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The Godfather Part II [DVD]

Director : Francis Ford Coppola

Screenplay : Mario Puzo and Francis Ford Coppola

MPAA Rating : R

Year of Release : 1990

Stars : Al Pacino (Michael Corleone), Diane Keaton (Kay Adams), Talia Shire (Connie Corleone Rizzi), Andy Garcia (Vincent Mancini), Eli Wallach (Don Altobello), Joe Mantegna (Joey Zaza), George Hamilton (B.J. Harrison), Bridget Fonda (Grace Hamilton), Sofia Coppola (Mary Corleone), Raf Vallone (Cardinal Lamberto)

"The Godfather ... is the first completely authentic modern myth in American cinema ..."
—Jake Horsley, The Blood Poets: A Cinema of Savagery, 1958-1999

Almost 30 years after it won the Academy Award for Best Picture and helped launch the careers of a half-dozen actors and a 31-year old director named Francis Ford Coppola, The Godfather is still a riveting piece of work, a true masterpiece of the American cinema. Having viewed it more than a dozen times, I am still floored every time I see it and am reminded of what a cinematic landmark it truly is, especially when placed in context with the two sequels that followed it.

The Godfather, which was based on a fictional Mafioso potboiler by Mario Puzo, is not so much about power itself, but about the transfer of power. It tells the story of the fictional Corleone family and how the family's power moves from the aging father, Don Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando), to his youngest son, Michael (Al Pacino). Power is seen as the ultimate commodity, more important than money or possessions. In this way, The Godfather is a deeply American film, because the Corleone family is a twisted mirror reflecting genuine American enterprise.

Michael is one of Vito's four sons, three of blood, one adopted. Sonny (James Caan) is the eldest son, but he is too hot-tempered and unstable to lead the family. Fredo (John Cazale), the middle son, is likeable, but slow and unmotivated. And Tom Hagen (Robert Duvall), the Irish-German adopted son who works as the family's attorney, could never lead the family because he is not Sicilian.

At the beginning of the film, Michael is staunchly against taking part in the family's illegal businesses. He is a hero of World War II who has gone out of his way to separate himself. After explaining to his girlfriend, Kay (Diane Keaton), how his family operates through violence and intimidation, he responds to her stunned look by saying, "That's my family, Kay. It's not me."

But, as the film progresses, we realize he is only deluding himself. Michael is very much a part of the family, and he slowly begins to understand that he is the natural choice to succeed his father. Part of the film's strength is its careful portrayal of Michael's evolution into a cold-hearted, ruthless leader, much more dangerous than his father ever was.

What is so startling and so brilliant about The Godfather is how it effortlessly draws you into its world, which is constructed as much out of pulp magazines and gangster films from the '30s as it is from authentic Italian-American experiences. From the first frames inside Don Corelone's dark, amber-hued office, the viewer is immersed in the ebb and flow of the Mafia life, with all its stark melodrama and sudden violence. The film never ventures outside this frame of reference, so we are never allowed to identify with anyone except the Corleones. By doing this, Coppola makes them accessible and understandable, even tragic and sometimes noble. Otherwise, they would simply be power-hungry liars and murderers.

At the center of the Corleone family is the Marlon Brando character. Brando brings an incredible amount of wisdom, respectability, and honor to Vito Coreleone. He is the patriarch of the most powerful family in New York, but he is not above the simple aspects of life. He is first and foremost a father who takes great pride in his family, something many "legitimate" men can't claim. "A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man," he says, showing how his power is supported by a morality that many upright Americans are lacking.

He doesn't mind dealing in gambling and prostitution because he sees those as simple vices that society can accept. But, when given the chance to get into the narcotics business, he senses the decay it will bring. He refuses to go along, thus touching off a 10-year war that engulfs most of the film. The narcotics dealers, led by Sollozzo (Al Lettieri), think the old man is losing his edge, when in fact he is just trying to hold on to the old morality that most of America was beginning to discard in the postwar years.

This morality is key to The Godfather because it helps the viewer identify and sympathize with the family. The family is always of the utmost importance, the emphasis being on the group, rather than the individual. When Fredo makes the mistake of arguing with Michael in front of others, Michael pulls him aside and gravely tells him, "Don't ever take sides against the family again." That is the ultimate sin.

Arguments have been made as to who is the protagonist of the story, Vito or Michael. In my eyes, they are both the protagonists, with the power exchange being the link between them. The first half of the film deals with Vito while he is in power, and the second half details Michael's rise, with the final frames of the film ensuring us that he is now the Godfather for the next generation.

The greatest sequence, which cuts together quiet scenes of Michael standing godfather to his sister's child with the brutal violence of his henchmen murdering all the family's enemies is a masterpiece of both editing and storytelling. The two opposing halves of the sequence show Michael's dual nature: In the legitimate sense, he is becoming godfather to a child, a highly respected and religious position. But, in a larger sense, by ordering the murder of all his enemies, he confirms his position as head of the Corleone family—the new Godfather.

A riveting film from beginning to end, The Godfather is a landmark in American cinema. At its heart, it is simply great storytelling. All the elements are there, from Gordon Willis' superb cinematography to Nino Rota's haunting score. For three hours it draws you into its world, bringing complex characters to life and letting the drama unfold slowly and surely. It is an excellent depiction of the inherent, all-encompassing dangers of power and its ability to corrupt. Time has not diminished this masterpiece, but rather solidified what critics and audiences alike knew when it was first released: This is one of the greatest motion pictures ever made.

