At the Midpoint: A Backward Glance at Best Pictures from 1927 to 1975.

A scene from 1927's Wings, which won the award
for Outstanding Picture at the first Academy Awards.

With my review of One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest, I have now reviewed 49 Best Picture Winners (with an asterisk for Sunrise) out of a total of 98, putting me at the midpoint of this project. So this seems like a good moment to take a look back before moving forward.

One thing that this tour of (English language) film history has brought home to me is what a young medium motion pictures are. There are people who are alive now who had already been born when Wings and Sunrise were released. I'm only about halfway through, and this point will be a fair bit short of the midpoint by the time I fully catch up. Even so, I have already reached movies released within my lifetime, some of them ones that I wouldn't have considered "old" when I first viewed them.


EARLY FILM HISTORY AND PRE-HISTORY:

Film itself far predates the Academy Awards. Inventors experimented with creating moving images from mulitple static ones from the first half of the 19th century through devices such as the phenokistascope, later improved into the zoetrope. Thomas Edison (more accurately, his employee William Dickson)'s kinetoscope, invented in 1893, allowed exhibition of a film reel to a single viewer via a "peep box." But it was only with the creation of the Lumière Brothers' cinématographe in 1895 that mass exhibition became possible.

To all intents, motion pictures began with that invention, with the rest basically being prehistory. Now, 1895 is outside of living memory... but not by all that much, and it wasn't until after the turn of the 20th century that filmmakers started to deliver more complex narrative films, such as Edwin S. Porter's The Great Train Robbery and Georges Méliès's Le Voyage dans la Lune. The latter of which saw Thomas Edison become the first significant movie pirate by selling his own prints of Méliès's film under the English title, A Trip to the Moon, without permission, payment, or credit.

The Kelly Gang performs a robbery in one of
the few surviving scenes from this 1906 feature.

The first recorded feature-length film was Australia's The Story of the Kelly Gang (1906), a 70 minute narrative film of which roughly 17 minutes still survive; a restoration was released by Australia's National Film and Sound Archive in 2006, combining the existing clips with still photos to recreate the original movie as closely as possible (National Film and Sound Archive of Australia, https://www.nfsa.gov.au/latest/story-kelly-gang).

It was D. W. Griffith's 1915 epic, The Birth of a Nation, that revolutionized film technique... sadly, in the service of what amounts to a 3-hour recruitment film for the Ku Klux Klan. I've already written about its content (link). The film was simultaneously a product of, and a fuel for, the period of history that historians have dubbed the nadir of American race relations.

Divorced of that content, however, The Birth of a Nation was a technical marvel. A lot of film language we take for granted can be traced to this motion picture: intercutting close-ups and long shots within a scene; fade-outs to show transitions in time and place; and large-scale battle scenes using a variety of methods to convey carnage, including the use of still frames to make living actors seem like lifeless corpses. Its content is odious - but its technical achievement is indisputable, and it fully merits its place in the Library of Congress's National Film Registry.

The Broadway Melody is an "all-talking" film... meaning
the camera doesn't move and the actors barely do.

FROM SILENT TO SOUND:

All of this history is a prelude to the very first thing I noticed in this review series - namely, the way film technique actually moved backward with the introduction of sound.

Silent film was already on its way out by the time of the first Academy Awards ceremony. Wings and its twin "Best Unique and Artistic Motion Picture," Sunrise, would be the only silent films to win Best Picture until 2011's The Artist. The contrast in filmmaking sophistication between these two silent films and the early talkies that followed is jaw-dropping. Save for featuring synchronized sound, the Best Picture recipients from The Broadway Melody to Cavalcade seem far older and creakier than the two silent winners.

The reasons for this have to do with early sound recording technology, which Fiveable's article, Technological and Artistic Challenges of Early Talkies, observes was as cumbersome as it was expensive. Cameras had to be encased in soundproof booths to avoid recording the sound of the camera itself, which limited camera movement, while actors had to remain close to microphones to capture clear audio. The resulting films feel almost painfully primitive and static.

