Reeling Backward: The Godfather (1972)
Looking back at Francis Ford Coppola's masterpiece, it's stunning to think how simply structured it is despite a huge cast and sprawling narrative.
Regular readers of this space have probably noticed I tend not to feature a lot of the most famous movies of all time. There are a few reasons for that, including that I see Reeling Backward as part of my own continuing education in film, and so prefer to focus mostly on ones I haven’t seen before.
Boastfully, and given that I’ve been doing this a long time, there just aren’t a lot of high-profile films I haven’t already seen. My recently-concluded project to see all the Best Picture Oscar winners being an example of catching up with a few strays.
On a more modest note, when it comes to movies regularly in the GOAT conversation — greatest of all time — like Francis Ford Coppola’s “The Godfather,” I genuinely wonder what I can add to the dialogue that hasn’t already been said before.
After all, this film has been the subject of innumerable articles, books and even college courses. It’s been issued in different cuts and platforms many times, including a 50-year-anniversary trilogy set we recently gave out here at Film Yap.
Given the cacophony of discourse, I hesitate to add my voice to the din.
Still, a recent re-viewing with my 13-year old — “What a movie!” was his reaction — revealed some things I hadn’t thought about before. Namely, how simply structured it is for a film with such a huge cast and sprawling narrative.
I was struck by how economical the script is by Coppola and Mario Puzo, who also wrote the source book. Think about this movie arriving in theaters in 1972 with literally dozens of important characters, often with hard-to-pronounce Italian names, and a grand power struggle between mafia families. It could have been very confusing indeed.
And yet, even my kid seeing it for the first time had no trouble distinguishing between Clemenza and Barzini, Connie and Kay.
The story is careful to introduce names, storylines and themes exactly when the audience needs to hear them, then with touchbacks as their importance to the narrative grows.
Since this is a different kind of movie than I usually talk about, I’m going to take a different tack, too, focusing just on the structure of the film and outlining how I see it plays out in four acts of unequal size. This may not be how others would divide it up, but I think my take is valid.
For this, I’m not going to get into deeper discussions about themes, symbols or craftsmanship — I’ll let others diddle on stuff like the thing with the oranges.
Act I: Setting the Table
Really, the first 45 minutes or so of the film is just introducing the characters, setting up the dynamic of the Corleone crime family, and how/why they are feared.
The famous wedding sequence is a nifty way of introducing most of the main characters to us, and the idea of Don Vito (Marlon Brando) as the king of this empire. We are also shown his daughter, Connie (Talia Shire) and her new groom, Carlo, whose death will mark the film’s finale.
Luca Brasi is individually featured as a very scary guy, and by association Vito with the story of the pair threatening a band leader over the contract of godson Johnny Fontane, a not-at-all subtle stand-in for Frank Sinatra. The legend of “an offer he can’t refuse” is established.
Two minor flunkies beg favors from the Don on his wedding day. Aside from serving to underscore his influence, both will be called to duty later: Bonasera, the mortician (hello, foreshadowing!) and Enzo, the young baker apprentice.
The first act wraps up with the sequence revolving around Woltz, the powerful Hollywood producer in conflict with Fontane. The iconic resolution of this, with Woltz waking to find the head of his prize horse in bed with him — an actual real horse head — reveals the true nature of the Corleones. Although Vito and his right-hand-man, adopted son Tom Hagen (Robert Duvall), come across as measured and even noble, they are dark men unafraid to use violence as a tool.
Act II: Going to the Mattresses
Everything in this section is about things growing more perilous for the Corleones, the start of a mafia war, and the rise of son Michael (Al Pacino) — who to this point has been an almost inconsequential background character.
Sollozzo is immediately introduced and and established as the main antagonist for this section. Slim as a knife (his favored weapon), younger and unafraid of the older generation of dons, he aims to force the mafia into the narcotics business — even if it means removing Don Corleone as an obstacle. (I have no idea if the pronunciation of his name in the film is the proper Italian, but love how it encapsulates his aspect: so-LOTS-uh.)
