plans their big con.

The script is superbly structured. It opens not with the con artists, but with the numbers operation, following the initial mark to his fateful encounter with Luther and Hooker. This allows the viewer to share the experience of being conned, with the viewpoint only switching to Hooker's after the money has changed hands. It also foreshadows what will happen next; we know before Hooker and Luther do that their ill-gotten cash is from organized crime, creating tension for the viewer even as the next couple of scenes provide exposition.

Luther steers Hooker to Gondorff, so that the veteran confidence man is expecting his new protégé even before the violence. The first sight of Gondorff is also the only time that he's completely unkempt, sleeping off a drunken stupor. The indication is that keeping a low profile, not engaging in cons, is leaving him directionless. As soon as he has a target, he becomes instantly sharper, his attitude and entire physical bearing changing from slovenly to focused. These scenes also establish that Gondorff is hiding from the FBI, laying groundwork for the FBI agent to enter the story in the final third.

I won't discuss more of the plot for fear of accidentally spoiling or hinting at things. I will say that there isn't any wasted space. Scenes are allowed to play out as long as needed, and there is a nice reflective moment just before the big finale. Still, every scene - including that moment of reflection - does something to advance the story.

Production values are impeccable, and the music score - composer Marvin Hamlisch's adaptations of Scott Joplin's ragtime compositions - elevates the sense of setting while being a perfect accompaniment to the action. All the individual pieces here are good, and they are put together to form a terrifically entertaining whole.

An establishing shot of 1930s Chicago displays the impeccable production values,
which are nowhere to be found in the ill-advised, cheap-looking sequel.

SEQUEL:

1983's The Sting II had a script from David S. Ward, the writer of the original film... and that's about all that can be said in its favor. I can't find a record of its budget, but I'm guessing it was much cheaper. In contrast to the original's production values, the sequel looks like a mid-1980s TV flick, and not even one of the event ones. Also, Paul Newman and Robert Redford are replaced with Jackie Gleason and Mac Davis as "Fargo Gondorff" and "Jake Hooker." I love Gleason, even if by the '80s his best days were behind him, but him as a recast for Newman is more than a slight head-scratcher.

Likely sensing the flack they would get for the downgrade, the studio attempted to publicize these as new characters - but given that they had the same basic personalities and relationships, and that the entire story revolved around Lonnegan (Oliver Reed, taking over for the late Robert Shaw) getting revenge for being conned, the claim doesn't stand up to much scrutiny.

It opened to savage reviews, and I suspect it should stay as it is now: a mostly forgotten footnote that simply shouldn't have been attempted.

Hooker indulges in a moment of reflection on the eve of the big con.

OVERALL:

I don't really think it deserved the award, but I also don't mind that it won. It's rare that something lighthearted wins Best Picture, so it's always pleasant to encounter such a film in this review series. Besides, this is a very good picture, benefitting from an outstanding production, a terrific script, and fine actors who are all in top form.

Most of all, it's just a fun time at the movies.


Rating: 8/10.

Best Picture - 1972: The Godfather
Best Picture - 1974: The Godfather, Part II

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1972: The Godfather.

Don Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando) hears petitions on the day of his daughter's wedding.

Release Date: Mar. 14, 1972. Running Time: 175 minutes. Screenplay: Mario Puzo, Francis Ford Coppola. Based on the novel by: Mario Puzo. Producer: Albert S. Ruddy. Director: Francis Ford Coppola.


THE PLOT:

Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando) is the don of the Corleone Family, the most powerful of the organized crime families operating in New York, 1945. Vito has police, judges, and politicians on his payroll, with rising mob figure Sollozzo (Al Lettieri) observing that he carries them "in (his) pocket, like so many nickels and dimes." When Sollozzo asks Vito to provide protection while he sets up a narcotics distribution network, Vito refuses, fearing that his contacts "wouldn't be friendly very long" if his business shifted to include drugs.

Sollozzo is not a man to take "no" for an answer, and Vito is shot not long after. He survives - just barely - but his recovery will be long, leaving his short-fused eldest son, Santino "Sonny" Corleone (James Caan), in charge. Against the advice of family consigliere Tom Hagen (Robert Duvall), Sonny goes to war with Sollozzo and his sponsors, the Tattaglia Family.

