Thursday, May 25, 2017

THE PARADINE CASE: Blu-ray (Selznick International, 1947) Kino Lorber

“With all the skill in presentation for which both gentlemen are famed, David O. Selznick and Alfred Hitchcock have put upon the screen a slick piece of static entertainment (with) Gregory Peck…impressively impassioned; Ann Todd, the pliant Brit and Alida Valli, as a compound of mystery, fascination and voluptuousness with a pair of bedroom eyes. Louis Jourdan, the new boy from Paris, is electric as the badgered valet.”
Bosley Crowthers
The Paradine Case (1947) effectively ended the association between director, Alfred Hitchcock and producer, David O. Selznick, and, depending on one’s point of view the results of it may either be judged as adequate or disappointing; a box office dud to what had always been a rather tempestuous alliance between these preeminent film makers/storytellers in their own right. Selznick wanted ‘another Rebecca or, more astutely, a hugely engrossing thriller a la the girth and loquaciousness of a literary masterpiece. Hitchcock merely endeavored to survive Selznick’s tsunami of damned memos and daily rewrites to produce another sizable hit to exercise as well as advertise his mastery of the cinema language. In the end, neither of these towering  figures from filmdom were satisfied; the complexity of their tug-o-war evident almost from the moment the Selznick International trademark fades into a close-up on the detailed paneling behind the judges box at the Old Bailey – recreated at the studio of course, and the scroll lettering suddenly – and rather inexplicably – gives  way to the bold-typeface popularized in newspaper headlines; flashing ‘THE PARADINE CASE’, filling every inch of the frame, both from side to side and top to bottom.
The Paradine Case should have been another triumph for Hitchcock (who came late to this party) if not Selznick; Hitch’, barely seven years in America and already touted as the irrefutable ‘master of suspense’. Hitchcock manages little suspense in The Paradine Case, I suspect because Selznick’s endeavor was to relay a wordy melodrama with only lightly peppered elements of suspense carefully spread throughout what was originally planned as a nearly three hour epic in crime. Hitchcock’s tastes did not favor the epic – or at least, Selznick’s preconceived notion of one, and he vehemently opposed any and all of the producer’s directives and attempts to morph The Paradine Case into that sort of classless rubbish he felt the picture was steadily veering towards under Selznick’s aegis. Selznick had, in fact, purchased the rights to Robert Smythe Hichens’ novel in 1933 while he was till at MGM and even before it was published; Selznick, with delusions of grandeur to star Greta Garbo. Garbo was in fact Hichens' inspiration for Maddalena Paradine. For one reason or another, the project was repeatedly stalled until such time as Garbo decided to officially retire from the movies with no regrets and even less interest to be wooed back to the screen, rumored to have quietly said to Selznick, “No murderesses, no mamas” (the latter a reference to being offered the title role in George Stevens’ I Remember Mama, 1948; a part eventually going to Irene Dunne).
Howard Estabrook was assigned by Selznick to adapt the screenplay while Selznick preemptively jumped the gun by announcing in the trades that John and Lionel Barrymore would costar with Diana Wynyard. The Hollywood censors forewarned it was impossible to grant their permission on The Paradine Case, since it was quite obvious Maddalena Paradine had murdered her husband to hop into bed with a lover. In the novel, she was equally as guilty of perjury and, in the end, committed suicide. The Hays Office also objected to the portrayal of Judge Lord Thomas Horfield as a sadist who relished sending people to their doom. Embroiled with his difficulties elsewhere on the MGM backlot (indeed, Selznick would depart the studio as something of an ungrateful offspring, being married to L.B. Mayer’s daughter, Irene at the time); a new draft of the script resubmitted to the censors in1942 was almost immediately approved. Again, The Paradine Case languished as Selznick, buoyed by the overwhelming critical and financial success of his magnum opus, Gone with the Wind (1939) pursued other projects of varying stature and similarity. By 1946, he had another draft ready for the censors, again approved after all references to Madame Paradine’s suicide were expunged. Whatever the case (pun intended); Selznick delayed again, eventually calling in noted writer, Ben Hecht to do a polish on the script; then launching whole hog into a project for which Hitchcock’s affinity had distinctly cooled.
The cast is certainly something: every man and the voice of integrity, Gregory Peck as barrister, Anthony Keane (Hitchcock would have preferred either Ronald Colman or Laurence Olivier – both turned him down), Italian hopeful, Alida Valli, simply introduced by Selznick to North American audiences as Valli (there is some documentation to support Selznick’s eagerness to promote Alida as a viable successor to the retired Garbo by lopping off her first name to suggest the allure, glamor and mystery of that ‘other’ cinema ‘sphinx’), Ann Todd, as Keane’s ever-devoted ‘little woman’ cum sophisticate, Gay; Ethel Barrymore, as a staggeringly empathetic, tortured wife whose self-confidence is bludgeoned by the merciless philandering of her husband, Judge Lord Thomas Horfield (supremely realized with insidious self-inflicted misery by Charles Laughton); Charles Coburn, as the frankly unvarnished and clear-eyed solicitor, Sir Simon Flaquer, and finally, Louis Jourdan, in his debut as the sinfully handsome valet, André Latour, much to studly to be driving anyone’s car or to be passed over by the madam of this maison with whom he has so obviously had an affair. But did Latour and Maddalena Paradine conspicuously plot to poison her husband together? Hmmmm.
The Paradine Case is full of red herrings. That’s part of its charm; the other portion belonging to this glittering ensemble of superb actors giving it their all. Despite its inability to ever become firmly situated on the precepts of either the melodrama or the suspense/thriller, I have always rather enjoyed The Paradine Case as an exercise in the Selznick/Hitchcock battle royale; a deliciously flawed confection with only a semisweet center. Not all the pieces fit, but what remains is so effective and engrossing one can almost excuse the fact that, on the whole, The Paradine Case never attains the finesse of either a class ‘A’ Selznick Studio’s release or a deliberately engaging whodunit made by Hitch’ in his prime. We can forgive these men their ability to tear at each other’s reputations, each emerging from the fray impervious to the picture’s narrative failures. Chief among these is the way most of Ann Todd, Ethel Barrymore and Charles Laughton’s performances have been left on the cutting room floor; the bits and pieces stitched together herein only whetting the appetite without ever gorging the audience on what was so deliberately a three-course feast of their thespian talents. We get echoes of greatness, but with no actual monument to it forthcoming. That’s a shame, because given over to their undeniable strengths The Paradine Case might have evolved into just the sort of thriller/epic hybrid from which both Hitchcock and Selznick might have seized yet another brass ring of stature and merit. Instead, what is here is a sort of truncated medley to tease; a coming attraction advertising a feature film never to follow it. 
The last film to be made under Hitchcock’s ironclad seven-year contract with Selznick, it is a safe bet Hitchcock was elated to be a freelancer in Hollywood once more. By the time of Hitchcock’s involvement on The Paradine Case, the original screenplay Selznick had commissioned from Howard Estabrook was out; replaced by a first draft co-written by Hitch’ and his wife, Alma Reville, later polished by playwright, James Bridie. Hitchcock approved of this version. Selznick did not. Pushed into production before Selznick had the opportunity to commission another draft, the meticulous producer reworked dialogue and whole scenes by night, hitting Hitch’, his cast and crew with a barrage of rewrites expected to be shot later the next day. It proved a demented process, trying Hitchcock’s patience and keeping both cast and crew on their toes.  Disgusted by these chronic manipulations, the atmosphere on set shifted from general unease to a terse tension as Hitchcock plotted to work around Selznick’s interventions and will ‘the damn thing’ into a final form he could, if not take immense pride in, then at least exhibited touches of his usual brilliance. Nevertheless, Hitchcock’s ennui trickled down to the cast; Gregory Peck later commenting “He seems really bored with the whole thing.”
Like all pictures produced under Selznick’s aegis, one faultless aspect of The Paradine Case is its pictorial value; J. McMillan Johnson’s production design and Thomas N. Morahan’s art direction given Selznick’s approval to spend profligately. Thanks to Lee Garmes’ gorgeous cinematography, The Paradine Case has a very slick and stylish mantel of quality. Perhaps recalling how Hitchcock’s North American debut, 1940’s Rebecca, had been a resounding success, Selznick sought to introduce scenes reminiscent of the moment when the second Mrs. DeWinter (played by Joan Fontaine) explores the secret boudoir of the mansion’s former deceased mistress. In The Paradine Case we get Anthony Keane traveling to the Paradine’s country estate where the murder took place, exploring the Gothic trappings in a moodily lit bedroom decidedly overwrought in its homage to Maddalena; her portrait inlaid into the wood-carved headboard.
Partly because of all the back and forth between Selznick and Hitchcock, The Paradine Case had one of the longest shoots in Selznick’s tenure as an indie producer; begun shortly before Christmas 1946, ‘officially’ wrapping on May 7, 1947, though continuously in retakes and re-shoots thereafter until November of that same year.  Only a few stock inserts of the Lake District location shoot survived the final edit; the rest of the picture cobbled together from interiors shot entirely on Selznick’s backlot, including a slavishly accurate recreation of London’s Old Bailey. Selznick was, in fact, granted permission by the London High Court of Appeals to send unit manager, Fred Ahern to extensively photograph the real thing; J. McMillan Johnson building a thoroughly faithful facsimile in just 85 days and at a then staggering cost of $80,000, complete with cove ceilings; unusual for a set, since rigging and lights are typically strung from the open rafters, with matte work later inserted to fill in the gaping hole.
Hitchcock would later describe The Paradine Case as “…a love story embedded in the emotional quicksand of a murder trial” and that is probably closest to the truth of where its entertainment value is situated. If the picture has a tour de force moment, it remains the high stakes courtroom drama that unfolds and unravels Maddalena’s alibi. Indeed, in reviewing the picture today, Hitchcock’s criteria for generating taut and effective drama is working overtime here; utilizing four cameras in balletic choreography to capture the actors’ performances from every conceivable angle simultaneously, thus allowing them to play their scenes straight through. Later, Hitchcock would augment this continuity with a few inserted crane shots and skillful editing. When it was all over, The Paradine Case cost Selznick a whopping $4,258,000; a titanic sum when one compares its barely two hour run time to 4 hours of Gone With The Wind; costing only $46,000 more to make – and in Technicolor, no less!  Perceived from another angle, The Paradine Case is basically half the picture for double the cost. In the end it was Selznick’s fastidiousness, not Hitchcock’s craftsmanship that cost him dearly; Selznick unceremoniously removing Hitchcock from the picture during post-production when Hitch’ insisted on his contractual $1000 a day to supervise the editing and scoring.
After toiling on the picture for a record 92 days of principle photography Hitchcock had, in fact, delivered a 3 hr. crime epic; one with which Selznick was almost immediately displeased. To meet the Oscar deadline for submissions, Selznick’s hurried rough cut was prescreened for the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences at 132 minutes. Rumor has it this version contained three minutes devoted to Ethel Barrymore’s half-crazed Lady Horfield; a sequence in a museum where she implores Keane to save Maddalena from hanging, and another moment where Lady Horfield frantically tries to conceal one of her nervous coughing spells from the penetrating glare of her vindictive husband. Presumably, these highlights were responsible for Barrymore’s Oscar nomination as Best Supporting Actress; the statuette, instead forfeited to Celeste Holm for Gentleman’s Agreement. For better or worse, the public never had the opportunity to Judge Barrymore’s performance; her scenes mercilessly excised wholesale as Selznick reworked the picture to 125 minutes; its official run time for general release. For decades, rumors persisted Selznick could not decide upon a title for the movie; coming up with the rather lackluster ‘The Paradine Case’ literally hours before its Westwood premiere. Frankly, it doesn’t wash – since poster art, press and other promotion would have had to been carefully prepared weeks, if not months in advance; to say nothing of the theater marquee. Likely, Selznick consternated, as he usually did, on coming up with a title before settling on the one we have today. Selznick made several additional trims immediately following the premiere that brought the official run time down to 114 minutes for general release.
Viewed today, The Paradine Case is rather a perfunctory installment in the Hitchcock/Selznick library. At best, it is enjoyable for its stellar performances, despite the transient quality of both Charles Laughton and Ethel Barrymore’s appearances; the pair, simply floating in and out from the screen’s peripheries rather than becoming an integral part of another multi-layered subplot. Brit-born beauty, Ann Todd, sadly underrated as an actress, and even more obscenely underused and absent in American movies (what could Hollywood have been thinking?!?) gives a magnificently understated and empathetic performance as Gay Keane; the ever-devoted wife who clearly sees Maddalena Paradine’s feminine wiles have infested her husband’s heart. Tony is not the philandering type. Nor does he possess the opportunity to act upon his impulses, though he has been bewitched by the widow Paradine’s exotic charms. Gay’s fervent prayer is for her husband to spare Maddalena being hanged for the crime of murder, knowing that otherwise in death she will likely be etched into his heart. Nevertheless, Gay is accomplished, warm and self-assured; truly a mate to the mistress compared, and in this movie’s abruptly rushed finale, Tony realizes as much, to both their satisfactions.