After being rejected at a meeting with the Corleones, he strikes first in the war with an assassination attempt on Vito — accompanied by the killing of his seemingly unstoppable enforcer Luca Brasi — which marks his fall from the throne despite surviving. Hothead eldest son Santino (James Caan) initiates a war aimed at the Tattaglias, a rival family backing Sollozzo. This is the major change of heart for Michael, who had rejected the family’s criminal ways, whispering to his father in his hospital bed, “I’m with you now.”
The Corleone mansion on Long Island becomes a fortress under siege, with the henchmen’s hats lined up on the bannister. Paulie, a minor Corleone functionary who acts as Vito’s driver, is an early victim of the Corleone’s craving for vengeance against those who have wronged them (or just suspected to). His murder at Sonny’s direction leads to perhaps the film’s most famous line, “Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.”
Michael proposes and carries out the assassination of Sollozzo and his corrupt police captain, McClusky (Sterling Hayden). This also heralds his breaking up with his girlfriend, Kay (Diane Keaton), and exile to Sicily.
Act II ends with a montage of the mafia war that takes place in Michael’s absence — “Going to the mattresses” — that acts almost as an intermission, marking the precise halfway point of the movie.
Act III: Love and Loss
The shortest, but in some ways most important, section showcases the consequences of the war, how love becomes subservient to ambition and Michael’s transformation from innocent princeling to inheritor to the throne.
Don Vito comes home after a lengthy hospital recuperation, permanently diminished.
More marital troubles between Connie and Carlo set up what’s to come, including Sonny beating the crap out of Carlo for his serial spousal abuse.
In Sicily, Michael falls for and quickly marries a local beauty, Apollonia. Meanwhile, in America Sonny continues to sleep around on his wife.
In short order, Sonny is assassinated by the Tattaglias — revenge for having previously murdered their heir apparent — and Apollonia is killed in an attempt on Michael’s own life. Having failed to kill Vito, his enemies try to wipe out his bloodline, with simpleton middle brother Fredo (John Cazale) dismissed as a threat.
In New York, Don Vito summons his last strength to forge a peace with the other five families and end the war. This requires him to compromise on the narcotics trade, with the Corleones providing political and police cover. This also establishes Don Barzini, who has secretly been pulling the strings of the Tattaglias and Sollozzo, as the main villain.
Act IV: Baptism in Blood
Michael is established as the head of the family, though somewhat in transition as Vito is still alive, for a bit. After the deaths of his brother and wife, Michael is transformed into a cold-blooded, pragmatic man of deadly intent.
Michael makes his reconciliation with Kay upon returning the States. Rather than an act of love, it seems to be one of solidifying his obligation as the new king to set the stage for the next generation.
The Corleone’s ambitious plan to close their operations in New York and move to a Las Vegas base is executed — essentially one mammoth, multi-layered trap. It involves feigning weakness, which Michael and Vito correctly predict will push one of their two lieutenants, Clemenza and Tessio, to betray them.
Moe Green is introduced as a secondary antagonist, the guy who launched Vegas as a center of sin. Like Fontane, he is a stand-in for a real-life figure, Bugsy Siegel. I was surprised to realize that, outside of his iconic bullet-in-the-glasses killing, he only has one scene in the movie. Actor Alex Rocco makes him seem like a much more sprawling figure.
Vito’s death, immediately preceded by his confession to Michael about his regret involving him in the family business — “I never wanted this for you” — serves to bait the trap for Barzini and the traitor (which turns out to be Tessio).
The famous baptism in blood sequence has rightly become iconic, with Michael taking pledges to renounce evil ways even as his button-men ‘settle all the family debts’ in one day by killing their enemies.
The garroting death of Carlo acts as the film’s coda, ending with the beginning, so to speak. At this point, Michael has no legitimate business reason to seek vengeance for Carlo’s role in Sonny’s death — now several years in the past — but it simply acting out of pride and revenge.
In undertaking this act, and lying to Kay about his culpability, Michael’s transformation from upstanding war hero to evil emperor is complete.
Really, you could condense this outline to just the headlines: introduction, threats, losses and retribution.
“The Godfather” is magnificent for a multitude of reasons — not the least of which is its profound sense of storytelling clarity. Big ideas can be told simply.