Caught in the middle is Michael (Al Pacino), Vito's youngest son. Michael forged a separate path, joining the army and becoming a hero during World War II. He has a non-Italian girlfriend, Kay (Diane Keaton), and he's emphatic that he wants no part of the family business. But as it becomes clear that his father is still a target for the Corleones' enemies, he realizes that he has only one way to save the old man and give the family space to negotiate peace: Kill Sollozzo himself!

Vito negotiates with his rivals.

MARLON BRANDO AS DON VITO CORLEONE:

Rarely do I think that a role had to be played by a particular actor, no matter how well the casting worked out, but I cannot imagine anyone other than Marlon Brando as Vito Corleone. Vito's actual screen time is limited, yet the nature of the story requires that he be its dominant figure. Brando makes this look effortless. When he's on screen, you can't take your eyes off him. When he's not (which is most of the time), his absence is equally tangible.

Much of this comes from sheer physical presence, along with excellent use of makeup and costuming. Vito takes care with his appearance, his thin hair slicked back and his mustache perfectly trimmed. He dresses impeccably, and he's almost always seen in some form of suit and tie, from the formal wear at his daughter's wedding to business suits in more casual settings. The only time he's untidy is when he's recovering from being shot, barely back on his feet. Even in this diminished condition, when he meets with someone outside the family less than an hour later, he is again wearing a suit and tie.

Brando is excellent. The voice he uses is perfectly judged: quiet and slow, reflecting the don's care in choosing each word. Vito initially seems to be an unknowable cipher - until he's alone with trusted members of his family, when he gives tiny rolls of his eyes or little exhales of weariness to show his exhaustion at the parade of petitioners. This reveals his humanity, with flashes of humor and annoyance, which makes it fully consistent when he gets a couple of larger emotional moments later. He has one line, about how a person close to him was "massacred," that is spoken with naked emotion that would be effective on its own, and that is made all the more powerful by its contrast with Vito's normal soft reserve.

It's a great performance on its own. It's also one of the very few times that I think a piece of film casting was not just well-advised, but indispensable to the success of the movie (so of course Coppola had to fight the studio to cast him).

Michael Corleone (Al Pacino), glaring coldly while attending a funeral.

AL PACINO AS MICHAEL CORLEONE:

"That's my family, Kay, it's not me."

Though Vito is the movie's center of gravity, Michael is its true main character, and he has the most significant arc. He shares stories with Kay about his father's business, being open with her about where he comes from. That openness drops away as the story unfolds. When it becomes clear that his father will remain in danger as long as Sollozzo lives, he's the one who devises the plan to kill him - a plan that depends on their enemies seeing him as a non-threatening "civilian."

This was Al Pacino's starmaking role, and he's mesmerizing. His performance is characterized by stillness. The scene in which he lays out the plan for Sonny and Tom is when he takes control, and he does so quietly. He sits in the center of frame, barely moving as he lays out his plan, step by careful step. The camera moves slowly in on him until we're right in front of his eyes, which are cold and focused.

Pacino does a lot of acting with his eyes. In the scene in which Michael carries out the shooting, Michael seems to hesitate. His eyes dart about wildly as Sollozzo speaks (in Italian, untranslated), until the moment finally comes to take action. He shoots Sollozzo before moving onto the second target - and it's then, as he shoots the second man, that his eyes display all of the character's rage.

It's a performance that's both complementary to and in contrast with Brando's. Pacino's Michael has his father's patience and tactical sense. But Vito is a warm figure, particularly around his family. By the time Michael is actively working with The Family, his few flashes of warmth are reserved only for his father. He is cold to everyone else, trusted advisors and siblings as well as rivals. At one point, he warns one of his brothers, "Don't ever take sides with anyone against the Family again." The threat is all the more chilling for his absolute lack of visible emotion.

Sonny (James Caan) is too impulsive to be a good leader.

JAMES CAAN AS SANTINO "SONNY" CORLEONE:

"Never tell anybody outside the Family what you're thinking!"

