The Godfather

Rating: Null/10 (12 November 2012)

Francis Ford Coppola's mafia masterpiece is a three-hour family portrait—a brilliantly and beautifully rendered oil painting in motion. As impressive as his direction of scene and mise-en-scene is Coppola's direction of the actors. The director's authenticity filter was apparently tuned to a heightened level of sensitivity; not a moment of film goes by that makes you question its reality. The acting performances are at their most engaging during the quiet moments—the calms before and after the storms: Robert Duvall as Tom Hagen holding back tears, trying to remain interested in the demands of Sollozzo after he tells him of his adoptive father's demise; Al Pacino as Michael Corleone, as he musters up the courage and opportunity to take out Sollozzo and McCluskey; Marlon Brando as Vito Corleone, losing all hopes of the life he had wished for his favored son when he learns of his acts of murder. The Godfather is so well-acted, so well-directed, and, from the perspective of character detail and human interest, so well-written by Mario Puzo and Francis Ford Coppola, that we ignore (or forgive) the fact that the dramatic structure is disproportionate—that well over a third of the film has come and gone before the true hero decides to accept his journey, and that shortly after he does so, he is forced into temporary exile—onto a vacation of sorts—into a "B" plot that stars the now central character. This foray seems misplaced—even disruptive—from a dramatic standpoint, but it enriches the experience from a historical-interest perspective, and the contrast between the modest quality of life of the Old World and the opulence of the New World adds justification to the emigrated family's strong dedication to business success. This mild sagging in the second act points up the merits of the film as an experience. Indeed, there are multiple stretches where the film nearly lets the air out of the balloon to pursue character or relationship development as various constituents align themselves with or against the family. By fending off the tension escalation of a traditional thriller, The Godfather assumes the feel of real life, so that the ultimate showdown—the final dismissal of the "bad" guys, though dramatic in and of itself—set against the rising organ notes of the baptism of Michael's nephew—is somehow anti-climactic. The real climax happens at the very end, when Michael officially becomes what he swore at the beginning he was not, and would never become. Exactly what that is the film cleverly obscures: the head of an extended household, the president of a company, the king of an empire, or, least suggested, the leader of a gang of common criminals. This is the "organized" side of organized crime. These guys raise families, conduct business, and wage wars; the crimes they commit only appear as such to the larger community within which they move and influence. Until the final murder montage, and with the exception of Jack Woltz's unfortunate prize-winning race horse, the violence initiated by the Corleone family seems like justifiable revenge or preemptive self-defense; no one who gets it is innocent. And the brother we are led to identify with is presented as a war hero, a reluctant protector of his family, and the happy medium between two ineffective extremes: the quick-drawing, hot-headed Santino, and the calculating, ascetic lawyer, Tom Hagen. Through Michael, The Godfather assumes a coming-of-age flavor that is as thrilling in its adventurous exoticism, as it is frightening in its familiarity. Whether or not its analogies hold, the film offers, for the price of a view and a few hours of leisure time, the opportunity to become a patriarch, a CEO, an emperor, and a boss—all from the comfort and safety of your spectator's seat. Now that's an offer you can't refuse.