The story that emerges on screen is rather threadbare and in viewing The Paradine Case today one wonders just how much more there might have been to sustain an audiences’ interest for three hours. The plot concerns one Maddalena Anna Paradine (Valli), the widow of a blind, aged Colonel whom she is accused of poisoning. It seems the widow Paradine has been having an affair with her husband’s valet, Andre Latour (Jourdan). On the advice of legal counsel, Sir Simon Flaquer (Charles Coburn) Maddalena hires handsome hotshot barrister, Anthony Keane (Peck) for her defense. But the trial is made problematic when the married Keane begins to invest in Maddalena’s innocence on the basis he has not-so-secretly become enamored by her and may, in fact, wish to pursue her outside the courtroom should an acquittal suffice. Keane’s wife, Gay (Ann Todd) is patient in her married love, allowing Tony his fanciful romantic daydreams. Secure in the overriding arc of Tony’s love for her, Gay recognizes his momentary infatuation as destined for heartbreak; for Maddalena is guilty of the charges.
Tony makes a pilgrimage to the Paradine’s country estate, intent on interrogating Latour, who has remained conspicuously absent. He discovers the house devoted to the Colonel’s excessive pampering of a much younger bride; compensation for her kindnesses towards him. The house is forlorn, and except for a sheepish housekeeper, seemingly unoccupied. Upon retiring to a nearby inn for contemplation Tony come face to face with Latour; young and fiery, yet presumably, pure in his intensions, or rather, grief-stricken because of his sustained guilty over conspiring with, or perhaps simply knowing about, the widow Paradine’s intent before the actual crime was committed. Hitchcock and Selznick are very cagey in keeping Latour’s complicity a secret right up until the climactic courtroom showdown. Even then, we are never entirely certain of Latour’s motives, despite his histrionics during cross-examination. Louis Jourdan gives a rather shockingly disturbed performance, fraught with emotional contradiction, anxiety and bodice-ripping, taut masculine charisma. It’s a great piece of play acting and it undeniably resonated with the female audience, enough to launch Jourdan on an amiable career as the exotic sophisticate in movies like Three Coins in A Fountain (1956) and Gigi (1958).
Given the severity of Selznick’s editing, the distillation of Hitchcock’s ambition into tepid melodrama, The Paradine Case hovers as far more a polite comedy of manners than a harrowing crime/thriller. There are no surprises, no great complexities to wade through and no rivalry between any of the characters, despite some last minute sexual tension between the wormy Judge Horfield and Gay; Tony and Maddalena, and Latour and the widow, brought forth by Keane’s badgering during his cross-examination. The courtroom finale is well worth the wait, but comes just a little too late to salvage the rest of the story from a sort of perfunctory ‘by-the-numbers whodunit. Bottom line: The Paradine Case is definitely worth a second glance. It may not be top-tier Hitchcock or Selznick, but second tier from these boys is pretty much top-tier from everyone else. Good stuff on tap, but nevertheless a letdown once you have seen their other collaborative efforts: Rebecca, Notorious and Spellbound.
In 2008, MGM/Fox Home Video debuted all three of the aforementioned titles on Blu-ray in a slim-case ‘collection; very slim indeed, since the set did not include The Paradine Case or any of Hitchcock’s British tenure offered in MGM/Fox’s more lavishly appointed Premiere DVD box set from 2006. This set in standard def also contained Young and Innocent, The Lodger, and, Sabotage, as well as a reissue of Fox’s Lifeboat, with extensive liner notes and extras on all of the movies. It has taken almost ten years since to get Lifeboat to Blu-ray; alas in a painfully underwhelming hi-def presentation. Mercifully, the results on this newly minted Blu-ray of The Paradine Case, via Kino Lorber’s distribution deal with Fox, are infinitely more pleasing in 1080p. The image is solid, with a supremely satisfying and highly textured gray scale, looking quite consistent and silken smooth in motion. Age-related artifacts are occasionally present, but never distracting.
The DTS 2.0 mono is adequate and free of hiss and pop. Kino has also ported over the 2008 audio commentary from film historians, Stephen Rebello and Bill Krohn; plus, a pair of brief, audio-only interviews; the first featuring Hitchcock and Francois Truffaut, the second with Hitch’ and Peter Bogdanovich; and, the hour-long Lux Radio adaptation from 1949, starring Joseph Cotten. There is also a succinctly produced 9 minute puff piece costarring Gregory Peck’s adult children, Cecilia and Carey affectionate wax about their dad. Finally, the old isolated score track showcasing Franz Waxman’s contributions is included. A word about this: MGM/Fox included ‘isolated’ score options on their releases of Rebecca, Notorious and Spellbound, but some of these cues have been substituted or otherwise do not contain original recordings: a genuine shame. Bottom line: Kino’s Blu is a quality affair. If you are a fan of The Paradine Case, you will want to upgrade to this disc. It bests your old DVD by miles.
FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)

Sunday, May 21, 2017

SEVEN DAYS IN MAY: Blu-ray (Seven Arts/Joel Productions 1964) Warner Archive

John Frankenheimer’s celebrated Seven Days in May (1964) has everything a blue chip political thriller ought: the traitors - villainous, the espionage - cold and calculating, the heroes - steadfast and undaunted by seemingly insurmountable odds. The picture’s virtues are many; not the least its killer cast, headlined by Fredric March (as a President with plummeting approval ratings), Burt Lancaster (a stoic general of the Cold War home guard), Kirk Douglas (a military aid with mounting doubts) and Ava Gardner (as a Washington hostess with second thoughts on her blundered love life). Seven Days in May also boasts a very taut and articulate screenplay from noted Twilight Zone creator, Rod Serling (cribbing from a top notch political thriller written by Fletcher Knebel and Charles W. Bailey II); Ellsworth Fredericks’ stunning and effective B&W cinematography, and Jerry Goldsmith’s sparse, but as invaluable underscore. And yet, the picture’s overall effectiveness, even its narrowly averted political coup d'état (which must have seemed intriguing - if fanciful to audiences from a far more un-jaded epoch than our own –1964 – despite that decade’s political unrest and turbulence) somehow gets mired in too much stylized mechanics and Frankenheimer’s ambitious staging to ever simply run with its ball and show off what a dynamo it truly ought to have been.
There is a great deal about the picture that holds up remarkably well today – in some cases, uncannily so (the perceived collusion between a U.S. President and Russia, as example…now where have I heard that one before?!?) and, undeniably, the rather incestuous alliances operating just under the radar of the ‘official front’, mostly put on for the public’s show in D.C. If remade today I have no uncertainty some heavy-handed liberal commentator would choose to illustrate and champion the absolute implosion and downfall of America’s institutionalized form of government. Despite more than a handful of truly disconcerting vignettes scattered throughout Seven Days in May, meant to suggest the tenuous fragility of America’s constitution and paraphrasing from Edward Abbey’s universal quote about a patriot’s need to remain ever-vigilant in defense of “his country against his government”, Frankhenheimer’s dénouement is, in fact, a comforting reminder that no government can fold so willingly when the man seated at its head, boldly suffers the slings and arrows of media-based hype, virtually intent on his impeachment almost from the moment he took his oath of office, when personal integrity and faith in the constitution are his allies against such an overthrow and the black hole of unbridled anarchy surely to follow.
It is rather fascinating to consider what the movie might have been if producer, Edward Lewis had had his way. According to co-producer, Kirk Douglas, the finale originally shot showed Gen. James Mattoon Scott (the treasonous character played by Burt Lancaster) departing the White House in disgrace in his sports car; the vehicle suddenly out of control and crashing with Scott instantly killed; the car’s radio continuing to broadcast President Lyman’s penultimate speech about the sanctity of the U.S. constitution. Given the machinations of the plot, particularly those mounted against the President by Scott, the wreck might have been inferred as a political assassination either orchestrated by the opposition or his own side, for Scott’s failure to meet his primary objective (the overthrow of the current regime), a deliberate suicide, or perhaps, quite simply a coincidental ‘accident’; divine justice doled out to the would-be usurper of the throne. Such a finale would have also mirrored the fate of Sen. Prentice in Knebel and Bailey’s novel. But Kirk Douglas and John Frankenheimer, who co-produced Seven Days in May, were of the opinion this was an even more distracting and a really dour note, particularly in lieu of the Kennedy assassination, still a very fresh wound inflicted upon the national psyche in 1964.
The conspiracy theorems of the novel, written and published before Kennedy’s untimely demise, and, the movie (made and released after it) do, in fact, play right into that climate of morbidly dark and sinister disillusionment gripping America then (arguably, this has only continued to fester and ferment since). So, Frankenheimer and Douglas endeavored to soften the blow by concluding the picture – rather abruptly – with Lyman’s stoic, yet hopeful Presidential address to the media and the nation, having only just won his political sparing match with Scott and speaking from the heart, as well as the head, as he summarizes, “There's been abroad in this land in recent months a whisper that we have somehow lost our greatness, that we do not have the strength to win without war the struggles for liberty throughout the world. This is slander, because our country is strong, strong enough to be a peacemaker. It is proud, proud enough to be patient. The whisperers and the detractors, the violent men are wrong. We will remain strong and proud, peaceful and patient, and we will see a day when on this earth all men will walk out of the long tunnels of tyranny into the bright sunshine of freedom!”
It is one of Hollywood’s strange little ironies that Seven Days in May was begun with Douglas and Frankenheimer in perfect sync and agreement, but ended with their mutual falling out; the paradox compounded by the fact Frankenheimer had reluctantly agreed to this project (after almost walking out) with considerable acrimony towards co-star, Burt Lancaster. It seems theirs had been a less than amicable working relationship on Birdman of Alcatraz (1962). But Douglas insisted on Lancaster for the role of Scott – accepting the less flashier part of Scott’s assistant, Col. Martin ‘Jiggs’ Casey to entice Lancaster into partaking. Lancaster and Frankenheimer’s détente on Seven Days in May would ultimately end with the two becoming good friends. Oh, how fickle, strange and untrue is friendship - and life. The shooting of Lancaster’s scenes was delayed until the end of production to allow the actor his recovery from a particularly virulent bout of hepatitis. Years later, Frankenheimer would conclude Lancaster’s performance was the best in the picture; a notorious mixture of deceit and pathos, eliciting contempt and empathy in tandem from the audience. 
Barring his spat with Douglas, Frankenheimer also butted heads with co-star, Ava Gardner whose scant six days commitment to the shoot forced Frankenheimer to concede that, while beautiful and talented, she proved “a real pain in the ass.” Co-star, Martin Balsam objected to Frankenheimer’s use of a pistol to kick start his scenes. Yet for all their backroom bickering, virtually all of the aforementioned performers give flawlessly and are decidedly at the top of their game. The production toggled between interiors shot at Paramount Studios (the picture was originally distributed by Paramount, but made independently by Seven Arts, in association with Douglas’ own production company – Joel) with location work in Paris, Washington, San Diego, Arizona and California's Imperial Valley. Frankenheimer, who had been inside the Pentagon, instructed Production Designer Carey Odell on the minutiae for the look of its interiors, pronouncing the final results spot on in their authenticity. Frankenheimer also observed that his opening sequence, depicting mob riots outside the White House, was shot under duress. For although he had given permission for the shoot, the local constabulary were quick to inform Frankenheimer his time there was limited; the sequence further hampered by the fact Washington’s crew had no professional stuntmen on the payroll. To compensate, Frankenheimer selected professional athletes from the University to partake, reasoning that if he could not get actual pros to stage a good fight, he could at least conquer some of the necessary requirements for a good dumb show by exploiting their athleticism to lend an air of authenticity to their skirmish.
No kiddingSeven Days in May is actually set during ‘six days’ in 1970; a covert turn of events being plotted at the highest levels of government to overthrow President Jordan Lyman (Fredric March) whose approval ratings have plummeted since brokering a tenuous nuclear disarmament treaty with the Soviet Union. Interestingly, according the movie the Cold War between the United States and Russia is still on; an oddity in Serling’s adaptation that, when viewed today, distinctly grounds its presence as a movie made in the 1960’s (about the sixties) rather than the seventies. The novel, set four more years ahead in the future, is centered on a stalemated war in Iran. With Lyman’s reputation in free fall, all except his closest inner circle of loyalists have begun to doubt not only the effectiveness of his policies, but equally his ability to even govern with any credibility at all. After all, the general consensus is that the U.S.S.R can never be trusted. Even the President’s closest confidents, including perpetually bourbon-soaked Southern Senator Raymond Clark (Edmund O’Brien), personal aide, Paul Girard (Martin Balsam) and cabinet minister, Christopher Todd (George Macready) have their sincere doubts about the stability of such a treaty. They do, however, stand firmly behind Lyman’s professional integrity as a noble peacenik, imbued with an interminable spirit of optimism, even in the face of his own impeachment. 