Filmmakers did their best to push against these limitations. The Broadway Melody cuts regularly between different camera setups to try to keep some sense of visual motion, and it pioneered the technique of dubbing singing over musical numbers rather than recording the songs live. Cimarron and All Quiet on the Western Front feature set pieces that were "shot silent," with sound later dubbed over, allowing individual sequences to draw on the wealth of tools that had been perfected before the introduction of sound. All Quiet was one of several early talkies that simultaneously shot a silent version. The silent version still exists, and it's often regarded as the better one, not having to contend with the limited camerawork and the sometimes stilted line deliveries.

I also couldn't help but notice how many early talkies feature elements of silent film, from exaggerated, overly emotive acting (Cimarron is very guilty of this) to intertitles. In hindsight, the run of Best Picture Winners up to 1934 plays like a transitional period, with filmmakers gradually learning how to best use the new sound technology, as well as how to minimize the limitations imposed by it.

The motion picture as an artform seems to regain its confidence in the mid-1930s. Frank Capra's It Happened One Night uses the advantages of synchronized sound to smoothly cut into action while it's in progress and cut out at high points, creating a faster pace than many of its contemporaries. The Great Ziegfeld, for all of its self-indulgence, features a then-extraordinary $250,000 set piece, a mid-film performance of A Pretty Girl Is Like a Melody on a giant revolving set, that remains eye-popping.

1939's Gone with the Wind sees the movies finally catch
back up with the technical mastery of the silent era.

CATCHING UP WITH THE PAST - GONE WITH THE WIND:

1939's Gone with the Wind saw the motion picture industry finally "catching up" with the technical mastery of its silent era.

There is a certain irony to this. Silent film's revolutionary leap forward came with Birth of a Nation, a Civil War/Reconstruction epic that is deeply, blatantly racist. Sound film's revolutionary release that saw a full return to technical mastery came with Gone with the Wind, a Civil War/Reconstruction epic based on a novel by Margaret Mitchell - whose own favorite novel, The Clansman, formed the basis for Birth of a Nation.

It should be noted that, unlike its pro-KKK predecessor, Gone with the Wind avoided any deliberate racism on the insistence of David O. Selznick. The novel's references to the Klan were removed entirely from the movie, along with racial slurs. The film's most prominent black character, Mammy (Hattie McDaniel), is a fully-realized character who is arguably one of the best-written characters in the movie.

Gone with the Wind is a better movie than Birth of a Nation on a basic story and character level. It also offers several indelible moments: The shot that begins close on Scarlet; then, still moving to follow her, gradually pulls back to reveal a sea of wounded soldiers. The set piece that is the burning of Atlanta. The intimate and perfectly-edited moment in which Scarlet shoots a deserter, then rifles through his pockets for anything that can help her and her people survive.

As I noted in my review, for its first three hours, I was positive I would be awarding full marks. I ended up giving it an "8," mainly because its final hour suffered from a narrowing of scope and direction by Sam Wood that simply was not the equal of the scenes helmed by Victor Fleming or George Cukor. The movie as a whole, however, fully lives up to its reputation as a technical and artistic achievement, and it represents the point at which the visual art of motion pictures caught up with its own past and began to once again move forward.

1922's The Toll of the Sea was made using
Technicolor's early two-strip color process.

FROM BLACK & WHITE TO COLOR:

After silent-to-sound, the next major transition was from black & white to color. From 1927 to 1950, the only color movie to win Best Picture winner was Gone with the Wind.

Now, color was not remotely new, not even in the 1930s. Many early silent films had sequences that were colored by hand, frame-by-frame; some restorations replicate the process, including Wings with its colored flames during the aerial dogfights. Meanwhile, Technicolor utilized a two-strip color recording process, which was used for the entirety of 1922's The Toll of the Sea. This process was also used for individual sequences, big set pieces in movies such as the 1923 version of The Ten Commandments and the 1925 Ben-Hur.

The early Technicolor processes were cumbersome, though, as well as expensive. Also, like early sound, early color introduced limitations. The Artifice notes in its article, A History of Colour: The Difficult Transition from Black and White Cinematography, that cameras were so heavy that outdoor shooting was impossible. The article also notes the need for extremely bright lighting, limiting the use of shadows and restricting complex camera work.

Talkies imposed even greater restrictions, of course... but audiences quickly demanded talking films. The same audiences were perfectly satisfied with black & white, however, and so the expensive and cumbersome color process was saved for a few, lavish exceptions.

