Offer He Can’t Refuse: The Conflict of Italian-American Identity in The Godfather (1972)

Dear Reader,

Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather (1972) is a polysemic film, open to a feast of interpretations, from a critique of American capitalism, to an in-depth yet romanticized vision of the Italian-American Mafia, and from a return or revitalization of the gangster genre, to a cynical subtextual commentary on the corrupt institutions of American business, politics, and society – all substantial and popular lenses of analysis for a film of the New Hollywood era. As a potentially new perspective for a close-reading analysis, this post will examine the character of Michael Corleone as a vehicle for internalized ego-destructive ideology, embedded in the series of contrasts between his identification with the Italian and Italian-American world of the Mafia “family,” and that of his American assimilation. For the purpose of this examination, Michael’s negotiation of identity will be divided into five parts: Introduction, Post-Assassination attempt, the Sollozzo-McCluskey Murder, the Sicilian exile, and his prodigal return.

For my personal experiences watching The Godfather, please click here, otherwise please enjoy the rest of this post!

First, the definition of a couple terms is required, and a number of observations regarding the other male members of the Corleone family. According to film scholars, Harry M. Benshoff and Sean Griffin, America’s dominant or hegemonic ideology, or system of codes, values and beliefs that can be encoded in cultural texts (like films), is White, patriarchal, and capitalist, and the most effective forms of ideology are those which are subtly internalized without resistance. However, when negative self-concepts about race, ethnicity, or culture are validated internally by members of the minority group, this ego-destructive behavior results in a fractured sense of self-identity (416, 419-20). While Michael embodies this fragmented identity, the Don, Sonny, and Fredo also illustrate specific Italian-American stereotypes. Sonny is sexually charismatic with a fiery temper, and is exceptionally violent, although not overtly so to women and children; interestingly, despite his devotion to the “family,” his first scenes are those of infidelity. Fredo, the weak-willed and borderline pathetic middle child, is nobody’s first pick as possible Don; he is not cruelly malicious, just not particularly bright and is driven by his desperate need to assimilate into his own family. Vito, as the grandfatherly patriarch of the famiglia Corleone, presents a unique case, which will be discussed at the conclusion of the close-reading.

The Godfather’s first third constructs a sequence of juxtapositions to distinguish the two worlds Michael inhabits and yet remains an undecided, reluctant outsider. The film begins with Gordon Willis’ “dark cinematography” underlining the dark and shady nature of the Corleone business, in contrast to the well-lit exteriors of Connie’s wedding, where Michael makes his entrance. This disparity is further heightened by the presence and discussion of Luca Brasi, the Corleone “offer,” and the jovial atmosphere of this auspicious familial ceremony. Michael greets few people, immediately dances with his non-Italian girlfriend Kay, and instantly stands out due to his
decorated military uniform. He stands apart from the hyperactive and impulsive Sonny, who breaks a camera one moment and cheats on his wife with one of his sister’s bridesmaids in another, as well as the drunk Fredo. The most important line appears in this scene, which defines Michael’s internal struggle and his primary conflict through this film and the next two chapters in the trilogy: “That’s my family, Kay. It’s not me.”

Following the wedding, Coppola employs popular music of the 1940s in visual and aural opposition to the violent dealings of the Corleone family. Overlaying such artists as Tommy Dorsey, Irving Berlin, and even earlier, the fictitious teen idol Johnny Fontane, played by the real-life crooner Al Martino, in the style of other schmaltzy Italian crooners like Perry Como or Frankie Avalon, cements the intrinsic nostalgia of the film’s era. Exemplified in the Los Angeles sequence, beautiful images of Golden Age Hollywood and Beverly Hills are set to Tommy Dorsey’s
“Manhattan Serenade,” in tonal dissimilarity to the violence and cruelty to come, in the negotiations with film producer Woltz. However, parallels could be drawn between the romanticized vision of Hollywood which was and is perpetuated around the “Golden Age,” and possible interpretations of Coppola’s depiction of the Mafia, with its dark and corrupt underbelly, struggling to maintain control yet remaining on the fringes. Soundtrack is manipulated much to the same effect in Martin Scorsese’s Goodfellas (1990), conjuring images laden with nostalgia for a different era of consensus and romanticized consumerism.