After witnessing the spectacle of protestors brawling just beyond the gates of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. Lyman is convinced the nation is on the brink of a collective nervous breakdown. The President’s private physician, Horace (Malcolm Atterbury) has more immediate concerns about Lyman’s blood pressure. It’s too high. Jordan could definitely use a vacation – a few days’ rest at his private residence, away from the chaos and confusion of this public spotlight. And yet, Lyman stands implacably firm on his convictions. Any future welfare for the United States must be built on the unwavering brokerage of peace in good faith toward the Soviet Union; shades and echoes of the sentiment expressed by the late John F. Kennedy in his address to the nation shortly before that fateful November, where Kennedy reasserted “…our most basic common link is that we all inhabit this planet. We all breathe the same air. We all cherish our children's future. And we are all mortal.” Alas, Lyman’s most virulent opposition is not from without, but rather, within. As the debate rages on, lines are clearly drawn in the proverbial sand; Clark challenging Scott’s urgency during a congressional meeting to repeal the President’s nuclear disarmament treaty while Sen. Fredrick Prentice (Whit Bissell) sides with the notion Lyman’s current policies are decidedly out of touch with the will of the American people. But are they really?
Things reach their crisis mode as Pentagon insider, United States Marine Corps Colonel Martin ‘Jiggs’ Casey, Director of the Joint Staff, becomes highly suspicious of the Joint Chiefs, coming to a startling conclusion: led by Air Force Gen. James Mattoon Scott, they intend to stage a coup d’état and depose Lyman and his cabinet in just seven days. According this plan, an undisclosed Army combat unit known as ECOMCON (Emergency COMmunications CONtrol) has already been set up somewhere in the Arizona desert to carry out a complete ‘black out’ operation of the nation’s telephone, radio, and television networks. This ‘exercise’ has been pitched to Lyman by Scott as a test of the Emergency Broadcast System; a ruse that Lyman, unaware of its actual intent, agrees to partake in, but then withdraws from after being debriefed by Casey of its underlying potential to silence Congress before they can implement his treaty. Despite his opposition to Lyman’s policies, Casey – a lawyer by trade – is compelled to make Scott’s unconstitutional collusion known to the President.  Armed with this knowledge, Lyman gathers together a very small inner circle of trusted advisors to further investigate the claim his presidency is about to be transformed by an old-fashion ‘palace coup’. Secret Service White House Detail Chief, Art Corwin (Bart Burns), Treasury Secretary Chris Todd, advisor, Paul Girard, and Georgia Senator Ray Clark are dispatched to uncover the truth and get proof.
Casey endeavors a ‘chance’ meeting with Scott’s former mistress, Ellie Holbrook (Ava Gardner) at a typical Washington soiree. Ellie is a vulnerable D.C. socialite, prone to self-doubt and pity – the perfect pigeon for Casey to glean all he can about Scott’s ulterior motives. But the situation is complicated by the fact Casey values Ellie, and moreover, once harbored an unrequited romantic yen, thwarted when she took up with Scott. Their affair at an end, Casey continues to carry a torch for her now. He offers to drive Ellie home from the party, but then opts to tail Sen. Prentice to Scott’s private residence instead. Later, Casey makes an impromptu visit to Ellie’s apartment. And although his pretext of a romantic evening together is marred by his determination to find out what Ellie knows about Scott’s plot to overthrow the government, his dodge is defeated when Ellie walks in on him going through her former correspondences from Scott; letters tossed into the ash can to satisfy Casey’s concern about her feelings for Scott. Despite her protestations, these have not cooled in the interim since their separation. Hence, her promise of offering Casey a hearty steak – medium rare – and the truth ‘rarer still’ is revoked; Casey, tossed on his ear after an as invigorated slap across his cheek.
Meanwhile, Clark is sent to El Paso, Texas to seek out the hidden ‘Site Y’ military base. He is found out in his casual queries, captured and detained under a watchful twenty-four hour guard; plied with libations to keep him anesthetized until the coup can take place. But Scott has underestimated Clark’s loyalties to Lyman. Instead of drinking the booze perpetually being topped up by his nightstand, Clark is quietly flushing it down the toilet to keep a clear mind, if not a civil tongue in his head. Eventually, Clark confides his ‘fantastic story’ to Col. William 'Mutt' Henderson (Andrew Duggan); a good friend of Casey’s who has been kept out of the loop about the real reason for Clark’s detainment. Armed with the knowledge he is an unwitting participant in a military-styled coup to depose the President of the United States, Henderson helps Clark escape; using force against his own men and hurrying Clark to the airport to make his timely return to Washington. Clark promises Henderson a thorough reprieve for his actions. But only moments later, Henderson disappears, forcing Clark to get on the plane alone.
It is an ominous precursor. Girard is sent by Lyman to meet up with the USS Kitty Hawk, presently stationed somewhere in the Mediterranean, to obtain a written confession from Vice Admiral Farley C. Barnswell (John Houseman). Barnwell is believed to have rejected Scott’s coup, but knows of its particulars. When confronted by Girard, Barnswell at first resists admitting anything, but then agrees to sign a full confession of the events as outlined in a prepared statement. Girard cannot believe his good fortune, telephoning Lyman with the news he is leaving at once to deliver the signed confession into the President’s hands. Alas, fate intervenes. Or is it something more ugly – more sinister; news arriving just a few hours later that Girard’s plane ‘crashed’ somewhere in the mountains outside of Madrid shortly after takeoff. Investigating the wreckage, Girard’s protective casing with Barnswell’s letter, perfectly preserved inside, is found by Henry Whitney (Fredd Wayne); a steward working at the U.S. Embassy in Madrid. In the meantime, Gen. Bernard 'Barney' Rutkowski (Ferris Webster) alerts the President of a suspicious gathering of fighter planes, dropping off the radar in El Paso. Rutkowski confirms what the White House already knows; a secret base of operations does exist with planned maneuvers for something big. Safely returned to the White House, Clark passionately encourages Lyman to use the letters Casey recovered from Ellie’s trash as proof of Scott’s complicity in the coup, to use them to blackmail Scott into resigning without ever making the reasons for his stepping down public, thus preserving at least the illusion of his integrity.
But Lyman is a man of integrity also; and refuses to go down into the mud to win this fight. Besides, he reasons if he went public now with no proof other than the letters he would be branded as paranoid and delusional by congress; hardly the qualities desirable in a Commander in Chief. Now, the President telephones Barnswell. The Vice Admiral is noncommittal at best. Worse, he lies about Girard’s visit, claiming he never signed any such confession. It’s crunch time. Rutkowski indicates to Lyman his queries have all been brushed off by the Joint Chiefs. However, he has since learned whatever they are planning has been moved up on their itinerary for later this same evening. Todd urges Lyman to ‘face the enemy’. Alas, Lyman has astutely surmised neither Scott nor the Joint Chiefs are the real cancer on his Presidency. Rather, the nuclear age, with its abject paranoia is; having sickened man’s faith in himself, whipped it into a fevered frenzy, blotting out logic under a dark cloud of intellectual impotence from which the likes of a Senator McCarthy, General Walker, and now, a General Scott can pervert the public’s faith in the government entrusted with serving their welfare. Instead, Lyman sends for Scott. The General arrives, unaware of the reasons for the summons. But when pressed to reveal himself as a traitor, Scott belligerently challenges Lyman’s authority instead. “If you want to talk about your oath of office,” Scott suggests to Lyman, “I'm here to tell you face to face… that you violated that oath when you stripped this country of its muscles - when you deliberately played upon the fear and fatigue of the people and told them they could remove that fear by the stroke of a pen. And then when this nation rejected you, lost faith in you, and began militantly to oppose you, you violated that oath by not resigning from office and turning the country over to someone who could represent the people of the United States.”
Lyman rebuffs Scott’s impudence as sheer and inexcusable megalomania. Scott responds with a renouncement of his own glorification, weighing his concerns with the interests and very survival of the United States. “Then, by God, run for office,” Lyman reasons, “You have such a fervent, passionate, evangelical faith in this country - why in the name of God don't you have any faith in the system of government you're so hell-bent to protect?” Unable to convey the brevity of his misguidedness to Scott, the President prepares to hold his press conference. Meanwhile, Scott plots to intercept air time on all three networks at nine o’clock this same evening; his coconspirators, Generals Diefenbach (Robert Brubaker), Riley (William Chalee) and Hardesty (Tyler McVey) gravely concerned that their well-laid plans have already begun to fall apart. Scott ensures them nothing can stop their coup now. But he has grossly underestimated Lyman. Lyman makes Barnswell’s signed confession known to the press during his conference and furthermore, publicly calls for Scott, Diefenbach, Riley and Hardesty to resign. They are traitors against freedom. Their plan foiled, all of the accused except Scott tender their letters of resignation effective immediately; Scott ordering his chauffeur instead to drive him home. The movie concludes with the public announcer declaring: “Ladies and gentlemen…the President of the United States.”
Seven Days in May is an expertly scripted political thriller, its impact somewhat blunted by Frankenheimer’s verve for too much cleverness; his decision to maintain a certain theatricality to the piece loosening the yoke of tension, except in several supremely staged moments of reflection. In hindsight, it is Rod Serling’s trenchant dialogue that gets the real nod here; Serling, one of America’s foremost prolific and prescient wordsmiths, adds concentrated clairvoyance to these verbally combative exchanges. Nothing Serling ever wrote is ‘connective’, merely designed to move us along the plot points ‘A’ to ‘B’. Instead, he possessed that intuitive spark of literary genius for which he is justly renowned now, but in his own time was quite often either overlooked and/or dismissed; particularly for his work on the now legendary and trend-setting TV anthology, The Twilight Zone (1959-64). Serling ought to have had a more enduring legacy of writing credits to his name and a more distinguished reputation and career in his own time. Alas, censorship served only to invigorate Serling to find new ways to make his very same points crystal clear, going over their limited intelligence (or lack thereof), though equally burning himself out prematurely in the process.  
Fredric March delivers a towering performance as President Lyman. March, whom I personally believe came into his own late in his career, playing an impressive array of important roles spanning the gamut from men of stature (like Lyman) to outright charlatans (disreputable CEO, Loren Shaw in Executive Suite, 1954, and, Bible-thumping attorney, Matthew Brady in Inherit the Wind, 1960), achieves a level of verisimilitude only rivaled in fits and sparks by the rest of this distinguished cast. The second most impressive performance in the film irrefutably belongs to Burt Lancaster; restrained, coupled with an almost stolid body language, able to convey solemnity and vigor in tandem. It’s Lancaster’s vocal range that impresses. It always has; his inimitable thunder from the diaphragm that rattles to the rafters when stirred but can as gingerly coax an almost intimate and tragic, careworn sadness. The hero and the villain rather evenly and impressively matched, Kirk Douglas’ Casey gets rather lost somewhere along the way; relegated in support even when we expect him to take charge of the scene. Even Ava Gardner has more presence during their brief exchanges. Douglas might have played Scott himself, if his admiration for Lancaster had preceded his actor’s ego. But Douglas has shown a certain ignominious humility through Casey; drawing attention to the fact he knows better but is unable to live up to our expectations, precisely when saddled in a supporting part.  
While Frankenheimer was successful at getting permission from the White House to stage his mock-up protest in front of its gates, his request to photograph a shot of Col. Casey entering the Pentagon was adamantly refused. Frankenheimer also shot the pivotal moment where Col. Henderson vanishes into thin air at Washington’s newly constructed Dulles International Airport – the first film crew to utilize its cavernous space. ‘Y site’ was constructed in the sweltering heat of Indio, California. President Kennedy, a huge proponent of the novel, and encouraging of a film to be made from it, would not live to see the debut. Kirk Douglas would later recall how the theatrical release of Seven Days in May somehow seemed more apropos following the President’s assassination. Seven Days in May’s uncanny timeliness may have had something to do with the picture’s critical success in 1964, as well as its enduring reputation ever since. While some attempts were made by Frankenheimer to create an ‘into the future’ glimpse of the world circa 1970, including the use of more exotic foreign cars, the debut of newly issued M16 rifles and unheard technology in direct video conferencing, when viewed today, Seven Days in May has the distinct look and feel of a byproduct from the mid-sixties. Mercifully, this has never dated the movie; only re-situated its time capsule appeal to an epoch just a scant ten years before the events presumably taking place within its plot.
