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The Godfather review by ROGER EBERT

We

know

from

Gay

Talese's

book

Honor

Thy

Father

that

being

a

professional

mobster isn't all sunshine and roses.

More

often,

it's

the

boredom

of

stuffy

rooms

and

a

bad

diet

of

carry-out

food, punctuated by brief, terrible bursts of violence. This is exactly

the feel of

the

traditional

gangster

picture

and

gives

us

what's

left:

fierce

tribal

loyalties, deadly little neighborhood quarrels in Brooklyn, and a form

of vengeance to match every affront.

The remarkable thing about Mario Puzo's novel was the way it seemed to

be told from the inside out; he didn't give us a world of international

intrigue, but a private club as constricted as the seventh grade.

Everybody

knew

everybody

else

and

had

a

pretty

shrewd

hunch

what

they

were

up to.

The

movie

(based

on

a

script

labored

over

for

some

time

by

Puzo

and

then

finally

given

form,

I

suspect,

by

director

Francis

Ford

Coppola)

gets

the

same

feel.

We

tend

to

identify

with

Don

Corleone's

family

not

because

we

dig gang wars, but because we have been with them from the beginning,

watching

them

wait

for

battle

while

sitting

at

the

kitchen

table

and

eating

chow mein out of paper cartons.

That position goes to the youngest, brightest son, Michael, who

understands the nature of his father's position while revising his

old- fashioned ways. The Godfather's role in the family enterprise is

described by his name; he stands outside the next generation which will

carry on and, hopefully, angle the family into legitimate enterprises.

Those

who

have

read

the

novel

may

be

surprised

to

find

Michael

at

the

center

of the movie, instead of Don Corleone. In fact, this is simply an

economical way for Coppola to get at the heart of the Puzo story, which

dealt with the transfer of power within the family. Marlon Brando, who

plays the Godfather as a shrewd, unbreakable old man, actually has the

character lead in the movie; Al Pacino, with a brilliantly developed

performance as Michael, is the lead.

But Brando's performance is a skillful throwaway, even though it earned

him an Academy Award for best actor. His voice is wheezy and whispery,

and

his

physical

movements

deliberately lack

precision;

the

effect

is

of

a man so accustomed to power that he no longer needs to remind others.

Brando does look the part of old Don Corleone, mostly because of acting

and partly because of the makeup, although he seems to have stuffed a

little too much cotton into his jowls, making his lower face immobile.

The

rest

of

the

actors

supply

one

example

after

another

of

inspired

casting.

Although

Godfather

is

a

long,

minutely

detailed

movie

of

some

three

hours, there naturally isn't time to go into the backgrounds and

identities of such characters as Clemenza, the family lieutenant; Jack

Woltz, the movie czar; Luca Brasi, the loyal professional killer;

McCluskey, the crooked cop; and the rest. Coppola and producer Al Ruddy

skirt this problem with understated typecasting. As the Irish cop, for

example, they simply slide in Sterling Hayden and let the character go

about his business. Richard Castellano is an unshakable Clemenza. John

Marley

makes

a

perfectly

hateful

Hollywood

mogul

(and,

yes,

he

still

wakes

up to find he'll have to cancel his day at the races).

The

success

of

Godfather

as

a

novel

was

largely

due

to

a

series

of

unforgettable

scenes.

Puzo

is

a

good

storyteller,

but

no

great

shakes

as

a writer. The movie gives almost everything in the novel except the

gynecological

repair

job.

It

doesn't

miss

a

single

killing;

it

opens

with

the

wedding

of

Don

Corleone's

daughter

(and

attendant

upstairs

activity);

and there are the right number of auto bombs, double crosses, and

garrotings.

Coppola

has

found

a

style

and

a

visual

look

for

all

this

material

so

Godfather

from

a

bestseller.

The

decision

to

shoot

everything

in

period

decor

(the

middle

and

late

1940s)

was

crucial;

if

they'd

tried

to

save

money

as

they

originally

planned,

by

bringing

everything

up-to-date,

the

movie

simply

wouldn't have worked. But it's uncannily successful as a period piece,

filled with sleek, bulging limousines and postwar fedoras. Coppola and

his

cinematographer,

Gordon

Willis,

also

do

some

interesting

things

with

the color photography. The earlier scenes have a reddish-brown tint,

slightly

overexposed

and

feeling

like

nothing

so

much

as

a

1946

newspaper

rotogravure supplement.

Although the movie is three hours long, it absorbs us so effectively it

never has to hurry. There is something in the measured passage of time

as

Don

Corleone

hands

over

his

reins

of

power

that

would

have

made

a

shorter,

faster moving film unseemly. Even at this length, there are characters

in

relationships

you

can't

quite

understand

unless

you've

read

the

novel.

Or perhaps you can, just by the way the characters look at each other.