As the technology improved, color became more affordable, more effective, and less restrictive. The 1950s saw a steady increase in color motion pictures, and this was reflected in the Oscar winners. 1951's An American in Paris was only the second color movie to win Best Picture. After 1956's Around the World in 80 Days, however, 1960's The Apartment was the only black & white film to win the award until Schindler's List in 1993.

The Apartment (1960) was the last black & white film
to win Best Picture until Schindler's List in 1993.

REFLECTING THE TIMES:

The one constant, throughout this series (and, really, any other decades-spanning look at artworks) is one that I've circled back to in multiple reviews and assorted musings: that the films in this series very much reflect the times in which they were made.

This is visibly true throughout the span of this review series. I've written about how portrayals of African-Americans on film reflected racial attitudes between 1915 and 1939; how views toward sexuality led to the fall of the Hays Code and the rise of the MPAA ratings; and how a turbulent social period overlaps a time in which the musical suddenly dominated the Academy Awards. The movies that are the most popular and/or honored often don't hold up as the actual best of their respective years - but movies, good and bad alike, always reflect something of the times that created them.


CONCLUSION:

I think it's appropriate that my look back comes here, not only because it's the current midpoint of this series, but also because the next Best Picture winner will be 1976's Rocky. If my memory holds true (and it hasn't been all that long since my last viewing), the first Rocky is very much a '70s film, but it also signals a shift in the overall tone of major motion pictures that would carry through into the following decade.

Past that, I have no particular conclusion here. I really did just want to blow off the cobwebs a bit by looking back at the first half of this review series before starting to move forward again.


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1975: One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

Randle McMurphy (Jack Nicholson) feigns insanity to avoid prison.

Release Date: Nov. 19, 1975. Running Time: 135 minutes. Screenplay by: Lawrence Hauben, Bo Goldman. Based on the Novel by: Ken Kesey. Producer: Saul Zaentz, Michael Douglas. Director: Miloš Forman.


THE PLOT:

Nurse Ratched (Louise Fletcher) has absolute control over her ward at a mental institution. Everything goes according to her schedule, with even the moments of chaos among the patients being carefully constrained. This is noticed by doctors and staff, with Dr. Spivey (Dean Brooks) referring to her as "one of the finest nurses we've got."

Into this palace of order comes an agent of chaos: Randle P. McMurphy (Jack Nicholson). An inmate sentenced to a brief stint on a prison work farm, McMurphy has come up with the perfect way to get out of his work detail: by faking insanity. No one is fooled, least of all Dr. Spivey, but he's just convincing enough to be referred for a period of observation.

McMurphy and Ratched despise each other on sight. The charismatic McMurphy is a threat to her dominance; Ratched's inflexible adherence to schedules and procedures ticks off every one of his anti-authoritarian instincts. Their mutual hatred quickly turns into a battle of wills - but what McMurphy doesn't realize is that the terms of his referral leave him in a position to potentially lose his freedom forever!

McMurphy rallies the other patients by faking a World Series broadcast.

JACK NICHOLSON AS RANDLE McMURTRY:

He first knocks heads with Nurse Ratched over personal annoyances, from music that he finds too loud to a World Series game that he desperately wants to watch. He practically sneers at the patients who just go along with Ratched's bullying. He may have been denied seeing his game, he observes - "But I tried, didn't I? ...At least I did that."

He maintains a carefree front, and he seems to legitimately enjoy the awe with which the others look upon his acts of rebellion. Still, he notices the injustices on the ward. Even at the beginning, when he's at his most selfish, he watches with visible disgust as Ratched wields her power, and that only grows as their conflict continues. He rallies the other patients with his boisterousness... but as the camera lingers on his face, it catches micro-expressions that show a steadily building anger. This finally gets released in a moment that is simultaneously shocking and inevitable.

If Al Pacino's Dog Day Afternoon had fallen in any other year, I would have said he was robbed of the Oscar... but Jack Nicholson is completely, utterly magnetic, and his performance is startlingly layered; this was one of the roles that created his star persona, but he isn't relying on it here. I'd rate this as a strong candidate for Nicholson's best work, and I would have to agree with his Best Actor Oscar.

Nurse Ratched (Louise Fletcher) watches the patients on the exercise yard.