Vito snaps this to Sonny, trying to impart a lesson, but he's asking the impossible. Throughout the movie, Sonny's every emotion is written on his face and clearly audible in his voice. Sonny isn't stupid, but he is governed by impulse. This, in combination with a lack of patience to think before acting, makes his reactions predictable and thus easily manipulated.

James Caan makes his Sonny the opposite of Pacino's Michael. Pacino is still, speaking with little emotion and acting with his eyes. Caan is almost constantly in motion, pacing the room like a trapped animal. He acts with his hands, gesturing with almost every word he speaks. Because his emotions are so open, his Sonny has the warmth that Pacino's Michael lacks. One senses that, in happier times, he's likely as generous to his friends as he is dangerous to his enemies.

He has a close bond with his adopted brother, Tom Hagen. He's the one who found Tom and brought him into the Corleone family. Even when they clash, Sonny is quick to flare up, but equally quick to apologize. These qualities and Caan's performance make him more likable than his actions would suggest... but he's not cut out to be a leader, and Vito later acknowledges as much.

The Corleones pose for a family photo at Connie's wedding.

OTHER CHARACTERS:

Tom Hagen: Though not a Corleone by blood, he was raised by Vito, and his personality seems to halve the difference between Michael and Sonny. Like Michael, he is calm and patient. He lacks Michael's tactical shrewdness, but he is able to recognize the complicated realities of a given situation. Unlike Michael, he isn't cold. Even as he advises caution in responding to Vito's shooting, he is visibly shaken by what's happened. When another tragedy strikes, he has to stop and pour himself a drink before reporting it, and he seems to be just barely holding himself back from tears. Robert Duvall is more contained than Caan and less intense than Pacino, but he's every bit as good as them. He's more often than not in the background, but he reacts to other people's words - or, in some cases, carefully not reacting.

Clemenza: We first hear his name when Vito, after agreeing to provide "justice" to the undertaker, tells Tom to assign that job to him, with Clemenza (Richard Castellano) chosen specifically because he doesn't want this taken care of by someone who will go overboard. This shows that Vito trusts his judgment as much as his loyalty. Clemenza presents a casual front, giving Michael an impromptu cooking lesson during a crisis and chatting about how "they should have stopped Hitler at Munich." This is probably his authentic personality, but he uses it to his advantage. He puts a victim at ease with banter during a car ride, then has the man pull over so that he can "take a leak" while the hit is carried out. His loyalty to Vito definitely extends to Sonny, but he's more wary of Michael, seeming to see the youngest Corleone son as weak.

Sollozzo: The most visible villain of the piece, though it's made clear from the start that he has powerful backers and that he's not really in charge. Vito grants him a meeting as a sign of respect to "a serious man." When Tom reads his background to Vito, he observes that Sollozzo uses violence "only in matters of business or some sort of reasonable complaint." When he tells Michael that he respects his father, he means it... but he also means it when he says that Vito is "slipping." Al Lettieri feels absolutely authentic in the role, and he presents just the right amount of a threat: Enough to be taken seriously, but not quite enough to ever feel like the Corleones' true adversary.

Kay: Michael's girlfriend, Kay (Diane Keaton) is the perfect embodiment of middle America: well-educated and independent enough to push back when Michael goes to work for his father, but not so independent that she doesn't allow him to take charge. She shows flashes of a strong will, but she also comes across as sheltered and more than a little naive. Her role is very much a supporting one (if memory serves, she gets more in the sequel), but Diane Keaton does some excellent nonverbal acting in two scenes: when Kay passes a newsstand and sees that Vito has been shot; and at the very end, as she realizes exactly who Michael has become.

Connie/Fredo: The remaining Corleone siblings. Connie (Talia Shire) seems a lot like Sonny, reacting to situations with strong emotion instead of stopping and thinking. Not surprisingly, she seems to have a very close relationship with Sonny, far more so than with Michael. Fredo (John Cazale, excellent as always) is the weakest of the Corleone children. He has poor judgment, giving trust to the wrong people on two occasions. He's emotional, weeping openly when Vito is shot. Later, after he's sent to Las Vegas to keep him away from the conflict, he comes to fancy himself a big shot - and he's likely the only person in the room who doesn't realize how pathetically unearned his swagger really is.

