Worthy of its place

Rating: 9/10 (8 October 2008)

Detractors of The Godfather part III have two main gripes: the most obvious is Sofia Coppola's acting skills as Mary Corleone, and the second is the character of Michael Corleone, who bears less resemblance to the cold, calculating criminal mastermind of the first two films. Regarding the first point, I have to agree that Sofia Coppola is insufferable in this film. Thankfully, she had little screen time. However, she looked wonderful: she was convincing enough as a "cute little lovestruck innocent daughter" that I could believe she meant a lot to her family and her father in particular.
As to the second point, some things need to be born in mind. The Michael Corleone of the first two films had descended into the lowest possible place, yes, murdering his own brother (among others) by the end. He had become everything he did not want to be and worse: his reign over his family's criminal empire was Machiavellian on a level his father had never dreamed of nor would ever have allowed.
But by the beginning of this film, a decade and a half had passed since he had crossed the terrible trough of fratricide. Michael's parents and brothers were all dead during this time, Tom Hagan passed away (although the loss of the character was a tragedy, it served the story very well to accent Michael's sense of isolation) and Connie was clearly far too unstable and too much of a yes-woman to ever provide true companionship. Michael was not a man easily resigned to being alone and he had a fierce protective instinct--even if it could be overrode by his jealous vengeful nature--for "his own." Remember that in Part I, he always hoped to return to the States as soon as possible and when this seemed a tenebrous goal, he sought a marriage and a new life in Sicily. Throughout Part II, he lost two more members of his family and his wife left him. It is not hard to imagine that the murder of Freddo would in fact be his moral trough, that the pent-up guilt could have spilt over into guilt at having deprived his young children of their mother and perhaps even a fear that they would grow up in his shadow, so he gave them up, even though he knew it meant further isolation.
But he knew all along that his cold, calculating criminality had taken him to this horrible place, and so he has spent the years since sloughing through the long marsh out while yet keeping his own person intact and out of prison. Obviously, given how much he aged from Part II to Part III, such a task has taken its toll, both physically and psychologically, and this is portrayed brilliantly. And what of Michael's sudden lavishness? I can tell you from personal experience that when you experience extreme isolation from those you love, you often cling as never before to the greatest treasures of your ethnic and religious heritage, cultivating them with the utmost sincerity partly because these are reminders that you are a real human connected with others and that you belong somewhere. The need to belong somewhere and to something and someone more concrete than the "global citizenry" is universal, and I don't know how either Puzo or Coppola could have known about this, but they did an amazing job.
"What good is Confession if you don't repent?" Good question. Michael longs for redemption and forgiveness, but almost to the end he seeks legitimacy on his own terms, a quiet retirement from the Mafia. The result is a subtle illustration of the observation of the Curé d'Ambricourt in Robert Bresson's Le journal d'un Curé de campagne: "You can't bargain with God. You must give yourself up to Him, all at once, as you are." Michael's sins live on apart from him, and by the end are visited full circle on the people he loves.
But the ending is cryptic enough that we have to ask: was Michael redeemed? Did truth and justice ultimately prevail at the Vatican? Will they ever prevail anywhere, even imperfectly, before the next life?
When Anthony Corleone asks of Sicily, "Why is such a beautiful country so violent?" he opens up yet another flood of mysteries. How to resign ourselves to living in a world of so much beautiful treasure and yet so much of it born in great crime (think, for example, of the great Deicide, of Christ redeeming mankind, nailed to the Cross)--and how and in what circumstances can they be ours for the legitimate taking and cherishing? The Godfather part III provokes such difficult questions in all those willing to see and ponder them.
If the acting and cinematography are not as polished as in the second installment, a film set anywhere in Italy needs little visual embellishment, and the music sets the mood for each scene perfectly. The Godfather part III reminds us of the world ever-present outside the closed sphere of Cosa Nostra and captures the struggle of one man teetering on the high-current edge. If you are unwilling to expand your mind beyond criminal exploits and into the personal anguish of their effects on real human beings, stay away. If, however, you have even a slight appreciation for psychology and/or Roman Catholic moral theology, you will welcome this rounding out of one of the greatest sagas ever invented.