“We romanticize these people—make movies about ‘em—and they’re nothin’ but heartless scum.” This statement by fictional New York District Attorney Arthur Branch (from the incomparable Law & Order) regarding the mob pretty much mirrored my own thoughts the first time I sat through The Godfather. However, having spent the better part of the last few weeks on this past year’s films, I have to say I’ve found a new respect for Coppola’s masterpiece—even though I’m not yet to the point of finding enjoyment in it. For me, The Godfather contains a lot of “thrill violence”—horrifyingly bloody scenes just for the shock of them. I’m not into that. Yet, underneath all the murders is a story centered around two men: one struggling to come to terms with aging and his decreasing relevance, the other trying to find his place in the world without resorting to the livelihood of his kin. At its core, then, The Godfather is about family.

And families are complicated.

Two Godfathers: Michael and Vito.

Don Vito Corleone is “the Godfather,” the patriarch of the family, the head of the family’s business, the leading mobster of the city. Michael Corleone is the youngest son, the war hero, the college boy. Vito doesn’t want Michael to have the life of a mob boss, and Michael doesn’t seem to even consider the family business. But when Vito barely survives an assassination attempt, Michael has a change of heart about getting involved in the violence (spoiler alert!) and even volunteers to assassinate two of the men who were responsible for the hit on his father. Though Michael protests that his desire to kill the conspirators is “not personal” but “strictly business,” it is clear to the film’s viewers that Michael’s motive is intensely personal: his family takes precedence above everything else. He later repeats this idea to his incompetent brother Fredo: “Fredo, you’re my older brother, and I love you. But don’t ever take sides with anyone against the Family again. Ever.”

Like his father before him, Michael puts his family before all else, but that propels him into a life of deceit, crime, and outrageous violence—all characteristics that he in his former life as a World War II military hero had presumably fought against. Before his death, Vito expresses again to Michael how he had never wanted such a life for Michael and how he had “worked [his] whole life…to take care of [his] family.” He continues, “And I refused to be a fool dancing on a string held by all those – big shots. I don’t apologize; that’s my life. But I thought that…when it was your time that – that you would be the one to hold the strings.” In their shared devotion to the Corleone family, Vito and Michael are inextricably linked. The future that Vito intended for Michael (a life outside crime) is not to be his fate. Ironically, Michael does “hold the strings” by the end of the film, having eliminated his most powerful rival dons and earned the loyalty of his father’s cronies. Michael has become the puppet master. His professed love for his family notwithstanding, the youngest Corleone son is more ruthless and conniving than his father, not even hesitating to order (and then observe) the death of his traitorous brother-in-law. That’s pretty “scummy,” if you ask me.

For Me Then…

The Corleone family.

What I’ve been pondering most from this past week’s viewing of The Godfather is just to whom the title refers. I had always assumed it meant Vito, the Godfather at the film’s opening; but it could very well refer to Michael, who is portrayed as almost the ultimate Godfather at the film’s close—stoic, brutal, unreachable, unknowable (even to his wife Kay to whom he coolly lies regarding Carlo’s death). Why this matters really comes down to the concept of fate. Was it Michael’s destiny all along to rule the Corleone family? Could he have escaped the life of a mobster, or is the pull of the family unit so much stronger than anything else that there’s just no chance for him to lead a “normal” life? I think The Godfather indicates the latter statement. From the opening wedding scene, the family reigns supreme—Vito establishes this rule when he insists the traditional family picture will not be taken until the entire family is present. It’s admirable to be so devoted to one’s family, but in this film bonds of kinship are like blood oaths: just by virtue of their birth, Corleones have signed a lifelong pact to promote the family’s interests at whatever cost. This type of unquestioning, morally bereft family loyalty might be even more disturbing than the film’s pervasive violence.