The Godfather: Great Movie, or Greatest Movie?

Having never seen The Godfather before, I was unsure what to expect. Although it is widely recognized among the canon of American great movies, I feared that the four-decade time gap might render some aspects of the movie obsolete – or, at the least, diluted by popular stereotype. Lines like “I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse” and “Leave the gun; take the cannoli” have so permeated our popular culture that nearly everyone seems familiar with them, and I wondered how much of the plot I had not become indirectly aware of. Truth be told, I believe I may have been avoiding the film in the interest of preserving what mystery about it I could.

As it happens, I gravely underestimated the masterful, original prowess of a truly timeless film. From the moment the opening dialogue revealed Puzo and Coppola’s overarching intention for the film’s theme – old versus new, “Italian ways” versus “American ways,” and the ever-subjective definitions of “justice,” “corruption,” and “family” – I knew that all my fears had been ill-harbored. That famous room with the half-drawn shades took on new meaning for me as I realized that “Don” Vito Corleone was no simple character. I had assumed that this movie would render its own judgment upon the characters’ actions, but instead I was nonplussed by the dynamic, multi-faceted interpretations that those actions prompted in me. Vito Corleone, it turns out, truly is the paradoxical embodiment of both good and bad, and it is that seamless fusion that is the hallmark of a realistic film.

This duality is by no means limited to Vito Corleone’s character. Michael himself, arguably the film’s true protagonist, undergoes a transformation from start to finish. What is interesting about this transformation, however, is that it would be naïve to classify it as one from “good” to “bad,” or vice-versa. Michael, who has clearly avoided the “family business” in the (apparently relative) interest of legitimacy, ends up becoming its leader. However, it is essential that the film’s opening presents Michael as a well-known “war hero” – from an American perspective, the epitome of “good.” But any war hero must kill many men to achieve such status, and even if it is done in the interest of protecting his country, what exactly distinguishes that from killing to protect one’s family? In a brilliantly subtle way, Puzo and Coppola actually seem to have demonstrated the arbitrary manner by which we classify those who kill, and their use of the Italian and American idioms to illustrate the dichotomy plays perfectly upon their respective stereotypes.

Among the film’s bounty of corruption, betrayal, and inevitable death hides the nascent ideal of love – familial, platonic, religious, and romantic. Significantly, every instance of love in the movie is seemingly countered by a barrage of confounding violent and perverting factors. Considering this, it does not take long for the viewer to raise the question of why these men would engage in such an obviously futile enterprise. However, by the end of the movie, the masterful intention is clear: the actions of the characters are a reflection of the inherently tragic nature of all the affairs of humanity, even in our own daily lives. We all struggle to preserve life, love, and prosperity, despite the obvious fact that it simply cannot last.

Set against my expectations, The Godfather easily surpassed them all. From the depth of the characters to the brilliant cinematography, every aspect of the film contributed gracefully to the epic journey. Even the abundant racism was put perfectly into context by the “us and them” mentality preserved from beginning to end. After one viewing, I can confidently rank The Godfather among my favorite movies of all time.


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