It's a beautifully made movie. Not just because of the subtle direction by Francis Coppola but because of the production design (Dean Tavoularis) and photography (Gordon Willis). Everything seems to lend itself to the impact of the story, which describes the replacement of Marlon Brando's Mafia chief by his youngest son, Al Pacino. Make up is expertly handled. Pacino's broken cheek is properly swollen and blue and fades gradually, providing the viewer with a kind of cinematic clock telling the passage of time. Nino Rota's score is tops. During the baptism scene, which takes place in a church, the organ hums an apt courtly tune. Then, as the film cross cuts between ritualized religion and ritualized homicide, the organ insensibly becomes darker and more ominous.
These departments seldom get enough credit -- except recently in CGI extravaganza's. The more nuanced touches in furnishings, wardrobe, shadows and the like generally go unrewarded by the public. But this film, and a few others like it ("Shane", "Verdict") wouldn't be what they are if they'd been clumsily handled.
Brando has given maybe four nearly perfect performances and this is one of them. To appreciate it we have to skip over all his failed attempts to extend his range, the dancing bookmaker, the comic Oriental sidekick. The Don Corleone we see doesn't radiate power so much as fatigue. Al Pacino is transformed from a smiling lad, happy to be home from the war, to a dispassionate kingpin of crime at the end, a bit too abruptly. Sterling Hayden, as the corrupt Irish cop, has invested this much in a role only once before, in "Dr. Strangelove." Example: After smashing Pacino's face with one blow of his oversized fist, Hayden turns away, winces with self control and pounds his fist into the night-time air.
It's hard to imagine how Coppola could have improved on his direction of this tragic tale. With the exception of the violent scenes, of which there are many, maybe too many, the film's texture is smooth and understated. Example: A baker shows up at the hospital just before some would-be assassins arrive and Pacino talks this innocent man into posing as a gunman. Not a word from the baker. He does what he's told. And when it's safe, he tries to light a cigarette but his hands are shaking so badly that Pacino has to light it for him.
The women don't have much to do. Diane Keaton as the Shiksa is puzzled but hopeful. Talia Shire as the abused wife is hysterical. Mamma Corleone is a revered background figure who rarely shows up.
That's the good stuff -- and it's very good indeed.
The bad stuff, I'm not sure about. The Corleone family, like the other five families in New York, are making a fortune. That's evident from their digs, their cars, their raw silk suits. But what business are they in? That's one of the things Keaton is curious about. The businesses are only alluded to twice -- " the gambling, the liquor, even the women." Well, what's so bad about that? Who gives a damn about illegal gambling, smuggled liquor, or escort services? Nobody. Drugs are brought in towards the end, but only dealt with discretely. We never sell it around schools, it must be strictly controlled, and let the darkies up in Harlem have it and "kill their souls." The words "extortion," "protection racket," and "Mafia" are never used.
This is a pretty rotten business they're in. And if Marlon Brando' Don was a kind of community organizer, Al Pacino's Don is a ruthless hypocrite. In fact, he's a lying, murdering, thief. While he is solemnly taking his oath as godfather to his nephew, his minions are out in the streets slaughtering rivals wholesale -- and in the most graphic way.
"Never ask me about my business," he tells his wife. And one hopes she never does, unless she wants to wind up "sleeping with the fishes."
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