LOUISE FLETCHER AS NURSE RATCHED:

The American Film Institute ranked Nurse Ratched #5 on their list of the greatest movie villains. She presents herself as a kindly figure, phrasing her edicts as if they are for the good of patients or the group, but she cares nothing about her charges as people. They aren't even numbers and statistics - They are her subjects, and what matters is her total control of them.

Louise Fletcher makes this character into McMurphy's opposite. He is loud, rakishly unkempt, and proudly lewd and angry; she is perfectly composed, soft-spoken, and proper. He is open, loud in displaying his emotions and appearing to have no filter; she reveals nothing, with the only indication of a life outside the ward being her (unreliable) statement that she's an old friend of patient Billy Bibbit (Brad Dourif)'s mother. McMurphy makes a spectacle of himself often just by being in the room; she is often shown silently watching.

It's a perfectly judged performance. By making Ratched so utterly poised, it shows her stress when she finally begins snapping and even shouting in the latter part of the film, when she senses her control starting to slip.

McMurphy with Chief (Will Sampson), who isn't as catatonic as he pretends.

OTHER CHARACTERS:

Chief: The large-statured Native American patient has perfected what McMurphy merely feigns, convincing everyone on the ward that he is catatonic. We're tipped off otherwise courtesy of quick reaction shots, but it's more than halfway through the film before McMurphy learns the truth, with Chief revealing himself in secret because the other man has earned his respect. He attempts to warn McMurphy about the trouble he's inviting with his rebelliousness, comparing him to his late father: "My poppa's real big, he did like he pleased. That's why everybody worked on him... I'm not saying they killed him. They just worked on him, the way they're working on you."

Dale Harding: The most verbose of the ward's patients, Harding (William Redfield) has the look and manner of a middle-class accountant. He's more than a little full of himself, which makes him a target of mockery by other patients - particularly the belligerent Taber (Christopher Lloyd). Early on, he snaps at Taber verbally when the other man insinuates that he's a closeted homosexual, but that's all he does. Later, seemingly as a result of McMurphy's influence, he gets back at Taber by giving him a hotfoot in group, and he seems giddy at getting away with it.

Billy Bibbit: Brad Dourif's first screen role (at least, the first one that didn't end up on the cutting room floor), and it's a memorable debut. Billy is the youngest patient on the ward, a shy stutterer who has attempted suicide multiple times. He's sexually frustrated, and he is enchanted when McMurphy brings a prostitute (Marya Small) on the mid-film fishing trip. Nurse Ratched makes him into a particular target, deliberately quashing any sign of self-confidence. He tells a harmless lie in group therapy, detailing an encounter with a young woman the way he wished it had happened, and smiles for a moment to enjoy the group's approval - only for Ratched to call him out on the lie to reduce him to a stammering nonentity.

Other Patients: Sydney Lassick has some amusing scenes as the comically anxious Cheswick, while a startlingly young Danny DeVito steals several bits with (probably improvised) physical comedy as Martini. Christopher Lloyd stands out as the angry Max Taber, one of the few patients on the ward who isn't there by choice. Vincent Schiavelli lends strong physical presence to the hulking, silent Frederickson, though we never actually learn anything about him. All of the supporting actors do their jobs well, never intruding on the central conflict between McMurphy and Ratched while still getting the most of small moments and making it believable that McMurphy would feel a growing protectiveness toward them.

Billy Bibbit (Brad Dourif), the youngest of the patients on Nurse Ratched's ward.

THOUGHTS:

"You guys do nothing but complain about how you can't stand it in this place here, and you don't have the guts just to walk out? What do you think you are... crazy or something? Well, you're not! You're not! You're no crazier than the average **** out walkin' around on the streets!"
-Randle P. McMurphy is appalled by the passiveness of his fellow patients.

What is there to say about One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest? It's a fixture on all lists of "great movies." It works on multiple levels: as a story about a contest of wills between two equally stubborn polar opposites; as an allegory about the cost of individuality in a cold, unfeeling system; as a look at abuses within the mental health industry (I'd wager one scene represented most contemporary viewers' first exposure to electroshock therapy). It's even a pretty good character comedy that seamlessly mutates into a searing drama.

Performances are superb, with Jack Nicholson and Louise Fletcher portraying vivid characters who instantly became iconic. Just as important to the film's success is Miloš Forman's directorial style. There are many scenes composed of characters talking, and Forman uses his camera to move slowly in on key characters across these scenes.