Although released theatrically by Paramount, the entire Seven Arts Production library was acquired by Warner Bros. in 1967 and a blessing it is too, since Seven Days in May gets a nicely restored Blu-ray release via the Warner Archive (WAC). Like virtually all the deep catalog releases WAC has favored us with thus far, this one attests to their hallmark of quality. No other company putting out vintage catalog today has had such a consistent track record; peerless quality miraculously achieved with great care paid along the way to ensure movies like Seven Days in May will endure for many good years into the future and for future generations to enjoy, critique and study for as long as movie-land pop culture endures and there are people around interested in reviewing it in their own good time. As before, we applaud WAC herein for being among the most proactive – if not prolific – of purveyors of classic movies in hi-def.
The B&W elements were in fairly decent condition at the time of the DVD’s release. But they have been given the necessary upgrade herein to even further merit such consideration and praise. Minute artifacts that plagued the DVD release – minor instances of dirt, scratches and other anomalies have been virtually eradicated herein. The image is clean and very stable; one curious jump cut occurring during Gen. Scott’s debriefing of his co-conspirators near the end of the movie. I suspect, although I have been quite unable to find out, that either a portion of Burt Lancaster’s dialogue needed to be excised, or added in post-production without the corresponding necessary footage, resulting in a need to loop the footage that, after all, is dominated by a close-up front and center of the back of Lancaster’s head as he delivers his plan of action to the Joint Chiefs. 
The grey scale herein is immaculate, illustrating the subtle nuances in Ellsworth Fredericks’ cinematography. Better still, grain, that appeared ever so slightly smoothed out on the DVD, looks very indigenous to its source on the Blu-ray. The DTS audio is 1.0 mono and adequate for this presentation, exhibiting no undue hiss or pop. We get John Frankenheimer’s DVD commentary ported over for this re-issue in hi-def. It’s competent but only occasionally engrossing. We also get the original theatrical trailer. Bottom line: Seven Days in May is a movie that ought to be seen today. It has a lot of relevancy within our present political arena. Politics – the sideshow that thinks it’s the whole circus. God help the man in charge of it!
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

Saturday, May 20, 2017

THE GODFATHER TRILOGY: Blu-ray (1972, 74, 90, Paramount Pictures) Paramount Home Video

To say Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather was a highly anticipated movie for Paramount Pictures in 1972 is an overstatement. Regarded with more trepidation than promise by the executive brain at Gulf + Western, the corporate leviathan having swallowed whole this once proud cornerstone of the motion picture industry for a paltry $600,000 in 1966, Coppola fought a long – and, at times, highly precarious battle, bolstered only by his personal convictions he was making a masterpiece; devoted to will it into existence. Despite his Italian heritage, Coppola thought Mario Puzo’s novel a rather tawdry affair, eventually recognizing its potential as a story of succession; essentially the time-honored tale of a king with three sons vying to inherit the legacy of an organized crime syndicate they neither understood nor – as fate would decide – could manage without losing their souls. Recently appointed VP in Charge of Production, Robert Evans went to bat for The Godfather, but frequently found himself the lone supportive voice in a boardroom hostile to practically every request Coppola made along this very bumpy and bullet-riddled road to greatness. No one liked the idea of hiring Marlon Brando as the name above the title; Brando’s eccentricities and temperament legendarily rumored to have delayed every major movie he appeared in since 1962’s disastrous and costly Mutiny on the Bounty. And Paramount was not warming to the subject matter either; what promised to be a clunky gangland ode to hit man stereotypes, shooting off their mouths and pistols, and, turning New York’s east side into a veritable bloody gumbo of discombobulated body parts. Perhaps they hadn’t read the book, or had and worried – needlessly in the end – that Coppola’s collaborative transformation of Puzo’s prose into a manageable screenplay would cost decidedly more than it was worth.
Like science fiction, mob movies then were considered money-losing B-grade fodder to fill the cheap seats for the Saturday matinee. Indeed, Paramount’s most recent attempt at this sub-genre – Martin Ritt’s The Brotherhood (1968) had been an unmitigated disaster at the box office. Coppola, however, was neither interested in perpetuating the cinema stereotype of the lumbering, fractured-English ‘dumb guinea’ he believed to be wholly untrue, nor extol the virtues of a life in organized crime through the glamorization of the novel’s frequently gruesome vignettes. What appealed chiefly to Coppola was the sense of integrity Puzo’s characters possessed; hard-working men of conscience, devoted to their families, and otherwise believing in the promise of the American dream, only to have their ambitions shattered; forced into impossible situations from which only a life in organized crime could protect them from even more insidious influences in an altogether more corrupt outside world. In retrospect, the exploration of these themes became crystalized as the franchise evolved from one movie into a trilogy; the first, about a man’s brutal sacrifices to provide for his family; the second, an almost biblical parable echoing the sins of the father revisited upon the son; the third, a Shakespearean-structured reflection (nee, nightmare) of the even more careworn cliché, ‘like father/like son’.
In reviewing The Godfather some 45 years after its debut, one is immediately struck by how sincere Coppola and Puzo remain to these unlikely truths and, at their core, reverent to these otherwise ‘ordinary’ individuals. The Corleone family is driven neither by greed nor ambition. Held together by a devout patriarch, who sanctions and administers his brand of ‘justice’ from the armchair of his shuttered study, more than anything else, The Godfather is a saga about familial solidarity and the fiery incandescence of that next generation, threatening to dismantle such already flawed, if time-honored ‘principles’ among thieves. There are moments in Coppola’s trilogy (though particularly in the first two movies) that seem more genuine, perhaps even than life itself; Coppola’s vision grim, operatic and fearless in wielding such an awe-inspiring discipline to make a truly unique and very fine work of art. Connie’s wedding, as example, just feels like a memory; the outdoor reception suggestively ‘not staged’ for the Hollywood cameras, but stolen from a series of snapshots; the guests, unaware they are being filmed. It is, of course, a ruse; the sequence expertly paced and edited by Coppola; cut together with all the verisimilitude of an amateur party guest – albeit, one possessing finely honed powers of very keen observation and a photographic eye - let loose with his first Kodachrome camera. We have cinematographer extraordinaire, Gordon Willis to thank for ‘the look’ of The Godfather; the aptly nicknamed ‘prince of darkness’ who, as Coppola once put it, “skates on the outer peripheries of the emulsion”, drawing barely noticeable detail from the murky density of those dimly lit frames. Willis’ copper-toned tinting to invoke the mood of late 40’s Americana set a new standard and established a trend for period picture-making.
Reportedly, Paramount exec, Peter Bart insisted on Coppola’s participation as director, chiefly because he could be had for a bargain basement fee; Coppola’s independent film company – American Zoetrope – having fallen on hard times and a $400,000 deficit still owed to Warner Bros. for cost overruns on George Lucas’ THX 1138 (1971). But Production Head, Robert Evans has always held fast to that decision as ‘good casting’; as only an Italian American would understand the more intricate details and dynamics of the Corleone family unit. To this end, Sergio Leone had been Evans’ first choice to direct, turning to Coppola only after Leone declined the offer; already well into preliminary development on his opus magnum, Once Upon A Time in America, a troubled and lengthy gestation that, for various reasons, would not materialize on the screen until 1984 and even then, recut and bastardized by the studio; unceremoniously dumped on the North American market in an grotesque edit that in no way reflected Leone’s original hope or vision. Considering Evans’ recollections on how Coppola came to be cast as ‘his second’, it is interesting to note Paramount continued to shop around the directorial duties on The Godfather to practically every headlining director of his generation, including Peter Bogdanovich, Peter Yates, Richard Brooks, Arthur Penn, Costa-Gavras, and Otto Preminger. In the meantime, Coppola was belaboring his decision to return to Hollywood. Indeed, he had gone to San Francisco to establish his own film-making paradise away from the crumbling empires of Tinsel Town. Regrettably, American Zoetrope was foundering badly; Coppola’s cohorts, particularly George Lucas, lending their support to his accepting the assignment, merely to pull their beleaguered fledgling out of the red.
Coppola, who admittedly did not care for the subject matter at first, and conceded he did not get all the way through Puzo’s novel before saying ‘yes’ to The Godfather, nevertheless dove headstrong and heart-first into the project, agreeing to $125,000 and 6% of the gross as his recompense. Known for his due diligence in staying within the budgetary parameters outlined by the studio, Coppola seemed a very competent choice. However, it did not take very long for the executive brain trust to rumble with hints of misgiving. Part of the issue was Paramount had not had a major hit in a very long while. Worse, they had all but drained their coffers on a series of expensive flops; Paint Your Wagon (1969), Darling Lili (1970) and Dino De Laurentiis’ costly spectacle, Waterloo (1970) among them. Originally budgeted at $2.5 million, Coppola quickly realized The Godfather could not be made to his specifications without a considerable increase. The studio’s original plan – to shoot on a shoestring in modern-day Kansas City, with interiors lensed under a controlled environment on the Paramount backlot – were eventually vetoed by Coppola, who insisted the novel’s runaway success warranted further consideration; particularly, an adherence to the original 1940’s and early 50’s milieu. Then, as now, shooting ‘in period’ adds not only cache but sizable girth to a film’s budget. Paramount begrudgingly agreed to allow Coppola his extensive shoot in New York and Sicily, upping the ante by $6 million.
The first battle won, almost immediately Coppola’s preliminary search for the perfect cast fell under the scrutiny of Robert Evans and Gulf + Western’s exec’, Charles Bluhdorn, who could only see how the director’s ‘indecisiveness’ was costing the already cash-strapped studio more than $40,000 a day above beyond the allotted budget. Paramount’s VP, Jack Ballard, agreed to keep a watchful eye on Coppola’s development; rumored to have urged his director to consider a ‘big name’ above the title, and even suggesting the fair-haired Ryan O’Neal for the coveted part of the Corleone’s number one son, Michael. However, Coppola was rather determined the part should go to olive-skinned, dark-haired Italian, Al Pacino (a virtual unknown) instead. To elevate the film’s star-powered cache, Coppola had another actor in mind – one, equally as unpopular. From the outset, Coppola had hoped Marlon Brando would accept the part of Don Vito Corleone; the imposing patriarch of this crime family. Indeed, Puzo had confided that in writing the novel he too had used Brando as his template. Robert Evans echoed Coppola’s sentiments; later, even suggesting he had been first to consider Brando for the part. And while Brando expressed a most enthusiastic interest to partake, just as quickly Coppola was informed by Ballard, Brando would never set foot on the Paramount lot ever again.
Since 1962’s Mutiny on the Bounty – the landmark release that nearly sank MGM – wild speculations had dogged Brando’s reputation. An article published in The Saturday Evening Post shortly thereafter had ‘Bounty’s’ director, Lewis Milestone vehemently chastising Brando, adding MGM’s mismanagement “deserves what they get when they give a ham actor, a petulant child, complete control over an expensive picture.” For the rest of the decade, Brando would concurrently be accused in the press of selling out in subpar movies or not performing up to expectations in ones worthy of his time and talents. His decision to sign a five picture deal at Universal quickly soured and virtually all five movies made for that studio failed to perform at the box office. The critics savaged his reputation, suggesting the one-time rebellious stud of such iconic fodder as A Streetcar Named Desire (1951) and The Wild Ones (1953) had inexplicably morphed into an idiotic buffoon and spoiled caricature of his former self. Perhaps, not altogether free of these criticisms, there is little to deny Brando remained as hard-working as any actor throughout the 1960’s; arguably, never intentionally sabotaging a production solely on the basis of satisfying his own ego.

Nevertheless, by 1970 the unflattering ‘un-bankable’ moniker had stuck to Brando’s reputation. Now, the same clout that had afforded Evans the right to turn The Godfather into a prestige picture, was decidedly working against Coppola’s fervent desire to cast Brando in this pivotal lead. Previously considered actors, like Ernest Borgnine, Frank de Kova, John Marley (eventually cast as movie producer, Woltz in the picture) and Richard Conte (hired to portray the beady-eyed and lethal, Don Barzini), paled to Brando’s raw magnetism and marquee-drawing power. Producer, Albert S. Ruddy conceded Brando was the real deal and essential lynchpin for the picture’s success. But Brando, who had made rather a bad enemy of Paramount’s Executive VP, Stanley Jaffe after the release of 1961’s One-Eyed Jacks seemed dead in the water after Jaffe reportedly told Coppola, “As long as I'm president of this studio, Marlon Brando will not be in this picture, and I will no longer allow you to discuss it.” Mercilessly, Coppola persisted; Jaffe eventually relenting, but setting three rather humiliating conditions, in hindsight, probably meant to discourage Brando’s participation. First, Brando would have to do the picture for $50,000 – an embarrassingly low fee for his services. Second, Brando had to sign a contract stipulating any cost overruns incurred from his delays would be covered by him personally. Third, Brando would submit to a screen test to convince the studio he could carry the part.