Vito reflects upon his life to Michael.

THOUGHTS:

"I worked my whole life, I don't apologize, to take care of my family. And I refused to be a fool, dancing on a string held by all those big shots. I don't apologize, that's my life."
-Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando), talking about his life, expresses both regret and defiance.

The Godfather is all but undisputed as one of the "great films" of American cinema. Its plot really isn't anything special - with slight adjustments, the same story could have been told in the mid-1940s in which the movie's set, and the result likely would have been an entertaining 90-minute programmer. What makes it special is the way all the elements come together to form something larger, from the impeccable period detail to the casting to composer Nino Rota's instantly recognizable main theme. All the individual parts are good, and the whole that they build is even greater.

This is a movie featuring Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, James Caan, and Robert Duvall - and it's a movie in which all of them give performances that rank among their best. The actors are well-cast, feeling convincing as members of the same family. When Al Pacino, James Caan, and Robert Duvall interact, I don't feel like I'm being told that they're brothers - I can see that they are, and that each has his own individual relationship with the others.

Beyond the acting, this is a remarkably cinematic film. Each frame is beautifully lit and shot. You can find long essays about the way The Godfather uses light and shadow to convey characters' shifts in morality. Francis Ford Coppola kicked off his greatest period as a director here, and he's in absolute control of his craft.

The scene in which Michael proposes the plan to kill Sollozzo is a particular example. The scene begins with its focus on Sonny and Tom, drawing attention to them as they argue in loud voices and with strong gestures. Then Michael speaks up - softly, calmly. The camera slowly moves to him, sitting still in a chair in the center of the room. The contrast of his stillness versus the others' motion makes him an instantly compelling presence. Tom moves to the opposite side of the room, so that Michael is between him and Sonny, and he agrees when Michael says that Sollozzo will keep trying to kill their father.

Sonny tries to regain control by mocking his brother, but Michael doesn't take the bait. The camera creeps in as he lays out his plan, ending on his eyes, which are pure ice. All the pieces - staging, acting, lighting, camera - come together in this moment, a significant one: Not only does Michael move from being outside the Family to inside it, he also is transformed from a member of the movie's ensemble to its central character.

Throughout the film, Coppola and his production team continue to use cinematic techniques in this way to complement each beat of the script. No visual flourish is ever "just" a flourish. Even in the justly famous climax, it never just feels like Coppola is showing off. Every shot, every music choice, every cut and line and bit of staging is there to support the story being told.

Michael comes up with a plan, in the scene that transforms him into the movie's main character.

"IT'S NOT PERSONAL, SONNY. IT'S STRICTLY BUSINESS."

The characters insist on a separation between what's "personal" and what's "business," but this divide is never successfully maintained. At Connie's wedding, Don Vito Corleone takes a parade of requests, mere yards from where his guests are celebrating. The FBI takes photos of the license plates of the guests, while Don Barzini (Richard Conte) rips up the film of a wedding photographer who made the mistake of taking his picture.

The blurring of "personal" and "business" is shown throughout. Corleone family issues that would be counted as "personal" are used by rivals to manipulate Sonny. When Michael lays out his plan, Sonny scoffs that he's "taking this very, very personal." Michael calmly denies it - but when he shoots Sollozzo and a second target, the anger in his eyes shows that Sonny wasn't actually wrong. Assassins later attempt to kill Michael and end up killing someone else - inflicting a "personal" loss while conducting "business." Michael later does the same on a larger scale, using a personal function to "settle all Family business."

The characters may insist that there is separation, but the opposite is what is shown (to sometimes tragic effect)... and, more than once, the people insisting that this divide exists are doing so with absolute, self-serving hypocrisy.

Michael visits middle brother Fredo (John Cazale) in Las Vegas.