This is particularly effective when he's moving in on reaction shots. During an early group therapy scene, the camera closes on McMurphy from one angle and Ratched from another - not on them talking, but instead picking up their reactions. Ratched ignores the other patients as they argue amongst themselves, instead glaring at this new threat to her control. McMurphy, in turn, recognizes her for the domineering figure that she is, and tries to throw off her concentration by noisily shuffling his deck of cards. He barely speaks during the scene, but he makes absolutely clear his disdain for this authority figure whom he's already decided "ain't honest."

This scene is mirrored by a later group therapy session. This occurs after McMurphy learns that Ratched has the power to keep him in the ward indefinitely, and he's now endeavoring to behave. She is smug as he carefully asks why no one warned him of his situation. Once again, chaos breaks out, not because of anything McMurphy is doing, but because of the rebellion he's stoked across weeks of individual incidents. The usually meek Cheswick decides he wants access to his cigarettes, which Nurse Ratched has confiscated and is keeping at the nurse's station, and he ignores all instructions to sit down.

Less than five minutes of screen time earlier, McMurphy would have basked in this as a triumph. Now the stakes have changed, with his fate now entirely in the hands of his worst enemy. What would have been more comedy antics are now a source of tension, with both McMurphy and the viewers seeing that every bit of pushback from the other patients is one more nail locking him in his cage for good.

McMurphy's greatest act of rebellion: Taking the patients out for a fishing trip.
Inevitably, this high is swiftly answered with a fall.

A SHIFT IN TONE:

The shift in tone is beautifully executed. Though the first half is mostly light-hearted, there are enough edges to keep it from ever feeling completely like a comedy. Nurse Ratched's baleful glares promise retribution, and her soft-spoken bullying of Billy is an early tipoff of her malevolence. McMurphy's doomed attempt to lift a water fixture to escape is almost disturbing as his face literally turns red from the effort before he finally gives up.

Throughout the first half, McMurphy seems to "win" the contest of wills. After Ratched refuses his request to watch the World Series, he glares balefully for a second - then, refusing to allow her the victory, he fakes the game, staring at the blank screen of the television and reading off plays with a sports announcer's patter. The result is that the other patients flock to him even more than if Ratched had allowed them to watch the actual game.

Little incidents and episodes build to the mid-film set piece: McMurphy "borrowing" the bus to take the other patients on an impromptu fishing trip. This is the only sequence in the film that takes place outside the confines of the institution, and it's like a weight is lifted as they steal a boat and go out onto the water, all of them enjoying a moment of pure freedom.

Even the color palette brightens; in contrast to the institution, where everything is white or light blue and antiseptic, on the fishing trip there are bright colors, with each patient granted a red life vest. The editing is faster, and there is more motion, all conveying a sense of freedom that contrasts with the rest of the movie.

Nurse Ratched enforces her will on her suddenly unruly ward.

The tone changes immediately after. There's an ominously quiet scene as Ratched, Dr. Spivey, and Spivey's colleagues debate McMurphy's fate. Spivey is on the cusp of sending him back to prison (where, in fairness, he belongs), when Ratched interferes, insisting that sending him away would be dereliction of their duties. It's then that McMurphy learns the reality of his situation, that he is now serving an indefinite sentence with Nurse Ratched as both judge and jailer.

The movie's final sequence is haunting and beautiful, a succession of wonderful visual shots that are perfectly accompanied by Jack Nitzsche's score. I won't give anything away - but I will say that on rewatch, it is remarkable just how many small moments earlier in the film foreshadow each and every piece of this ending.


OVERALL:

There are plenty of aspects to this movie that I'm not touching on. In the interest of avoiding spoilers, I'm not touching on anything from the movie's final third, but the way the film moves between different styles is beautiful to behold, elements of French farce giving way to moments of great suspense.

This is, simply put, a great motion picture, one that fully lives up to its towering reputation - and lest that put you off, it's also compulsively watchable.


Rating: 10/10.

Related Post: At the Midpoint: A Backward Glance at Best Pictures from 1927 to 1975.

Best Picture - 1974: The Godfather, Part II
Best Picture - 1976: Rocky (not yet reviewed)

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Supplemental Review: The Godfather, Part III (1990).

An aging Michael Corleone makes an ambitious final effort to redeem his family name.

