"When they come they come at what you love": A Partial Defence of The Godfather Part III

Rating: 7/10 (16 April 2017)

This review, while not glowing, comes somewhat to the defense of GFIII. I think it's a pretty good film that finds itself in the impossible position of living up to two legendary predecessors.
A few problems include the absence of Tom Hagen (Duvall wanted more money) and severe editing problems in the film's third act (it's impossible to know what's going on).
Another issue is Sofia Coppola as Michael's daughter, Mary. While a talented director, her acting isn't great. She's received much grief already for her performance so I won't beat a dead horse; I'll just say that, for a character as important as Mary, this miscast is a terrible blow to the overall film.
However, I think there's lots good about the film, its main strength being Michael (played with dependable excellence by Al Pacino). Michael's chilled out a little in old age. Time's passed, making for an interesting dynamic between him and Kay. The passionate anger from GFII has faded away. They understand themselves a little better making for some sweet but melancholic exchanges:
Michael: I feel I'm getting wiser now.
Kay: The sicker you get, the wiser you get, huh?
Michael: When I'm dead, I'm gonna be really smart.
It's only as Michael's life deteriorates that he sees clearer, the terrible irony being by that stage it's too late to get back what's been lost.
The films most interesting dimension is the weird triangle between Michael and his heirs (one biological, one surrogate). His daughter, Mary, and his bastard nephew, Vincent, represent two different lives. In one, Michael is a family man, sustained by the love of his children, maybe even his wife again. The other sees Michael as a mentor, ready to pass on all the tricks he's learned over his long life, beginning the cycle of his existence anew. One is the end of the course of his life, the other is just the beginning. Like King Lear, he must choose between his children and what they represent. Unlike King Lear, he doesn't make the choice rashly. He spends most of the movie unsure of which path to take and, as the film nears its end, we realise he'd likely never have chosen, he'd try to have it all and both versions of himself would suffer.
A romantic relationship blossoms between Mary and Vincent, inciting Michael's disgust. Partly because Mary is his child and Vincent's cousin. But it's also due to what they both represent. One's his child, connoting family and affection, being a good person. The other represents Michael's youth: slick and violent with boundless (albeit illegitimate) opportunities ahead. They're two opposite worlds.
But who is Michael Corleone if not the physical embodiment of those two differing philosophies brought together? He's tried all his life to be both a family man and a gangster. However, the two don't go hand in hand and the union within Michael is an unnatural one, often coming with a price. Michael's now somewhat wiser; on some level he realises trying to be a husband/father as well as a Don is what has lost him his family. He realises he should've picked one life, keeping the two worlds separate. And yet now he's seeing it again. Vincent the mafia protégé and Mary the loving daughter. Crime and family in unholy matrimony. He despises the relationship between them for the obvious reasons, but also because he sees in it his own weakness, as well as the seeds for destruction and unhappiness. Michael is a something of a hypocrite; he keeps them from forming a relationship because he knows now it's wrong to have those two lifestyles together and yet he nurses the union within himself with his indecision to pick what sort of man he is. Michael can recognise these flaws externally in others but, unfortunately, not in himself.
The ending is another big strongpoint; everything comes to a head. An assassin's gun goes off. Michael checks himself for bullet wounds but somehow, remarkably, he's still standing. His fate was about to catch up with him, the natural end to the lifestyle he chose. If he had been shot as a result of his criminal dealings which stemmed from his insatiable hunger for the family business, it would have been a fitting end, a sad one, but the one he worked towards his whole life. There'd be a sense of narrative completeness, a neat little roof to be placed on top of the story that started way back with Michael's first kills. But here stands Michael Corleone, against all odds. Still alive. His fate seemingly avoided. But the audience, alongside Michael, quickly realise his fate wasn't actually avoided, just redirected. The bullet meant for Michael, the fate meant for Michael, sailed past him and instead inflicted his daughter. The sins of the father paid for in the daughter's blood.
When Michael lets out that horrible cry at the end, it's a lamentation for a lot more than Mary. It's a release, for the first time in his life, for all the pain. It's a wail in mourning for anything else he could have been had he had the strength and had fate not been so firmly against him.
Vito died in his home in the garden he tended, with his grandson present. Michael dies alone, in a relic of the old legend of the Sicily mafia. He worked so hard to sit on a throne, a seat of power, and now the final scene is him falling from that seat and onto the dirt. And, in the end, it's a very short journey.
The Godfather series chronicles what happens when these "Men of Honour" leave their native land and go out and make their fortunes in America, the land of opportunity. It's fitting that the trilogy concludes with Michael retreating to Sicily, the place where it all started, and now, where it ends.