Coppola attempted to soften this latter blow by suggesting the ‘test’ was for makeup rather than to prove Brando’s acting ability to the studio bosses; Brando, appearing in makeup he conceived for himself, stuffing cotton balls in his mouth to puff out his cheeks.  Utterly impressed by the actor’s transformation, Charles Bluhdorn agreed to hire Brando as Don Vito Corleone; adding a caveat of 1% of the gross on a sliding scale to the actor’s deal for each $10 million over $10 million, or up to 5% if the movie exceeded $60 million – a profit margin no one could have expected the movie to surpass. The deal ought to have made Brando a very rich man, except Brando, already in desperate need of funds, prematurely sold back his points to Paramount for an estimated $100,000; kicking himself in the pants when The Godfather grossed $85.7 million on its initial release, by some conservative estimates, screwing Brando out of an $11 million dollar profit. “The Godfather was a very unappreciated movie when we were making it,” Coppola would later admit, “The studio was very unhappy with it. They didn't like the cast. They didn't like the way I was shooting it. I was always on the verge of getting fired.” 
Coppola’s one ally throughout the shoot was Brando, who steadfastly threatened to walk off the picture should Coppola be unceremoniously terminated; a not altogether unlikely prospect. On his best behavior throughout filming, Brando also served as something of the head of an impressive array of up and coming talent; including Pacino, Robert Duvall, James Caan and Diane Keaton, all readily in awe to be working in such esteemed company. Still, as the daily rushes were being screened back at Paramount, the execs began to grumble The Godfather lacked both the impetus and violence readers of the novel would be expecting. Coppola’s take on the tale was too subdued, too Italian perhaps, for their tastes. Unable to see the merit in his vision, rumors abounded the studio was preparing to replace Coppola with ‘another’ director. But Coppola’s reprieve would come when executives screened the now infamous cop-killing scene in which Michael unexpectedly assassinates corrupt Capt. McCluskey (Sterling Hayden) and his crime syndicate mouthpiece, Virgil Sollozzo (Al Lettieri), thereby setting his feet upon a lifelong path of self-destruction only partially born out in the first film. It must be said the sequence, apart from its potency in the first movie, set a new standard for screen violence, in the process, creating the prototype all future mob movies would follow; the ghastliness of seeing the back of a man’s head blown apart by a gunshot, ratchet up in The Godfather’s other outstanding shocker; Sonny Corleone’s (James Caan) horrifically cold-blooded assassination at the toll booth; a veritable blood-bath with Caan’s body riddled by rigged explosive squibs. Whether or not Coppola resented being forced to add such graphic vignettes to his familial saga is unclear. What is for certain is Coppola was intimidated by the studio’s decision to hire a ‘violence coach’ to augment his work should he be unwilling to comply with their edicts on his own.

In some ways, The Godfather: Part II (1974) is a much more immersive contemplation on themes of familial succession and self-destruction Coppola had hoped to investigate more deeply in the original movie. The pacing of the sequel is decidedly different; more methodical and more subtly engrossed in the finer nuances of a man’s slow and self-inflicting tragic demise. The outbursts of violence are less gratuitous, though no less powerful in expressing the thematic implosion of a dream and waning modicum of self-preservation. The parallel cutting between two stories in this sequel – following young Vito’s (Robert DeNiro) rise to power as the unlikely head of a crime syndicate and Michael’s own hegemony to reign over the so called ‘five families’, reluctantly forced to step into the Don’s shoes – makes for a startling contrast between a perhaps good man’s descent into purgatory, coming to know the ominous strength and purpose of his convictions.  Both men become Don Corleone out of necessity. Yet, unlike his father, Michael is never comfortable in the role. Indeed, Vito’s sanctioning of ‘justice’ by satisfying ‘requests’ is viewed with nonchalance. By contrast, while Michael steadily professes “it’s not personal…it’s just business”, his reign is increasingly marked – and marred – by selfish motives: to assert and cement his authority in the underworld hierarchy not yet having seen enough of his potential might to take him seriously.  In the sequel, Michael aligns his interests with Hyman Roth (Lee Strasberg) a dying puppet master who nevertheless, derives a certain unquestionable autonomy from the same generational wellspring as his late father.  
Late in The Godfather: Part II, Michael counsels his mother (Morgana King) about his presumed failings to the family, a good husband to his wife, Kay and loving father to his children, expressing the belief he has gradually allowed himself to become un-tethered from his roots, to which she assuredly replies, “You can never lose your family.” But what Michael is perhaps expressing is an acknowledgement he has already lost ‘control’ of the variables that once made up their tightly-knit solidarity. And, indeed, The Godfather: Part II remains a story about losing one’s way; of fate’s chronic intervention to deprive Michael of the life he would have chosen for himself and – manipulating others to preserve the myth of family as a never-changing united front. This absence of legacy wounds Michael’s confidence – though hardly his stubborn resolve – throughout this second pivotal chapter in the Corleone family saga. Michael’s purpose is flawed and gauche; desperate, even, as he chooses murder rather than exile to resolve a misguided betrayal from a disloyal, though decidedly easily swayed/simpleton elder brother, Fredo (John Cazale). We get a sense of this looming cruelty as Michael quietly threatens to disinherit his sister, Connie (Talia Shire) if she marries Merle Johnson (Troy Donahue) - clearly a fortune hunter – having already ordered the hit on her first husband, Carlo (Gianni Russo) to satisfy a vendetta for Sonny’s murder.
In the original Godfather, Coppola makes a startling jump cut to illustrate Michael Corleone’s fall from decorated and clean-cut war hero to cold-blooded assassin; the latest ‘recruit’ in the Corleone dynasty and, in fact, Vito’s last hope for a legitimate heir. Alas, the death of Michael’s beloved first wife, Apollonia (Simonetta Stefanelli) from a car bomb in Sicily meant for him, is immediately followed by Michael’s reappearance in a suburb of New York, confronting former flame and the future Mrs. Corleone – Kay Adams (Diane Keaton) after an absence of almost a year. The cruelty inflicted from these losses has already hardened Michael’s heart, converted his resolve to the dark side of crime. More than ever, he is the Don in training, and swift to take his place as the avenging arc angel of the family. And Pacino delivers with a riveting transformation, from the naïve Lochinvar of only a few scenes before to this beady-eyed boss; the pierced look of veiled regrets having mutated into a subtext of contained homicidal rage, glimpsed in brief fitful outbursts, more readily expressed as an intrinsic part of his DNA in the last installment to the franchise: The Godfather: Part III (1990).

After a riveting preamble in which Bonasera (Salvatore Corsitto); a grieving father pleads with Don Corleone (Marlon Brando) to avenge the brutal beating of his daughter by her boyfriend and his friends, The Godfather opens on the occasion of Vito’s daughter, Connie’s wedding. It is a spectacularly staged sequence on the grounds of the Corleone compound; marred only by the presence of FBI agents perusing the parking lot and jotting down various license plates to run their background checks. These ebullient snapshots from a sun-filtered afternoon are intercut with the Don entertaining various requests in his cloistered study; an old Sicilian custom. We are introduced to the rest of the Corleone clan; Sonny and Tom Hagen (Robert Duvall) – a onetime urchin the Don took in a reared as his own who, having completed his law degree, now acts as consigliere; an exalted position. We also meet various members of the Don’s inner circle; his lieutenant, Clemenza (Richard S. Castellano), hitman, Luca Brazi (Lenny Montana); devoted thug muscle come to pay his respects, and the Corleone’s driver, Paulie Gatto (John Martino in a part originally intended for Robert DeNiro, who actually screen tested for the role). Also in attendance is rival mob boss, Don Barzini (Richard Conte), Tessio (Abe Vigoda), and the Don’s bodyguard, Al Neri (Richard Bright).
The suddenly arrival of bobbysoxer-heartthrob, and the Don’s godson, singer, Johnny Fontaine (Al Martino) creates a minor stir. Indeed, the ‘stir’ extended off-screen; reportedly, Frank Sinatra not at all pleased with the transparent parallels drawn between himself and the fictional Fontaine; rumored to have made several veiled attempts through third parties to have the depiction removed from the film. As an interesting side note: Al Martino, then a popular nightclub singer was initially given the part of Johnny Fontaine at the behest of his agent, Al Ruddy. However, when Coppola came to the project he replaced Martino with singer, Vic Damone. And here is where the waters between truth and fiction become muddied: Damone, accepting, but then inexplicably dropping out, siting the part as both too small and anti-Italian. But perhaps Martino’s reinstatement had more to do with his contacting Russell A. Bufalino; a well-known crime boss who also happened to be Martino’s godfather.  Whatever the case, Martino was in and Damone out.
While Sonny’s wife, Sandra (Julie Gregg) is busy extolling the virtues of her husband’s sexual prowess to some of her girlfriends, Sonny is off seducing one of the bridesmaids, Lucy Mancini (Jeannie Linero). Meanwhile, the Corleone’s youngest son, Michael, arrives with his girlfriend, Kay Adams. Michael is the pride and joy of the family; a decorated war hero, newly discharged from the army. Michael explains to Kay that although his family is involved in organized crime, he has remained apart from any involvement in these greyer areas of ‘the family business.’  Meanwhile, in the Don’s study, Johnny Fontaine implores his godfather to ‘convince’ Hollywood mogul, Jack Woltz (John Marley) to give him a career-defining part in his next movie. The Don sends Tom Hagen to make Woltz ‘an offer he can’t refuse’. And while Woltz initially seems receptive to at least listening to this proposal, he suddenly becomes volatile, ordering Tom from his mansion and flat out refusing to grant his request. This leads to the first iconic moment in The Godfather; Woltz, awakening in his Beverly Hills mansion the next morning, making the grisly discovery of the severed head of his prized stallion lying between the blood-soaked bed sheets. The head was real, bought by Coppola’s property master from a local dog food manufacturer who would have discarded it anyway.
We jump ahead to Christmas 1945. Backed by the Tattaglia crime syndicate, Virgil ‘the Turk’ Sollozzo makes his pitch to the Don to invest in his narcotics business, suggesting the Don might offer him protection via his political and police connections. Concerned his high-profile contacts will frown upon such a venture, Don Corleone declines, telling Sollozzo he will remain neutral. Suspicious, the Don sends Luca Brasi to cautiously observe. Sollozzo, under Bruno Tattaglia’s (Tony Giorgio) watchful eye, makes Luca a faux offer to leave the Corleone family and join them. Believing he will be able to keep closer tabs on the Tattaglias from within their organization, Luca falls for their trap by accepting the offer and is garroted; his bullet-proof vest sent to the Corleone home with a dead mackerel wrapped inside; an old Sicilian message to mark the murder. In the meantime, an attempt on the Don’s life is made – shot six times in the back while shopping a street vendor for fruit. Tom Hagen is kidnapped by Sollozzo and ordered to ‘make the peace’ with Sonny over the drug deal.
Wisely assuming Paulie’s conspicuous absence at the time of the Don’s shooting means he was likely ‘encouraged’ by the other side (as chauffeur, Paulie would have been expected to defend the Don), Sonny orders a hit; Clemenza and Rocco driving with Paulie to a remote location under a false pretext, before shooting him in the back of the head).  Making an impromptu visit to the hospital, Michael discovers someone has ordered all his father’s bodyguards to stand down; the corridors virtually emptied of any hospital personnel, save one nurse whom Michael orders to help him relocate his father’s bed to another room because he has wisely assessed Sollozzo is sending henchmen to finish the job. Michael’s clash with corrupt Police Captain McKluskey, also on Sollozzo’s payroll and chiefly responsible for removing the Don’s protection, results in a broken jaw and Michael’s pivotal decision to enter ‘the family business’ in the worst of all possible ways; avenging his disgrace as well as the attempt on his father’s life by gunning down McKluskey and Sollozzo in cold blood. Exiled to Sicily, Michael is placed under the care of loyal family friend, Don Tomassino (Corrado Gaipa) who periodically keeps him informed of developments in America. Michael also meets Apollonia, the daughter of a local restauranteur. Their carefully observed courtship blossoms into romance and the two are eventually wed. Alas, the bliss is short-lived. Word arrives from America Sonny has been assassinated after flying off the handle in Connie’s defense; Carlo severely beaten his pregnant wife and, on the Tattaglia’s payroll as an informer who helped in Sonny’s ambush at the toll booth. Not long thereafter, Don Tomassino informs Michael it is not safe for him to remain in Sicily; prophetic words, as a car bomb, meant for Michael, kills Apollonia instead.