Release Date: Dec. 20, 1990. Running Time: 162 minutes (theatrical), 170 minutes (director's cut), 158 minutes (re-release). Screenplay by: Mario Puzo, Francis Ford Coppola. Producer: Francis Ford Coppola. Director: Francis Ford Coppola.

Note: This review is based on the 1991 "Final Director's Cut."


THE PLOT:

The year is 1979 and, after decades of investment in legitimate businesses, Michael believes he has finally freed himself and his family from ties to organized crime. "We've sold the casinos, all businesses having to do with gambling. We have no interests or investments in anything illegitimate."

He plans to cement his turn from mafia don to respected businessman by purchasing control of Immobiliare, a company with deep ties to the Catholic Church. The deal is contingent on personal approval by the Pope himself, but Archbishop Gilday (Donal Donnelly), head of the Vatican Bank, assures him that this is little more than a formality.

Then the Pope falls ill, leaving ratification of the agreement in limbo. If the Pope dies, one of the corrupt executives smirks, "all bets are off" - with Michael potentially left with nothing.

Even as he navigates this mess, problems are brewing in New York. Vincent Mancini (Andy Garcia), the illegitimate son of Michael's late brother Sonny, has come into conflict with gangster Joey Zasa (Joe Mantegna). Zasa has taken control of the territory once protected by Michael's father, and he has turned it into a crime-infested sewer. Michael extends his protection to Vincent, taking the hotheaded young man under his wing in hopes of teaching him patience. Outside of that, however, he refuses to get involved.

That isn't good enough for Joey Zasa. With backing from an unidentified enemy, he makes a move - one that threatens to pull Michael right back into the world he left behind!

Michael attempts to purchase a company with ties to the Vatican.

AL PACINO AS DON MICHAEL CORLEONE:

My opinion of Al Pacino's performance in The Godfather, Part III is similar to my opinion of the movie itself. On its own terms, it's a good performance, suffering mainly by comparison to the two 1970s films.

Pacino is particularly good at capturing Michael's physical weariness. He walks with a stoop and seeming to be contracting into himself, diminishing before our eyes. He's uncomfortable even when he sits, as if he doesn't quite fit into the chair, and he regularly slumps his head or even entire body to one side. His visible exhaustion makes his moments of strong emotion more effective, notably a scene in which he falls into tears when confessing his sins to an honest Cardinal.

"I would burn in hell to keep you safe," he tells his daughter, Mary (Sofia Coppola) - and indeed, he believes himself to be beyond any kind of redemption, his only solace the hope that he's protected his children from the world he fell into. He protests to Kay that he never had a choice, that he had to act as he did to protect the people he loved, only to lose them anyway.

However - again, like the movie itself - there's no question that he isn't at the same level here as in the first two movies. In The Godfather and particularly The Godfather, Part II, Pacino didn't so much play Michael as inhabit him. Even now, when I rewatch the earlier movies, I don't see Pacino playing Michael; I see the character. By contrast, in this third entry, I mostly see Al Pacino.

Joey Zasa (Joe Mantegna) prepares to move against Michael.

OTHER CHARACTERS:

Kay Adams Corleone: The opening scenes indicate that she's had minimal contact with Michael since their marriage ended, but they mutually agreed for her to take charge of their children's education... which is absolutely not inconsistent with him wordlessly slamming the door in her face while she was saying goodbye to the children at the end of the The Godfather, Part II. She still has unresolved feelings for him, rushing to his side when he has a medical emergency, but she remains wary of the danger surrounding him. Diane Keaton is good as ever, but she unfortunately gets stuck with some of the clunkiest dialogue, notably when she complains that Michael is more dangerous now than when he was "just a common Mafia hood."

Connie Corleone: One thing that can be said for The Godfather, Part III is that it gives a lot more to its female cast than the first two films. Nowhere is this more evident than with Talia Shire's Connie, a decidedly supporting character in the earlier entries who graduates to a central role here. She has retained contact with Kay, and she also brings Vincent to Michael. She is a direct advisor to Michael (almost certainly a case of Talia Shire inheriting some of what would have been Robert Duvall's role), authorizing Vincent to respond to actions against the Corleones while Michael is in the hospital and directly participating in the opera house climax. I'm not sure most of this is really a natural extension of Connie's established character, but at the very least Talia Shire plays her scenes well, convincingly making Michael's sister into a formidable presence.