SEQUELS AND AN ALTERNATE VERSION:

Gangster pictures were nothing new, having been a mainstay of 1930s and '40s cinema. The Godfather revitalized the genre by combining period and cultural authenticity with an almost operatic quality. It draws the viewer into its world, one that feels both real and larger-than-life at the same time - and moviegoers responded, resulting in it becoming the highest grossing film of 1972.

Naturally, a sequel followed two years later... and would itself go on to win Best Picture, so I'll be discussing it fairly soon. A third entry, The Godfather, Part III, came out more than 15 years later; though it proved to be a financial success, it is almost universally regarded as far weaker than the two 1970s movies.

An alternate version was released to television as a 1977 mini-series, The Godfather Saga. Authorized by Francis Ford Coppola in large part to raise more money for Apocalypse Now, this version re-edits the first two Godfather movies, rearranging them into strictly chronological order, while also integrating many deleted scenes.

It's worth a watch after viewing the two movies individually, but I consider the theatrical films superior. Amerigo Bonasera's, "I believe in America," and Connie's wedding create the perfect introduction to this world; and while the deleted scenes are interesting to see, most of them were cut for good reason.

Vito and Tom Hagen (Robert Duvall) comfort each other after a family tragedy.

OVERALL:

The Godfather runs just shy of three hours, but it never feels long. The individual filmmaking elements combine with meticulous period detail to create a world that we're drawn into. The film's world is absolutely consistent. At no point does anything jar us out of the internal reality. From the opening minutes, we are immersed in this particular time, place, and culture.

The result has been justifiably labeled a cinematic masterpiece. It's a movie that anyone who genuinely loves film should see, and probably more than once.


Rating: 10/10.

Followed by: The Godfather, Part II

Best Picture - 1971: The French Connection
Best Picture - 1973: The Sting

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1971: The French Connection.

NYPD detective Jimmy "Popeye" Doyle (Gene Hackman) catches the case of his life.

Release Date: Oct. 7, 1971. Running Time: 104 minutes. Screenplay: Ernest Tidyman. Based on the book by: Robin Moore. Producer: Philip D'Antoni. Director: William Friedkin.


THE PLOT:

NYPD narcotics detective Jimmy "Popeye" Doyle (Gene Hackman) takes his partner, Buddy Russo (Roy Scheider) out for drinks. It's meant to be a bit of after-work relaxation... until Doyle notices small-time criminal Sal Boca (Tony Lo Bianco) making a show of being a big spender for a group of mobsters. On a hunch, the two detectives spend a week following Sal. When they link him to Joel Weinstock (Harold Gary), a laywer known for bankrolling drug buys, they go to their captain (Eddie Egan) to open an official investigation.

A wiretap eventually turns up a meeting between Sal and a Frenchman, Alain Charnier (Fernando Rey). It's clear enough that Charnier is bringing drugs into New York, and that Sal is facilitating the deal. But as their surveillance drags on, their captain's support starts to falter - just as Charnier begins to worry that Doyle represents a threat to his plans...

An angry Doyle argues with his colleagues, as his partner (Roy Scheider) looks on.

CHARACTERS:

Jimmy "Popeye" Doyle: The French Connection doesn't do much direct characterization, preferring to let the audience observe the characters' behavior. Several mentions are made of a past incident in which one of Doyle's hunches ended with the death of another officer. We never learn exactly what happened, leaving us to draw our own conclusions - though it's clear that FBI agent Mulderig (Bill Hickman) blames Doyle. The detective stumbles across the case by chance, sensing something "off" about Sal and insisting on tailing him. He then refuses to let go, clinging to the pursuit like a junkyard dog who's found a meaty bone. Things take on a personal dimension after he tails Charnier. The Frenchman shakes him off at the subway, smirking and waving as his train leaves the angry policeman behind. A humiliated Doyle neither forgives nor forgets, as shown by him reciprocating that gesture at the movie's end.

Charnier: He's Doyle's opposite. The detective is "a mess," by his own partner's description, living in a dingy apartment, wearing frayed and off-rack clothes, and indulging in one-night stands. Charnier carries himself with dignity and confidence. He lives in a mansion in Marseilles and seems happily married to a much younger woman (Ann Rebbot). Doyle has a hair trigger temper, while Charnier is eternally calm. Fernando Rey lends the presence of a classic European aristocrat to the role. His poise is so perfect that it's telling when even small cracks emerge near the end.