We jump cut a year into the future; Michael, returned home under a safe guarantee and free to pursue Kay as his wife. She is reluctant, though nevertheless willing. Michael pursues an ambitious campaign to move the Corleone’s crime syndicate out west to Nevada; tempting high roller, Moe Greene (Alex Rocco) with a buy out. Greene, however, is incensed he should give up one of the most lucrative gambling houses in Vegas simply to satisfy Michael. After the Don passes away from natural causes, Michael learns of both Tessio and Carlo’s involvement with Don Barzini and the Tattaglias; ordering an aggressive vengeance on all of the five families and Moe Greene. In the ensuing bloodbath, Michael is the only one left standing; confronting Carlo at the family home. Pretending to have decided on exile as punishment for his involvement, Michael hands Carlo a plane ticket and orders him to leave for the airport at once. Yet, only a few paces out of the Corleone compound, Carlo is garroted by Clemenza; Connie, arriving as Michael and Kay are moving in to confront her brother about the murder. Michael lies to Kay about his involvement. She naively believes him, but begins to suspect her deal in marriage has been made with the devil as Michael entertains a select group of his late father’s loyal contacts who refer to him as ‘Don Corleone.’  
Rumor has it, the powers that be at Paramount received veiled threats from several mob bosses regarding the use of the words ‘mafia’ and ‘Cosa Nostra’ – neither appearing in the original Godfather’s dialogue, though each prominently featured in The Godfather Part II, during Michael’s interrogation by the Senate Committee investigating organized crime. Indeed, the Italian-American Civil Rights League had its own misgivings about various aspects of the original script, gravely concerned it glorified stereotypes and whitewashed all Italians in an unflattering light. Underestimating Coppola’s resolve and purpose, not only to make a good picture, but also to honor his Italian-American ancestry with faithful depictions, Coppola worked diligently and in close collaboration with cinematographer, Gordon Willis on establishing the sepia and Kodachrome look of The Godfather; bathed in brassy copper hues for the exteriors, and saturated in oppressively dark shadows for its interiors. Coppola applied ‘old school’ principles in shooting the film; no zoom lenses or clever aerial photography; but expertly composed master shots with as much attention paid to detail in the backgrounds as to what was happening in the foreground. During post-production, Coppola made a fortuitous decision in hiring Nino Rota to compose the underscore, a veritable potpourri of since iconic themes, almost disregarded wholesale by Robert Evans as being ‘too highbrow’, but rescued by Coppola’s own last minute stubbornness. For some time thereafter, The Godfather Waltz became a very popular selection to introduce all fathers of the bride at weddings. 
Coppola’s last minute fine touches and tinkering cost The Godfather its planned Christmas release; the picture debuting the following March to almost unanimous acclaim and record box office; earning $81.5 million in North America alone, displacing the all-time record holder, Gone With The Wind (1939); a hallowed position briefly held until the release of Jaws (1975). Nominated for 7 Golden Globes and 11 Academy Awards (and winning 5 and 3 respectively, including Globes and Oscars for Best Director and Best Picture), it was inevitable Paramount would order up a sequel. Coppola’s place in the cinema firmament – precarious a few scant years before by a few abysmal misfires – had suddenly, and justly, been secured for the ages. Already immersed in the material, Coppola brought Mario Puzo back to co-author The Godfather Part II (1974) – something of both a sequel and prequel to his original movie. In splitting the narrative into flashback and a continuing saga, Part II evolved a cinema language all its own – drawing parallels between the young Vito Corleone (now played by Robert DeNiro) and his son, Michael assuming control of the family business, only to rule it with an iron fist. Coppolla’s original desire to bring back Brando to reprise his role in flashbacks was quashed by Robert Evans; Coppola ingeniously staging an off-camera birthday surprise for the Don without Brando’s participation.
Today, many forget that this sequel was the first of its kind to use ‘Part II’ in its title; Paramount’s initial apprehensions unfounded when the second movie proved just as popular with audiences as the original. However, it might have gone the other way. Al Pacino almost did not sign on to this continuation of the Corleone family saga; Coppola re-polishing the script to satisfy the actor’s needs and flesh out his role. A sneak peek of Coppola’s ‘final’ edit left a select gathering of critics cold; the crosscutting of two parallel narratives considered choppy, with not enough time to flesh out characters. As a result, the picture grew longer, at 175 minutes, complete with intermission, one of the last ‘road show’ events. Undaunted, Coppola returned to his editing room, combining several flashbacks together with less back and forth between the past and present. Regardless of how one feels about sequels today, it is nevertheless true The Godfather Part II ushered in the era of the big studio-committed franchise film-making that has all but taken over – and sadly - bastardized the industry’s collective output today. Shooting at Lake Tahoe between October and June allowed Coppola to run the gamut of seasons, adding more girth to the ‘period’ and passage of time; the globe-trotting continuing in Palermo, New York and Santa Domingo in the Dominican Republic, the latter subbing in for Cuba which, owing to the embargo was decidedly off limits. The studio-domineering yolk loosened after Coppola’s vision for the first movie proved a runaway success, Coppola vacillated in his new-found autonomy; still working at a feverish pace, but with a decidedly more leisurely approach to hand-crafting his material.
In retrospect, The Godfather Part II is a much darker movie (figuratively speaking) than its predecessor; beginning ominously with a funeral in Sicily set in 1901; young Vito Andolini (Oreste Baldini) and his mother (Maria Carta) following his late father’s funerary cortege through the craggy terrain. Their mourning is interrupted by another assassination; Vito’s elder brother, at the behest of local Mafia chieftain, Don Ciccio (Giuseppe Sillato). Begging for Vito’s life, his mother momentarily takes Ciccio hostage at knifepoint before being murdered in front of the boy with a double-barreled shotgun by one of Ciccio’s henchmen. Miraculously, Vito escapes the Don’s assassins and is sent to America, mistakenly registered by a well-intended Ellis Island official as ‘Vito Corleone’. The Ellis Island sequence is among the many tour de forces in the sequel; Coppola particularly tuned into the immigrant experience.  Perhaps desiring a counterpart to Connie’s wedding in the first movie, Coppola cuts to 1958; the First Communion of Vito’s grandson, Anthony Michael Corleone (James Gounaris), lavishly staged as an outdoor party at Lake Tahoe. Like his father before him, Michael is entertaining various business ventures on this otherwise festive afternoon, petitioning Senator Pat Geary (G.D. Spradlin) for a gaming license to further dig into his holdings in Vegas. Publicly, Geary cheerily professes his gratitude for the Corleone’s charitable works; but privately he attempts to squeeze Michael for some quick cash, believing his political clout far outweighs any thug muscle Michael might choose to exercise in order to enforce his will. Of course, the Senator is mistaken, although it will be a while before he figures this out for himself. In the meantime, Michael is visited by Corleone caporegime, Frank Pentangeli (Michael V. Gazzo), who is bitterly disappointed Michael will not back him in his dispute with the Rosato brothers over the Brooklyn territory.
Michael is faithful to Pentangeli – a holdover from his father’s time. But his present business venture with the supreme puppet master, Hyman Roth (Lee Strasberg) precludes divulging the particulars of his plan to his old friend just yet. Aside: Hyman Roth was loosely based on real-life mobster, Meyer Lansky who, upon seeing the movie is rumored to have telephone Strasberg to inquire, “Why couldn't you have made me more sympathetic? After all, I am a grandfather.” One of the great tragedies that befall Michael in this sequel is losing the trusted support of Pentangeli, who cannot see the bigger picture and decides to betray Michael after he erroneously assumes Michael is responsible for his botched assassination. Immediately following the party, Michael and Kay narrowly survive a bungled plot to murder them in their beds. Michael is incensed and departs Nevada at once to unearth the truth; leaving Kay and his children behind on the heavily guarded family compound. Before his departure, Michael confides in Tom Hagen he will become the new Don for a time and oversee the evolution of Michael’s grand plan while Michael keeps a very low profile.
We flashback to 1917, Vito (now played by Robert DeNiro), working hard in the dried goods business for a local merchant in New York (production designer, Dean Tavoularis’ immaculate recreations of the dingy tenements of ‘little Italy’ superbly realized down to the very last detail). Vito already has a wife, Carmela (Francesca De Sapio) and infant son, Sonny. But he loses this job when his boss is forced to placate Don Fanucci (Gaston Moschin) – a member of ‘The Black Hand’ by hiring his grandson instead. Vito’s first brush with organized crime is anything but brief. Concealing several guns wrapped in a blanket for his neighbor, Peter Clemenza (Bruno Kirby), Vito is later invited by Clemenza to help him burglarize a posh estate; the two stealing an oriental rug from the parlor and narrowly averting discovery by a policeman casually walking the beat, momentarily pausing to peer in through the window. Clemenza suggests a lucrative black market business; Vito putting up the Genco Olive Oil Company as its front.
In the present, Senator Geary is framed for the murder of a paid escort he frequented at a brothel managed by Fredo. Awakening from his drug-induced stupor to find the girl chained to his bed, having hemorrhaged to death, presumably after a night of kinky sex, a frantic Geary is comforted by Tom Hagen who, knowing what the scandal could do to the Senator’s career, insists the incident will be managed by Michael in exchanged for the Senator’s loyalty. Meanwhile, Michael suspects Hyman Roth as the architect behind his botched assassination. Drawing on an old adage about keeping one’s enemies at arm’s length, Michael, accompanied by Roth’s protector, Johnny Ola (Dominic Chianese) enjoys Roth’s hospitality in Miami. Each feigns ignorance about the other’s complicity in the incident; Roth suggesting Frank Pentangeli is responsible. Knowing this to be untrue, but determined to maintain a successful façade, Michael confronts Pentangeli at first, but behind closed doors explains he knows there is a snitch lurking somewhere very close, but as yet unknown to him. Once again, Michael implores Pentangeli to pretend to make his peace with the Rosatos.  Alas, Roth is two steps ahead of the game, setting up an ambush for Pentangeli inside a local bar where the Rosatos, Carmine (Carmine Caridi) and Tony (Danny Aiello), are waiting to garrote him with piano wire, planting the notion it was Michael who has betrayed him. The murder sabotaged by a cop just passing by while the crime is taking place, Pentangeli survives the attack, but fearful of reprisals and not knowing who to trust, turns state’s evidence on Michael to save his own skin.
Meanwhile, Michael travels to Havana with Geary, Fredo and Roth to ring in the New Year and negotiate their mutual ‘business’ interests with Fulgencio Batista’s (Tito Alba) government. Before attending the lavish state dinner, Fredo takes the men (all except Roth, who is gravely ill, and Johnny Ola, electing to remain at his side) slumming inside some of Cuba’s seedier nightclubs; one of them where a simulated sex act is performed by a freak of nature with a rather grotesque endowment. When Geary laughingly inquires how Fredo discovered this place, Fredo accidentally lets it slip he has known Johnny Ola long before their presumed first meeting only a few days earlier. Michael sends his bodyguard to Roth’s penthouse to kill both him and Johnny Ola. Alas, the unnamed assassin is only successful at Ola’s murder before paramedics burst in to the penthouse, presumably telephoned by Roth, who is ailing. The assassin follows Roth to the local hospital, but is killed by police after attempting to smother Roth in his hospital bed. As midnight approaches, Batista’s government is overrun by Castro’s rebel forces. He abdicates and urges all his guests to make haste to the docks to escape the city as his forces can no longer guarantee anyone’s safety. Amidst the chaos, Michael and Fredo are separated, but not before Michael makes Fredo aware he knows he is the one who betrayed him. 
Back in Nevada, Michael learns from Tom that Kay, pregnant with their third child shortly before he left for Cuba, has since ‘miscarried’. The news is devastating. But even more so is Fredo’s confession to Michael: that he took Johnny Ola’s side to become his own man rather than remain a ward of Michael’s charity. Michael cruelly exiles Fredo from the family. Behind closed doors, Michael instructs Al Neri that Fredo is to remain untouched until after their mother has died. Not long thereafter, Kay tells Michael she is leaving him for good. At first, Michael believes Kay is merely bluffing. But then she confesses to the ultimate betrayal; having deliberately aborted Michael’s son to avoid continuing the Corleone family bloodline. Michael has Kay declared an unfit mother and legally separated from her children. Connie is sympathetic, allowing Kay regular visits to the compound when Michael is not around. However, when Michael learns of this, he promptly ambushes Kay during one of her visits. She will not see young Anthony or Mary again. 