Vincent Mancini: Andy Garcia's Vincent is a hothead, like his father, and Garcia even borrows a few of James Caan's mannerisms. I don't think Vincent's arc really works - not because of Garcia, who is perfectly fine, but because the script never makes him the focus. In the original movie, Marlon Brando's Vito was all but removed for the middle hour, allowing Al Pacino's Michael to emerge as the main character. The Godfather, Part III is centered entirely around Michael, with everyone else being a supporting character. This leaves little time for Vincent's transformation from short-tempered loose cannon to calculating leader, and as a result I'm unconvinced when he's given (quite literally just given) the title of "Don Corleone" in the final half hour.

Don Altobello: Eli Wallach as an elderly, retired-but-not-retired Sicilian don sounds like casting out of a Mel Brooks movie. I can't help but wonder if Francis Ford Coppola and Mario Puzo couldn't have tweaked the character to make him a Jewish advisor who has gained power through sheer shrewdness; yes, that would be repeating Hyman Roth, but it would also allow the character to fit the casting. That dissonance aside, Wallach's performance is good, the actor turning the character's outward meekness into a thin mask. The more he protests his own powerlessness, his need to "please the world around me," the clearer it becomes that he is one of the most dangerous characters in the story.

Joey Zasa: A flashy mobster who enjoys public attention, winking at his mob status while dismissing it as "fantasy," he's basically a fictionalized John Gotti - and he is easily the movie's most entertaining character. Zasa swaggers into frame, all but openly disrespectful of the Corleones from his first appearance. Michael dismisses him as "small time" - even after Zasa makes his move, Michael knows that he could not have done this alone. In my opinion, Zasa should have been the film's most visible antagonist. Joe Mantegna is excellent, and his character's street-level crudeness is an effective contrast to the more formal demeanor of Michael, let alone the various Vatican officials and Immobiliare execs. This creates friction and energy when he's onscreen, qualities that the movie could have used more of.

B. J. Harrison: Robert Duvall declined to return after receiving what he felt was an insulting offer from Paramount. The new family attorney is George Hamilton's Harrison. The absence of Tom diminishes the movie, as without him there really isn't an equivalent voice to argue against Michael's decisions. Beyond that, there's the inevitable temptation to make fun of George Hamilton for... well, being George Hamilton. But honestly? I think he's pretty good here. Harrison isn't the focus of many scenes (I suspect Tom's role would have been larger), but he's often in the background, watching closely, ready to jump in to forestall awkward questions from a reporter or to express worries about the Immobiliare deal.

Mary Corleone: Winona Ryder was cast as Michael's daughter, only to drop out from nervous exhaustion early in production. This put Francis Ford Coppola in a bind - and he made probably the worst decision possible by replacing her with his daughter, Sofia. Even decades on, I feel bad about pointing out the stilted movements and wooden line deliveries of someone who, after, all, was not a professional actress. Still, this is a released feature film - a tentpole film of its year - and Sofia Coppola's performance harms every scene in which she's the focus. Her father seems at least to have recognized this while editing (even in the longest of the three versions, her total screen time is limited) - but in a story that strives to evoke King Lear, it's a bit of a problem that the dutiful daughter ends up being the weakest single aspect of the entire production.

Michael enjoys a peaceful moment with Kay (Diane Keaton)
and their daughter, Mary (Sofia Coppola).

THOUGHTS:

"The mind suffers and the body cries out... Your sins are terrible, and it is just that you suffer. Your life could be redeemed, but I know that you don't believe that. You will not change."
-Cardinal Lamberto, soon to become Pope John Paul I, hears the confession of Michael Corleone.

The Godfather, Part III has plenty of merit as a film. It's rarely less than entertaining; it's lovely to look at, making fine use of excellent studio sets and real-world locations; it is, with one notable exception, very well acted; and it features a handful of terrific set pieces. Taken on its own terms, this is a good movie.

Unfortunately, it's impossible to simply take it on its own merits. Any "Part III" will, by its very nature, be measured against its predecessors. In this case, both of the preceding entries were genuine American masterpieces. When that's the standard, failure to measure up is basically built in.