Russo: Doyle's partner, whose job includes the unofficial duty of keeping him in check. When the two run down a suspect early in the movie, Russo is happy to deliver a few kicks - but he also stops his partner from going further. He holds back Doyle repeatedly during verbal spats with Agent Mulderig, inserting himself between the two to keep their disputes verbal instead of physical. He also disapproves of his partner's casual racism. When Doyle says of a recent arrest, "Never trust a (racial slur)," Russo replies that the man could just as easily have been white - prompting Doyle's more accurate, "Never trust anyone." For all that he clearly recognizes Doyle's faults, he remains unwavering in his support. Doyle finally snaps that, first through a reckless action and then - more critically - by showing that he doesn't care about what he just did. Actor Roy Scheider's shocked reaction is superbly played, as we see Russo's faith in Doyle drain away in an instant.

Sal Boca: A small-time criminal who is trying to push his way up the ladder by facilitating the deal with Charnier. He tries to present himself as unflappable, but the police presence makes him anxious, as does moneyman Joel Weinstock's caution. Both Weinstock and Charnier size him up accurately. Weinstock remarks on his inexperience and observes that he needs to move more cautiously, while Charnier quips that Sal "sees police in his soup." Tony Lo Bianco, in probably his most notable role, manages to capture both the surface slickness and the thinly veiled nervousness.

Sal (Tony Lo Bianco) welcomes Charnier (Fernando Rey). It's shown from a distance,
as if to make the audience part of the police surveillance.

THOUGHTS:

The French Connection, along with Bullitt and the original Dirty Harry, effectively invented the "cop antihero" of 1970s and '80s police thrillers. It would be harder to find a '70s or '80s cop film (or series) that didn't borrow from it. That lends it a familiarity, both in content and presentation style, that should blunt the effectiveness of modern viewings.

I still find it spellbinding.

Director William Friedkin made his name as a documentary filmmaker, and he uses those techniques here. There are several scenes that play like they came from a documentary, with camera shots that play as if a documentarian was grabbing shots on the fly and moving the camera to keep up with his subjects. Wide shots, simple pans, and zooms are favored. A scene at an automobile graveyard starts with a close shot on several abandoned cars, then zooms out. The camera pans to follow Charnier, his wife, and another associate as they walk to the auction. The auction itself is covered from just a couple of fixed angles inside a cramped space.

The movie features many scenes of police following suspects. The camera tends to start on one officer following the target, then panning or zooming to pick up a second officer as the first turns off or away to avoid detection. That second officer will be followed to a third, or a wider shot will show both officers to demonstrate their physical proximity to both each other and the target. When Charnier is observed having dinner in a restaurant, he's viewed from outside the window. We see him talking, but we do not hear the conversation.

The movie isn't afraid to take its time, and a surprising amount of it is made up of sequences of surveillance work. This creates an impression of the grind of such work, with long periods of tedium followed by bursts of panic when the target is suddenly not in anyone's view. For much of the movie, Doyle's hunch of a big deal is actively questioned by his colleagues. There's enough evidence for his captain to call in the FBI and support extended surveillance, but there's a limit to how long he'll let it consume the department's limited resources.

The pace picks up in the second half, starting with the scene in which Charnier spots and shakes Doyle at the subway station. From that point, plot developments come faster, with a greater sense of urgency. This is particularly apparent in the movie's most famous sequence...

Doyle collides with another car during the movie's famous chase scene.

THE CHASE SCENE:

The French Connection is often cited as having one of the best car chases ever put to film. It's a fine action set piece, and it honestly makes for an excellent short film in its own right.

The meat of the sequence sees Doyle pursuing a would-be assassin who is escaping on an elevated subway express. Doyle follows in a car, frantically driving beneath the train. A handheld camera inside Doyle's car catches his reactions, while other handheld shots follow the car as he drives recklessly to keep pace with his quarry.