Again, in flashback, we find Vito and Carmela with two more sons, Fredo and Michael, now living comfortably; thanks to Vito and Clemenza’s lucrative business; peddling stolen goods on the black market. Learning of their enterprise, Fanucci attempts blackmail; Vito suggesting to both Clemenza and their other ‘business’ partner, Salvatore Tessio (John Aprea) Fanucci will settle for far less of a payment than he has initially proposed. Bewildered, Tessio and Clemenza leave the decision-making to Vito. Instead, Vito stalks Fanucci through the streets of Little Italy during a noisy neighborhood festa, cold-bloodedly gunning him down in the hallway of his apartment before disposing of the pieces of the murder weapon down several rooftop chimneys. At this juncture in the story, Coppola breaks for an intermission; when next the story commences, we are once more in the present – this time, in Washington D.C. at the senate committee hearing on organized crime where several witnesses testify to Michael’s reign as ‘the godfather’. However, the FBI’s linchpin is Frank Pentangeli. Too late, Frank finds Michael has brought over Pentangeli’s brother from Palermo to witness the trial. Fearful Michael will not hesitate to exact revenge on his brother in his stead Pentangeli rescinds his sworn statements, claiming he was bullied by the FBI. Realizing he has painted himself into an impossible corner – no longer Michael’s confidante and likely to be ousted from the Witness Protection Program – Pentangeli elects to take his own life by slashing his wrists in the bathtub.
In flashback, Vito visits Sicily for the first time since emigrating. He and Don Tommasino (Mario Cotonne) are admitted into Don Ciccio’s compound, ostensibly to ask for Ciccio's blessing on their olive oil business. Instead, Vito gets close enough to exact his childhood vengeance by gutting Ciccio with a knife. In their daring escape, Don Tommasino is shot and paralyzed. The last act of The Godfather Part II escalates the liquidity and frequency between these flashbacks. Upon the death of their beloved mother, Connie encourages reconciliation between Fredo and Michael; one Michael ostensibly takes to heart, allowing Fredo to come live at the Nevada compound and be a devoted uncle to his son, Anthony. Alas, this too is a ruse, Michael ordering Al Neri to assassinate Fredo while the two are fishing out on the lake. Meanwhile Roth, who realizes he is a dead man, is refused political asylum in Israel, soon to be publicly executed at the airport by Michael’s other caporegime, Rocco Lampone as stunned members of the press look on. This sequence has always reminded me of the brutal public execution of Lee Harvey Oswald, although I could find no reference in Coppola’s records to suggest he shared as much in his inspiration. Indeed, while The Godfather Part II reports to be based on incidents derived from Mario Puzo’s original novel, only the flashbacks bear a marginal resemblance to passages from the book; the bulk of the story re-imagined from scratch by Coppola, once again collaborating with Puzo.
The last moments of The Godfather Part II are devoted to Michael’s conflicting reminiscences of the life he has squandered – a reflection as bittersweet as it remains imbued with an overriding Shakespearean sense of a man having completely lost his soul; beginning with the final flashback; young Michael’s decision, made shortly before Vito’s surprise birthday party, to enlist in the army after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Sonny is furious; Connie and Tom sparing the two a physical altercation; everyone hurrying into the next room to meet the returning patriarch with a cake and their ebullient good wishes. Coppola had intended this to be a more detailed sequence with Brando brought in for a day’s shoot to complete the scene. Regrettably, Paramount refused to hire Brando back, forcing Coppola to re-stage the moment in the actor’s absence. Interestingly, the scene is more ominously heartbreaking as we hear the off-camera cheers of ‘surprise!’ while, in the foreground, a forlorn Michael sits in the dining room all alone; the moment dissolving into another; this time, of Michael, isolated on the Nevada compound, staring blankly off into the distance.  Are his final thoughts about what he has done to his father’s legacy; of the breadth of realization he has murdered his parent’s son, or regret over his complete ineffectualness to keep his own family – Kay and their children – free from the devastating effects of these outside influences? Coppola leaves us guessing, as does Al Pacino’s haunted, far away, and, dreadfully vacant gaze. 
In the end, The Godfather Part II is an infinitely more complex and masterfully put together reflection of the self-inflicted cruelties that derive from a life in crime. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences bestowed more little gold statues on the sequel; including another for Coppola and Best Picture.  Many of the scenarios developed for Part II were, in fact, augmented by unused bits ported over from Puzo’s original novel. Apart from Brando’s absence, the entire cast reunited – a near unheard of accomplishment and major coup for Coppola who, only two years before had had to beg Paramount executives for every casting decision made. Reportedly, after screening Coppola’s five hour rough cut of The Godfather Part II, fellow film maker, George Lucas told his friend, “You have two films. Take one away.” Instead, Coppola chose to rework both as a two-sided parable running in tandem and continuing the arc of familial succession begun in the original movie.
Interestingly, Paramount did not immediately chomp at the bit to produce yet another sequel, perhaps, in part, because Coppola had made it very clear he was decidedly finished with the Corleones – at least, for the moment – and would not be returning to the fray, should the studio so desire to continue the franchise.  In hindsight, it was the right decision; one marginally marred by Coppola’s reversal in 1990 to reconsider what a decade of marginal hits like Peggy Sue Got Married, and colossal box office flops, One from the Heart (1981) and The Cotton Club (1984, butchered in the editing process to transform what ought to have been a musical homage to the famed New York landmark into a disjointed melodrama), had done to his reputation as a film maker. Indeed, Coppola increasingly was feeling his strengths as a producer over directing; perhaps, still in partial recovery from the insane production shoot in Vietnam on his opus magnum anti-war epic, Apocalypse Now (1979); a movie threatening to drive everyone to the brink of insanity via Brando’s chronic delays, it drained United Artist’s coffers to the point of foreclosure, and, resulted in Coppola’s star, Martin Sheen, suffering a near-fatal heart attack while on location.
Whatever the reasons, Coppola did not return to the mob milieu until 1990, prompted by inquiries from fans and Paramount – both of whom considered the Corleone family saga as yet incomplete. However, upon its release, The Godfather Part III was generally eviscerated by the critics and dismissed by its most ardent following, some of their criticisms not entirely unwarranted. Indeed, in reviewing the picture again some sixteen years after its debut, and, even more so, when watching all three movies back to back as a mob movie marathon, one is immediately struck by two aspects from the production: first, and most regrettably, its copycat aspect, with Coppola returning almost verbatim to at least two pivotal moments from his first two movies, wholesale cuts borrowed to augment this final installment: first, the death of Joey Zasa (Joe Mantegna), set up during a festa not unlike the one staged for Fanucci’s murder in Part II, although, this time, publically executed by Corleone button-man, Lou Pennino (Robert Cicchini) and Vincent Mancini (Andy Garcia), the latter, masquerading as a cop: the climax from the first movie (the operatically staged assassinations of the heads of the five families) ever so slightly re-orchestrated by Coppola for a new series of penultimate murders in Part III, escalating from the poisoning of an old family friend cum turncoat, Don Altobello (Eli Wallach), to the shooting of the Vatican’s corrupt Archbishop Gilday (Donal Donnelly), poisoning of Cardinal Lamberto (Raf Vallone) – an honest man – shortly after he has ascended to the throne as Pope, the assassination of International Immobilare’s chief executive banking officer, Don Licio Lucchesi (Enzo Robutti), and, most startling of all, the unanticipated death of Michael’s now adult daughter, Mary (Sophia Coppola), shot through the chest by an assassin’s bullet on the steps of the opera house in yet another botched attempt on Michael’s life.
Once again co-authored by Mario Puzo and Coppola, The Godfather Part III’s chief inspiration is drawn from two actual events: 1978’s mysterious death of Pope John Paul I and the Papal banking scandal that rocked the Vatican from 1981 to 1982. Thinly veiled in the movie, each is directly linked to Michael’s failed endeavors to legitimize the Corleone family business. Too little/too late, it seems, as Michael has already lost his former wife, Kay to a new love and created a near irreparable rift in his relationship with adult son, Anthony (Franc D'Ambrosio) whom Michael has been pushing toward a law degree even as the young man’s first love is to become a famous opera star. Filled with stories of his father’s cruelties and corruption – including prior knowledge of Michael having orchestrated Fredo’s murder – Anthony’s much beloved uncle – Anthony resents his father’s involvement in Mary’s life. Indeed, Michael has made her the cornerstone of his legitimate business ventures; the chairwoman of the Corleone Foundation, raising money for the beleaguered in Sicily. Anthony assumes the charity is just another front, but actually, in this regard Michael is most sincere. Moreover, he is ill with diabetes and desperately hoping for peace – not only in his old age, but to settle the tumult within his own family.
The bulk of Part III’s backstory reaches a quirky and awkward impasse: Mary’s growing romantic infatuation with her first cousin, Vincent Mancini, Sonny’s adult love child sired with Lucy (Jeannie Linero) in the first movie. The movie attempts to make ‘another’ Sonny of Garcia’s performance – a flawed endeavor since Garcia is increasingly uncomfortable and looking stiff, even as he adds to his tough guy chops a fitful streak of psychotic rage directed at the bad guys. Michael forewarns Mary that no good can come of her love for Vincent. He all but threatens Vincent should he pursue even the slightest hint of a romantic relationship. Part III is also hampered by the never explained absence of Robert Duvall – replaced by the ineffectual, if every polished and tanned George Hamilton, as the Corleone family’s attorney, B. J. Harrison; also, a lethal interjection of new faces that in no way create indelible impressions either to fit into the narrative trajectory already established in the first two movie’s or conspire to elevate and drive Part III’s storytelling impetus.
The first narrative artery pursued in Part III is Vincent’s blood feud with Joey Zasa. The two are marginally antagonistic from the start; Vincent biting off a chunk of Zasa’s ear in Michael’s study after Joey agrees to a truce, but then refers to Vincent as ‘bastardo’. Kay’s arrival this same afternoon is purely mercenary. After having divorced Michael almost two decades earlier, she has come to plead for Anthony’s desire to give up his law degree and follow his heart for a career in music, much against Michael’s wishes. It really makes no difference. Anthony will not comply, nor will he return to the family fold. He might, however, be willing to accept his father should Michael show some respect for his dreams. Begrudgingly, this Michael does. Kay, however, is unforgiving; calling the church-sanctioned ceremony in which Michael was made a Commander of the Order of St. Sebastian, a sham and suggesting that ‘legitimized’ he is now even more dangerous than ever; her truest ‘dread’.
Vincent pleads with Michael to let him have a crack at eliminating Zasa, since taken over the drug distribution arm of the Corleone family business and turned Little Italy into a needle-ridden slum. Troubled by Vincent's fiery disposition, but ultimately impressed by his loyalty to the family, and at Connie’s behest, Michael agrees to take Vincent under his wing. Michael's recent investment in International Immobiliare, a real estate holding company with far-reaching assets, makes the Corleones its largest single shareholder. Michael makes a tender offer to buy the Vatican’s 25%, thus giving him absolute control. However, unbeknownst to his superiors, Archbishop Gilday, head of the Vatican Bank, has accrued a massive $600 million debt. Michael offers to quietly expunge this from the bookkeeping ledgers in exchange for the Vatican’s shares. After some consternation, Immobiliare's New York Board of Directors approves the offer. However, it must be ratified in Rome by Pope Paul VI, who is gravely ill. Meanwhile, Don Altobello, Connie's godfather, informs Michael his old partners want in on this new deal. While determined to keep Immobiliare untainted from any direct connections to the mob, Michael offers to pay off his partners from his own liquidated Las Vegas holdings. Realizing Zasa is working against him, Michael excludes him from these generous reparations; Zasa storming out in a huff with Altobello trailing behind, presumably, to broker favor and smooth over the rough edges. But only a few moments later, the penthouse meeting is sabotaged by assassins raining down a hailstorm of bullets from their helicoptered perch. Together with Al Neri’s help, Vincent manages to save Michael from certain death. But virtually all the other mob bosses are wiped out.
Sometime later, Neri informs Michael the surviving bosses have all aligned with Zasa. However, realizing Zasa lacks the cunning to pull off such a coup, Michael orders Vincent refrain from murdering him just yet, hoping to gain more insight into where Don Altobello fits in. The strain proves too great. Michael suffers a diabetic stroke and is hospitalized. While he convalesces, Vincent takes matters into his own hands, deriving great satisfaction from personally killing Zasa. He also allows Mary to pursue him, the two eventually becoming romantically involved. Partially recovered, Michael berates Vincent’s rashness. He also challenges Connie’s authority to go over his head with Al Neri’s complicity. “Now they’ll fear you,” she cruelly assesses, to which Michael glibly replies, “Maybe they should fear you instead.” After Michael’s recovery, the Corleones travel to Sicily for Anthony's operatic debut in Palermo at the Teatro Massimo. Ensconced in Don Tommasino’s villa, Michael suspects a plot afoot. Partly to gain the upper hand, but also to drive a wedge in Mary and Vincent’s relationship, Michael sends Vincent on a knight’s errand to convince Altobello he intends to leave the Corleone family.
