THE GODFATHER PART III
With Al Pacino, Andy Garcia, Sofia Coppola, Eli Wallach, Talia Shire, Diane Keaton, and Joe Mantegna.
Even more guilt is present in The Godfather Part III than in its two predecessors, but this time it is merely acknowledged, not celebrated, and the crimes that occasion it are only memories–crimes that are recalled and discussed but not recapitulated in flashbacks. Emotionally speaking, these crimes boil down to one above all–Michael Corleone (Al Pacino) having ordered his own brother Fredo (John Cazale) killed for participating in a plot against him near the end of part two. In most respects the new film is devoted to playing out the full implications of that remembered act.
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To my mind, the single most impressive aspect of the new film is Pacino’s performance. In order to describe what makes it so different from his previous performances as Michael Corleone, it’s necessary to refer to Manny Farber’s 1962 essay “White Elephant Art vs. Termite Art.”
As noted above, the performances in the film are extremely variable; they run all the way from Pacino’s termite performance in a white elephant part to Andy Garcia’s charismatic white elephant performance in a white elephant part to Eli Wallach’s white elephant performance in a termite part. (As Don Altobello, a rival godfather and apparent friend of the Corleones, Wallach brings out an arsenal of show-off Method mannerisms designed to illustrate the wily machinations of a crafty old Sicilian codger.)
One way of dealing with this problem, of course, is to view Michael as a stand-in for Coppola himself–sick about the violence that led to his fame and power and eager to rid himself of it, but finally unable to, just as Coppola himself finally capitulated when he agreed to make the film at all. Certainly much of Michael’s dialogue throughout the film suggests this close identification: “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.” “I feel like I’m getting wiser now. When I’m dead, I’m gonna be really smart.” And finally, in a self-conscious capper that prepares us for the final sequence: “We’re in Sicily, it’s opera.” (The opera in question, attended by the Corleones in Palermo because it features the debut of Michael’s son Anthony, is Pietro Mascagni’s celebrated one-act Cavalleria rusticana, which premiered exactly a century ago. The opera’s ear-biting scene, echoed in an incident early in part three, is perhaps its only direct thematic relevance; while what we see of the opera resembles a rural passion play, it’s actually a romantic melodrama. A much closer thematic parallel to the film’s plot is offered in a Sicilian puppet show Vincent and Mary watch earlier in the movie.)
