The Godfather

Sporadically electrifying yet thoroughly uneven, The Godfather – based on Mario Puzo’s acclaimed novel – details the ups and downs of the high-powered Corleone family (which includes Marlon Brando’s Vito and Al Pacino’s Michael) over the course of several particularly eventful months. The almost stunning degree to which director Francis Ford Coppola has established a very specific time and place certainly proves instrumental in The Godfather‘s success, although – as becomes evident fairly early on – it’s the stellar cast’s career-best work that ultimately assures the viewer’s interest even through the film’s less-than-enthralling stretches. The glaringly episodic structure is never more evident than in the movie’s midsection, as Coppola – working from a script co-written with Puzo – places the emphasis on a series of relatively inconsequential happenings and sequences (with Michael’s downright pointless sojourn in Italy undoubtedly the most obvious example of this). The periodic inclusion of admittedly breathtaking interludes – ie Michael’s apprehensive assassination of two would-be interlopers – does help to temper the ineffectiveness of the film’s overlong and flat-out superfluous moments, yet one can’t help but imagine that the movie could’ve benefited from a few judicious trims here and there. Still, it’s impossible to downplay the strength of the various performances – as Brando’s justifiably legendary turn as the feared Don is undoubtedly matched by the impressively impassive work from Pacino (the latter’s character is consequently far from sympathetic, however). And while it goes without saying that the superior sequel does retroactively improve this installment, The Godfather nevertheless remains an egregiously bloated epic that has inexplicably become one of the most lauded and celebrated efforts within contemporary cinema.

*** out of ****