Michael himself exists within that isolated world of nostalgia, insulated by his fulfillment of the American Dream. He has gone to college, served his country, and is now enjoying the fruits of his societal contributions, by Christmas shopping with Kay, and a setting complete with snowy streets and a rendition of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” Michael, according to Italian studies and film scholar Robert Casillo, is an exemplary illustration of the generational product of second- and third-generation Italian-Americans, which “follow the pattern of ‘straight-line’ assimilation,” where through “upward mobility, rising middle-class status, and out-group marriage,” their ethnic identity, preserved by the first- or second-generation is “continually eroded through . . . increasing assimilation” (57). Only by the intrusion of the outside world is the apparently, fully-assimilated Michael made aware of his father’s assassination attempt. Michael runs away from the lights of the consumer-friendly store to the phone booth in the front of the frame. By doing so, he also runs away from Kay and encloses himself in the phone booth, and leaving her in the dark. He excludes her once again when he returns to the Corleone compound without her. However, even when he enters, barely anyone acknowledges his presence, and he remains on the outskirts of the conversation, looking at a loss in the midst of this “business” discussion, and is told to stay at home so he won’t get involved. Therefore, in both identity-worlds, he is neither a part nor completely apart, what Casillo further calls the plight of the “hyphenated Americans,” where they remain “imperfectly assimilated and self-consciously outside the social mainstream (64). While in the military, Michael was the soldier and his family the civilians, but now he is the “civilian” in the war. Now that the “Italian” family has intruded in his private, insulated “American” world, he demands to go the hospital to visit his father – easily one of the darkest and most ominous hospitals, unlit by the usually bright fluorescents associated with medical facilities. Despite his social and mental protests in differentiating himself from his family, it is in this darkened hospital that he takes his first substantial step toward the “family” – in his bedside pledge to his crying father: “I’m with you now. I’m with you.” Although he affects the serious and menacing exterior of a gangster (popping his coat collar and stuffing his hand “rod” into his pocket), in order to protect his father, at this point, he is still pretending. As a test, Michael certainly passes: his hands do not shake as Enzo’s do; he remains calm and tactful in considering his father’s safety; and even takes a firm sock in the face from a corrupt Irish police chief.

Michael’s marred face becomes a visual exteriorization of his moral corruption, or his first visible embrace of the “Italian” family, or what he likely thinks are emblems of his ethnic identity – toughness, passion, honor, dedication to family, and a willingness to get his hands dirty to protect those ideals. Sonny even looks on in pride and kisses him on the face, playing the satisfied older brother who gleams at his kid brother’s first fight. Beyond his physical willingness to support his family, it is his evolving mental and emotional fortitude that brings him to proposing that he murder Sollozzo and McCluskey. In that specific scene, as Michael describes his plan to kill (cementing his inevitable role in the business as its eventual leader), the camera slowly dollies (or zooms) in – building tension – Michael’s face, young and still bruised, begins to change and contort, especially when his eyes appear to become darker. Every bit of the frame is darker, including the whites which become an aged cream and the blood, which looks almost acidic and rusty (similar to a Caravaggio painting). From this point until the murder, Michael is in training, and in this subtle contrast, an interesting role reversal emerges. As a decorated veteran, Michael has likely killed people, from far away and potentially up close (despite Sonny’s complaints), and yet for the family, he has yet to “make his bones,” by killing outside the state-sponsored, socially-acceptable sanctions of American warfare.

Michael’s first “family” kill is a sequence of considerable depth, when considering Michael’s arc. Photos cannot do it justice, so please watch the scene.

Within the space of Louis’ Italian-American Restaurant, another parallel is drawn – a “family” kill in a family restaurant, where tables will be knocked over by flailing bodies and rusty, red-brown blood will spray on white tablecloths. Michael speaks his best, yet sparse, Sicilian to the fluent and talkative Sollozzo, before making his way to the dirty bathroom. He scrambles around for the gun, but prior to exiting the bathroom, Willis utilizes an in-depth shot, with the out-of-focus bathroom stall in the foreground, Michael in the middle ground (literally and morally), and the door to the execution in the background. With his back facing the camera, he smoothes his hair and prepares, and without a mirror in that dank room, the once-swaying bathroom stall door steadying, and the loud ambient noise silencing any mumbling or heavy breathing, Michael goes forward. Similar to the planning of the murder, the camera slowly approaches Michael, giving him somewhat of a silent soliloquy, where his eyes shift, his chin quivers, and the ambient sounds heighten and climax with the murder.