If that had been the extent of Coppola and Puzo's achievement, it would still be worth writing about today. Yet, two years later, they did the unimaginable by emerging with a sequel, The Godfather Part II, which not only lived up to the artistic and dramatic excellence of the first film, but in many ways surpassed it. One of the great debates that still rages among film buffs is over the comparable merits of The Godfather and The Godfather Part II and which is the greater film.

In my opinion, it's a moot argument because the two films are not really comparable. In fact, what makes them so great is the fact that they are really the same film. Part II is not so much a sequel as it is an extension and deepening of the first film, giving that film's events a richer resonance and a harsher context. Neither film could exist without the other.

Part II is more thematically and structurally complex than its predecessor, as Coppola and Puzo took the risky but ultimately rewarding route of telling two stories at once. One half of the movie deals with Vito Corleone (Robert De Niro) as a young man, explaining how he came to America at age 9 after his father, brother, and mother were murdered by the local Mafia boss in Sicily. There, among the immigrants and tenements of Little Italy in New York City, he slowly rises to the power and prominence displayed by the character as he was played by Marlon Brando. Shot in aged, desaturated amber tones, these scenes provide a groundwork for a more complex understanding of Vito Corleone's actions in the first film, especially his dedication to his family.

The other half of the film follows Michael Corleone after he has assumed power of the family in the 1950s, sold off all their interests in New York, and concentrated on the gambling and hotel prospects in Las Vegas. By this point, his metamorphosis is complete, and if he appeared even more ruthless and dangerous than his father at the end of the first film, he is even more so at this point. Al Pacino's performance turns further inward, as he plays Michael as a brooding man who has to make one hard decision after another while everything his father stood for slowly decays around him.

The Godfather Part II was made largely as a response to the criticism that The Godfather had romanticized Mafia life, making its seem too appealing. If that is indeed a trap, Part II avoids it completely by focusing on the deterioration of the Corleone family. Whereas the first film had rooted the family's success in its solidarity and loyalty as a family, Part II shows how it begins to come unraveled at the seams once that solidarity and loyalty begin to falter, replaced instead with divorce, abortion, and eventually fratricide.

However, the film works at its most brilliant levels in juxtaposing Michael's slow descent during the late 1950s with Vito's slow ascent during the mid-1920s. By viewing the rise and fall of the Corleone family at the same time, with events in Vito's life vaguely mirrored in the life of his youngest son, we get a full, epic understanding of the big picture, the grandiose American myth spun by these films.

It would be more than 15 years before Coppola and Puzo would re-enter the world of the Corleones, releasing The Godfather Part III on Christmas Day in 1990. Although it shared many of the same characters, and Gordon Willis' unique visual style remained the same, Part III was a far different film from the first two.

Although there was no direct narrative impetus at the end of Part II to continue the story, the depth and potential of the subject matter and the immediacy of the characters in the pop-culture landscape virtually demanded that they be revisited at some point. Cynics and naysayers wrote it off as Coppola's attempt to jump-start his flagging career by returning to the cinematic terrain on which he had been most successful, and it is probably not an entirely incorrect criticism. Yet, such criticisms clouded judgment of the film itself, which, although not in the league with its predecessors, is still an invigorating, deeply felt piece of work.

If Michael Corleone had sunk to his lowest levels of humanity by the end of Part II, Part III is about his bid for redemption. Having sold off all his illegal interests and gone completely legitimate, Michael finds himself at a crossroads in life in which his past looms too large and omnipresent to escape—an existential fatalism haunts the film. Al Pacino, aged with make-up and a spiky gray crew-cut that emphasizes the length of his face and the sunkenness of his cheeks, years removed from the round-faced young soldier in the first film, turns in a powerful performance to match his work in the earlier films. He suggests Michael Corleone near the end of his years, reaching the same place in life that Vito occupied in the first film, thus bringing the links between father and son full-circle.

Coppola had had great success in casting the first two Godfather films, bucking the wishes of the Paramount executives by hiring Al Pacino when he was an unknown and insisting on Robert De Niro in the role of the young Vito. Both turned out to be astounding successes—the right choice in every sense of the word. Thus, it is of deep irony that Part III would be most harshly criticized for a casting choice, Coppola's decision to fill the critical role of Michael's late-teenage daughter, Mary, with his own daughter, Sofia Coppola. Sofia was an amateur actor, and it shows in her performance. Physically ideal for the role, she simply cannot carry the weight of the character, and the film suffers as a result.

Yet, her presence is hardly detrimental to the entire effort, and Part III has moments of incredible and terrible grandeur. A memorable scene in which a ballroom full of aging Mafia dons is decimated by helicopters filled with machine guns is horribly beautiful in the same manner of the infamous slaughter at the end of the first film. Coppola wisely brings the story back to its roots in Sicily, and even when the convoluted narrative regarding corruption in the Vatican becomes too strained to follow, he always keeps us focused on the characters we have grown to know and maybe even admire. Michael Corleone has done many terrible things—even he believes he is beyond forgiveness—but we are always reminded of his basic humanity.

Although Part III is the weakest of the trilogy, it is still a film worth seeing, especially for the way it brings all the final threads together in epilogue-like fashion. Ultimately, what we can say about The Godfather trilogy is that, like any great saga, it is a complete story, with all the various parts reflecting and connecting with the others. Taken together, they constitute one of the greatest achievements of American cinema.