This is intercut with the criminal inside the train car, with shots that are also handheld, though initially with less haphazardness than the Doyle shots. As the tension rises, the camera inside the train becomes less steady, matching the frenetic style of the Doyle moments, and the shot lengths shorten to match the quick cutting of Doyle's car as it pursues below.

The cinematic language retains the documentary feel. Both the shots inside Doyle's car and the shots int the train could be taken by a passenger. Most shots outside the car are presented as if filmed by a third party a safe distance away, with momentum created more by the rapid editing than by the visuals themselves. It's masterfully done, and I suspect Gerald B. Greenberg's Oscar for Film Editing had a lot to do with this scene in particular.

I have two criticisms of the chase scene, or rather its impact on the plot. First is that it doesn't actually have much narrative impact. There's an attempt to make it relevant, with Doyle's captain taking him off the case just before the chase, with the confrontation resulting in him staying on... but it's blatantly obvious that this minor and brief complication is there only to justify the set piece. If you were to remove the chase and the bit with Doyle's captain from right before it, the only sign that anything is missing would be the disappearance of one minor supporting character.

My second criticism is that, realistically, this incident should have ended Charnier's deal. Weinstock was already shown to be wary... and then a French associate of Charnier's attempts to kill a police officer before making the kind of scene on a public subway that would ignite a media firestorm. Rather than buying his drugs, I would think Weinstock and his associates would decide that this sort of violent amateurishness is dangerous and insist the Frenchman leave the city and never return.

But this is outweighed by the scene's cinematic function, which it achieves brilliantly. The set piece gives the audience a jolt, essentially waking them up for the final Act. Doyle is put in direct danger for the first time in the story, which adds to his personal stake. We see how he responds to danger: He reacts quickly, with sharp instincts as he anticipates the train's next stop; however, he's reckless and entirely willing to put civilians in danger. Notably, this is one of the few times he is not accompanied by Russo. The end of the set piece foreshadows the way Doyle will act at the end of the movie - setting it up for the viewer, while at the same time preserving the shock for Russo.

Charnier waves mockingly at Doyle. He'll come to regret that.

SPIRITUAL SUCCESSORS AND A SEQUEL:

1973's The Seven-Ups was directed by French Connection producer Philip D'Antoni, and starred French Connection cast members Roy Scheider, Tony Lo Bianco, and Bill Hickman. Scheider's Buddy Manucci is - like Buddy Russo - based on Sonny Grosso, and he's pretty definitely the same character. It's no French Connection, but it's entertaining, with a clever story and a nicely suspenseful car chase.

The same cannot be said of Badge 373, with Robert Duvall as an Eddie Egan-inspired detective (basically "Popeye" Doyle). I didn't manage to finish the movie, but what I saw was quite bad, both tedious and filled with the types of melodramatic clichés that The French Connection avoided.

There was one direct sequel, director John Frankenheimer's French Connection II. Unimaginative title aside, it's a surprisingly decent thriller that takes Gene Hackman's Popeye Doyle out of his New York City comfort zone, planting him in Marseilles. This creates a different feel than the original, and the film boasts a very effective sequence in which a character becomes addicted to heroin. Most of the rest is pretty standard, and Doyle is "safer" - and therefore less interesting - than in the original. Hackman's still good, though, and the ending chase is memorable. It's not in the same league as its predecessor, but it's worth watching, which is more than I expected.

Doyle and Russo follow a suspect.

OVERALL:

The French Connection helped to create the template for the cop thriller subgenre as we know it. Elements of it have been borrowed, expanded on, copied, and even parodied, with the car dismantling scene memorably sent up by an episode of Zucker/Abrahams/Zucker's short-lived Police Squad!

Despite its individual elements now being familiar, the movie holds up. Its documentary style, real locations, and naturalistic performances combine with a screenplay that demonstrates its characters through behavior rather than directly telling us who the characters are. It's not quite William Friedkin's best film, because I think The Exorcist is even better, but it remains a sharp, absorbing crime drama that earned its awards and also its place in film history.


Rating: 9/10.

Best Picture - 1970: Patton
Best Picture - 1972: The Godfather

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