Granting that, then, it's almost remarkable how well the first half of this movie works. The script, once again by Mario Puzo and Francis Ford Coppola, draws parallels between organized crime and business. Michael wants to purchase Immobiliare to wash clean his family name. Instead, he finds himself not only the target of criminal rivals, but the victim of a swindle by corrupt forces in both the business world and the Vatican. "They're the true mafia," he spits angrily.

The film is absorbing, sometimes witty, and frequently energetic - at least, while the primary setting remains New York. When the action shifts to Sicily, however, that energy drains away. It remains enjoyable, but it becomes too straight-faced. The characters fall into slow, self-conscious speaking styles. Michael's confession is a wonderfully effective scene... but it would be even moreso if it wasn't surrounded by so many other would-be Shakespearian soliloquies.

Cardinal Lamberto (Raf Vallone) reluctantly accepts his new role as Pope John Paul I.

THEMES TOO BIG FOR THE STORY:

This film is not about its plot. Coppola is far more interested in Michael's regrets and his wish for redemption as he faces the price of the life he's lived. He wants his legacy to go through his biological children, for the Corleone name to be associated with business, charity, and art. However, events make it inevitable that his true legacy will run through Vincent, who is destined to carry on the Corleone crime family. It's intended as a Shakespearian tragedy, which is a worthy vision for the series' final bow.

Too bad, then, that these ideas are tied to this plot. I don't hate the Immobiliare plot. There's cleverness in the way Puzo and Coppola weave in the real-world Vatican Bank scandal and the deaths of two Popes, and it's amusing to see Michael be outmanipulated by so-called "legitimate businessmen." However, the mix of shady business dealings, organized crime, and Vatican conspiracy theories feels like the stuff of airport potboilers. It's like a Dan Brown thriller that got released a decade too soon: The DaVinci Don.

Also, because Coppola's focus really isn't on the pulpy plot mechanics, parts of the story feel underdeveloped, even arbitrary. Michael sends Vincent to his enemies to pretend to betray him. Echoes of Luca Brasi in the original, only Vincent actually manages to persuade them and is welcomed into their ranks. This should lead to scenes of him learning information while avoiding discovery - scenes that would also give a needed boost to Vincent's role and show him having to hold his emotions in check.

This does not occur. Instead, once Vincent enters the enemy fold, his subterfuge is... basically ignored until just before the climax, when he pops up with information - at which point it's been so long unmentioned that, on first viewing, I was actually momentarily thrown until I remembered the existence of this neglected plot point.

Vincent (Andy Garcia) becomes the true inheritor of Michael's legacy.

VERSIONS:

After The Godfather, Part III's theatrical run, Francis Ford Coppola added nine minutes of deleted scenes for the 1991 home video release, labeling it his "Final Director's Cut." For a long time, this was the only version commercially available. It's the basis for this review for two versions: It's my preferred cut; and it's the one that I happen to already own.

In 2020, Coppola revisited it with The Godfather Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone. There are various light trims throughout, and the ending scene is dropped. The most notable change, however, is that it re-structures the opening to start with Michael's offer for Immobiliare, a scene that the previous versions place 40 minutes in.

I can see the argument for this, as it establishes up-front both the story and Michael's hopes to use the business to wash clean his old sins. However, I think the 1990/1991 opening is a better tone-setter, with Michael making an appeal to his children for them and Kay to be more a part of his life. The true focus of the movie is on Michael's regrets and his desire to steer his legacy away from crime; the newer cut instead directs viewers to the plot, a plot that is often neglected by the movie that follows.

It should be noted that mine is a minority opinion: The Godafther Coda is widely regarded as more focused and better paced. It ultimately makes little difference, though, whether you're watching the 1990 theatrical cut, the 1991 director's cut, or the 2020 re-edit. All three are ultimately the same movie, with the same virtues and failings, in every variant.


OVERALL:

The Godfather, Part III is flawed, but it's far from the disaster some Godfather fans have labeled it. I think critics at the time had it about right: It's intermittently compelling with some terrific set pieces and worthy themes. It's rarely less than enjoyable, and it's extremely well-made. It simply has the misfortune to be an above-average crime drama trapped in the shadow of two masterpieces.

It's worth watching - but it's also a movie to watch with suitably tempered expectations.


Rating: 7/10.

Preceded by: The Godfather, Part II

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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

Best Picture - 1973: The Sting
Best Picture - 1975: One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

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