Don Altobello introduces Vincent to Don Licio Lucchesi, a spurious and shadowy political figure who also happens to be Immobiliare's chairman. In the meantime, Michael discovers that the Immobiliare deal is an elaborate swindle orchestrated by Lucchesi, Archbishop Gilday, and the Vatican’s accountant, Frederick Keinszig (Helmut Berger). To shore up his confidences within the church, Michael visits Cardinal Lamberto, who is favored to become the next Pope. Recognizing Lamberto as a true man of the cloth, Michael acquiesces to his first confession in thirty years; suffering a momentary breakdown, admitting he ordered his brother, Fredo’s murder. Lamberto concurs with Michael’s self-assessment he has committed grave sins. And yet, Lamberto suggests no man – not even Michael – is beyond redemption. Now, Altobello hires Mosca (Mario Donatone), an aged hitman to stage Michael’s brutal assassination at the opera house. Disguised as priests, Mosca and his son murder Don Tommasino, Michael vowing over his old friend's casket to sin no more. Lamberto is elected as Pope. But his honorable intentions sound the death knell to this plotter’s scheme in the Immobiliare deal. Michael designates Vincent as the new Don, but only if Vincent agrees to end his dalliances with Mary. Like Michael before him, Vincent is driven by power which supersedes his love for Mary. He spurs her – gently – though nevertheless, cruelly.
What plans to be a pleasant night at the opera turns devastating as Altobello and Michael’s henchmen quietly clash behind closed doors. Mosca takes out Michael’s protection, one armed guard at a time and ever-drawing nearer to Michael himself while the performance is taking place. However, Vincent discovers several of the garroted bodies and hurries to escort Michael from the theater. Meanwhile, Connie watches with opera spectacles from her box at the opera as Altobello consumes the poisoned cannoli she has personally prepared for him. The old man quietly suffocates just as Anthony’s debut draws to a close. In Rome, Don Tommasino’s bodyguard, Calò (Franco Citti) meets Don Lucchesi, claiming to bear a message from Michael. As he pretends to whisper it in Lucchesi’s ear, Calò instead stabs the wily fraud in the jugular with his own glasses. Coppola now moves into his even more operatic grand finale of death; Michael’s hired guns taking care of Gilday, shot, then, needlessly thrown off a balcony at the Vatican. On the steps of the opera house, tragedy strikes closer to home; Mosca, taking dead aim at Michael and getting off several rounds, killing Al Neri and wounding Michael.
Vincent permanently removes the threat by putting an expert marksman’s bullet between Mosca’s eyes. Only then does Mary reveal to all she has been mortally stricken in the chest with a bullet meant for Michael. As she suddenly slumps back, caught in Michael’s arms, the realization of her lifeless body sends Michael into a fit of hysteria. If The Godfather Part III has its own tour de force moment, it remains this exquisite evocation of parental loss; Coppola silencing Pacino’s erratic screams of unholy grief with an overlay of Carmine Coppola’s tender underscore; only revealing the brevity of Michael’s pain in a single gasp at the end, resonated in reciprocated blank stares of disbelief from Kay and Vincent who share in the loss. We fade to a scene on Don Tomassino’s property some years into the future; Michael, hunched, decrepit and having lost his will to go on, clutching a rose; his mind turning toward a series of flashbacks of all the woman his life of crime has betrayed; the montage culminating in his own quiet collapse and death; the journey to ‘greatness’ having concluded with a whimper, rather than a bang.
The Godfather Part III is a movie that desperately wants to be considered the last word in the Corleone family saga. Regrettably, its misfires are many and more than occasionally distracting; Coppola’s own family nepotism in casting daughter, Sophia in the pivotal role of Mary Corleone, a major stumbling block from which, arguably, the picture never recovers. The younger Coppola is clearly out of her depth, incapable of revealing genuine love or even masqueraded lust without a sort of wretchedly awkward adolescence, neither as heartfelt in its puppy-like adoration of her elder cousin, nor as endearing or even competent to convince us she is anything but casually impressed with this temperamental young Lochinvar who has supposedly fired her heart. There is zero chemistry between Sophia Coppola and Andy Garcia, the latter appearing more amused than interested in procuring ‘an affair; Garcia’s antsy outbursts played strictly as shtick and occasionally for laughs. Garcia lacks the unpredictability, if not the ruthlessness, of James Caan’s Sonny; queerly aping the superficial mannerisms of his predecessor without fully comprehending Caan’s – or his own – motivations; the playacting devolving into mere pantomime as a result. The elder statesmen of this ensemble, particularly Talia Shire’s Connie and Diane Keaton’s Kay are relegated to supporting bit parts at best; the whole enterprise top-heavily situated on the Mary/Vincent romance.
Part of the success of the first two Godfather movies is they virtually rework the time-honored cliché of good vs. evil in a decidedly off kilter way; told from the perspective of severely flawed, but strangely empathetic criminals who are more misunderstood than maniacal. Part III is almost a subversion – or perhaps, perversion – of this revisionist take on organized crime; Michael, desiring legitimacy at any and all costs and pursuing it aggressively, hampered by the real ‘bad guys’ to which he no longer wishes to belong, and queerly considers himself apart from, despite the severity of his own crimes against humanity and his complete betrayal of his father’s legacy. This was well-established in the first movie and continued to resonate in the second as Brando’s inquire from the original film, “You spend time with your family? That’s good, because a man who doesn’t spend time with his family can never be a real man.” Despite his determination to step in as the head of the family, Michael’s entire reign as the Don, at least by his own father’s precepts, has been an absolute failure.   
Largely on the reputation of its predecessors, The Godfather Part III grossed $136,766,062, a sizable hit for Paramount. Yet artistically, the picture continues to lack something of Coppola’s total investment to tell this new chapter in the Corleone family saga and break any new ground in the process. Indeed, there are whole portions that seem more re-purposed than refreshing; ‘old hat’ and careworn; a sort of creative ennui creeping in; perhaps, even an understanding all this has been done before – and to far better effect – in the previous two movies. Arguably, Coppola felt an obligation to revisit the same material in a highly familiar way to reacquaint a new generation of film goers with ‘the traditions’ of his mob movies. We must also consider what the passage of time between Parts II and III had done to contemporary film goer’s tastes – sixteen years: a lifetime in movie-land history, the culture having morphed beyond and decidedly away from the seventies low-budget verve for gritty reality, and into the eighties superficial patina, thirsty for more gloss than substance on the whole. At least Part III is immeasurably blessed to have Gordon Willis once more behind the camera as the constant link between all three films – stylistically speaking.
And yet, it is Coppola’s ‘old-school’ staging techniques – responsible for some trend-setting timelessness in the first two movies – that now, ironically have dated Part III rather badly. With so many of the principle cast from the first two Godfather's already wearing toe tags, Part III also suffers from an infusion of too many underdeveloped ‘new’ characters at odds or disconnected from these returning veterans in the franchise. A good many of the new arrivals merely float in and out of the story without establishing either their characters’ motivations or making any sort of genuine impact. Finally, there are the aforementioned copycat moments; deliberate homage, inserted by Coppola to suggest some sublime and inescapable symmetry to these tales or simply his cop out to resolve certain complexities within the narrative storytelling? The jury remains out on this matter, although it is highly unlikely a complete reprieve for this final chapter in the Corleone family saga will ever be forthcoming.
It has been eight years since Paramount Home Video first released The Godfather: The Coppola Restorations on Blu-ray – at the time, a ground-breaking and very costly last ditch effort to rescue the fragile and decaying emulsion off the original camera negatives. I recall so well popping these discs into my Blu-ray player back in 2008, not exactly certain what to expect – having experienced the first two Godfather's only in deplorably faded and grainy home video masters, but herein, quite unexpectedly, suddenly and extraordinarily revitalized under the supervision of film preservationist, Robert A. Harris. Gordon Willis’ sepia-richness restored, I can honestly say I was immediately and overwhelmingly blown away by the results: not so much anymore; as hi-def mastering technologies have steadily improved – or rather, caught up to where these efforts were seven years ahead, but also, as imperfections that seemed minor and forgivable back in 2008, now appear as absent-minded oversights in need of correction.
Indeed, only the first two movie transfers included in this set are advertised as ‘restored’, the elements used for Part III, promoted as ‘remastered’ for this home video release; a fine line of distinction. It bears further mention that by the time Mr. Harris and his team got their hands on these original camera negatives they were so utterly dirty and in such a delicate state of disrepair they could no longer be run through any standard film laboratory printing equipment, resulting in a digital, rather than photo-chemical restoration. Both the original 1972 movie and its’ ’74 sequel have been reassembled in 1080p hi-def, utilizing the very best archival materials culled from innumerable sources; all of them scanned in at 4K resolution at a time when such preservation techniques were not only in their infancy but virtually unheard of, having since become the norm.
Thousands of instances of dirt and scratches were digitally removed. Alas, Gordon Willis’ exceptionally dim cinematography reveals some glaring nicks and chips and occasional dot crawl still present. The original grain structure is exceptionally well preserved herein, save a few brief shots and/or cutaways in which it inexplicably can appear slightly exaggerated and/or clumpy.  For the first time, all three Godfather movies are given an extremely accurate rendering of what the original 35-millimeter projected print, viewed in its opening night splendor, must have looked like; a true phenomenon of the digital age, once inconceivable on any home video setup. Concurrently, the audio masters also have been given a superior cleanup; dialogue and SFX sounding decade’s more refined with the Rota/Coppola underscores given renewed life in 5.1 DTS.
Extras are plentiful, beginning with three thoroughly engrossing audio commentaries from Francis Ford Coppola; one to augment each movie. With exceptional recall, Coppola accounts the details of making each movie, does not appear to be reading from any prepared monologue or even personal notes, but frankly speaking off the cuff, delving into an impressive mental acuity and veritable archive of absolute riches sure to excite both novice and Godfather aficionado alike. The extras produced exclusively for this Blu-ray reissue, while good, pale in comparison to the ones ported over from the original LaserDisc releases from the mid-1990’s. The Making of The Godfather, as example, is all too brief; a glossy but glossed over ‘lost opportunity’ to give fans a comprehensive look behind-the-scenes; despite having a litany of interviews distilled into mere sound bites. 
We also get additional scenes, a featurette about the various locations used; another, on the Corleone ‘family tree’, and ‘the underscore; plus, Godfather World, another featurette extolling the vices Coppola endured while making the picture and a brief, but engaging short subject on the restoration of the first two movies. Again, to my thinking, the best features housed on a separate Blu-ray are all derived from the original DVD release; extensive audio only and archival interviews with Coppola where the camera just runs as Coppola spitballs ideas off the top of his head or illustrates for us the creative genius and process by which he made such artistic decisions and cuts to his masterpiece.  Finally, it all gets topped off with deleted scenes, a scrapbook of stills and theatrical reissue trailers made to promote the limited reissues. Bottom line: one could not have hoped for more or better.
The Coppola Restorations release of The Godfather was, and still is a readily available top-drawer compendium of at least two of the most influential movies of all time. While the restorations were cutting edge in 2008, it might behoove Paramount to have another go at further eradicating the minor imperfections that, on occasion, continue to draw undue attention, particularly if we ever get a UHD-Blu-ray release. Now, Bill Hunt of The Digital Bits (that by now ought to be everyone’s DVD and Blu-ray Bible) has hinted to have seen The Godfather projected in true 4K, and has stuck his neck out by adding Paramount Home Video is definitely working on a UHD Blu-ray release by the end of this year. If it’s true, and I certainly have no reason to doubt Mr. Hunt, then it makes the upcoming individual Blu-ray reissues all the more perplexing. The Godfather is celebrating its 45th anniversary with a reissue of the individual movie discs only, presented with new cover art and virtually no extras outside of Francis Ford Coppola’s previous recorded audio commentaries.
No reissue of the box set with its added discs of bonus content, and no announcement – as yet – for a day-in-date debut in 4K. Disappointing. But hey, it’s Paramount; the studio that still has not come around to releasing their Oscar-winning Best Pictures, The Greatest Show on Earth (1952) and Ordinary People (1980) to Blu-ray; ditto for getting the mountain to move on any sort of competent scans of the first two Mission Impossible movies (1996-2000); Witness (1985), Regarding Henry (1991), etc. et al. To say nothing of the hundreds of back catalog titles still MIA in hi-def. I mean, isn’t it about time we were given Roman Holiday (1950) on Blu-ray?!?! Dumb! Dumb! Stupid! But I digress. While we wait for the studio to get off its lump with a true 4K scan, The Godfather Trilogy on Blu-ray looks pretty sweet. But get the collection to take full advantage of the extra features and forget these idiotic reissues.  Very highly recommended!
FILM RATING (out of 5 -5 being the best)
The Godfather – 5+
The Godfather Part II – 5+
The Godfather Part III – 4
4.5 overall