Following Michael’s Sicilian exile, Don Vito’s response to the murder implies his disappointment and despair over his youngest son’s departure from his assimilated American identity, which the Don silently yet proudly helped construct. This sentiment is explicitly stated later in the film, once Michael succeeds leadership. With the women and children downstairs, in the kitchen or playing outside, and the sulking Carlo sitting in the dining room (resentful over his exclusion from the business), Vito is still content to have his family all around him after surviving the attempted assassination. However, while Sonny remains prideful in his brother’s inclusion into the “family” and Tom credits Michael with the successful plan of execution, the Godfather’s first question is “Where’s Michael?” Upon hearing the bloody details, his response is to close his eyes, shake his head, and wave them all away, expressing the heartbreak of a parent who feels that he has failed in protecting his son, and ultimately, saving his son for all the hopes he embodied. Aside from Michael’s more internalized struggle with where his loyalties lie, socially, morally, and culturally, it is Vito that illuminates the conflict so sweetly and tragically.

In the “old country,” Sicily, Michael is presented with what might either be the illusion of or the last genuine opportunity for a “normal” life, this time not assimilated into American culture but into his Italian culture of origin. He walks slowly and does not carry a lupara like his two bodyguards, but his Sicilian is not yet fluent and his still-injured face denotes him as an outsider. Like a native, he walks the land, drinks the wine, and speaks the language, but when he is confronted (as he is by Vitelli), he instead embraces the sure, confident, and tactful traits of his Italian-American side – the Corleone identity – he speaks English, is articulate, and intimidates with both charm and a powerful threatening intensity. When marrying Apollonia, a virgin beauty of the land, a number of questions arise: is he attempting to rebuild his insulated, domestic world, is he returning to his Italian roots, or does he project his own innocence onto the youthful vessel of natural, cultural purity. As illustrated in the novel, The Godfather often contrasts gaps between generations as well as between the old country and the “new world,” evidenced by the parallel editing of the warm and golden Sicilian countryside, and the cold and bleak streets of New York in the midst of a gang war. Although even in this rural paradise, the constant presence of “family” is symbolized by the omnipresence of Fabrizio, Calò, and their lupare. While the tension mounts stateside, culminating in Sonny’s murder, Michael, unlike in the film’s introduction, actively and wholeheartedly participates in the Sicilian wedding practices, processions, and rituals. However, with Apollonia’s death and Michael’s almost eternal silence on the tragedy, that final endeavor to commit to one identity or the other is lost forever.

Returning to Don Vito Corleone, a brief comparison to Michael illustrates stark differences in their search for a cohesive identity. As a point of reference, Vito successfully balances family, business and the “family” business, as well as fear, respect, and love. He dies what could be considered the “perfect death,” for he perishes on an extraordinary afternoon with this grandson in the tomato garden. In the end, he is surrounded by his loving family, his doting “family,” the enemies that respected him, and those under his “care.” Michael is afforded no such clarity at the time of his eventual death, and is never able to achieve such a balance.

The Godfather’s final act displays the visual and spiritual transformation within Michael, who, to an engaged viewer, will see the changes in his once-boyish face, his heavily-darkened eyes, and the way he speaks with a deadly capability and certainty. He returns once more to Kay, making the promises and pledges that will consume the rest of his life – to make the “family” legitimate and respectable. Ultimately, she gets in the dark car and makes her own vows, which over the years, result in a marriage and two children. Michael, now the interim Don, sits in his father’s chair. The office is not so dark now, and light filters in through the window, and Vito, dressed in gray, lingers like a ghost. What the former Godfather expressed implicitly in the middle of the narrative, he says explicitly in the end:

“But I, I never wanted this for you. I work my whole life, I don’t apologize, to take care of my family […]. But I always thought that when it was your time, that you would be the one to hold the strings. […] Well, there wasn’t enough time, Michael. There just wasn’t enough time.”

The film’s conclusion, the subject of extensive study for its use of cross-cutting, overlapping sound, dialogue, and music, and symbolism, is metaphorically, the death and the birth of Michael Corleone. Laden with Italian, Italian-American, and Catholic imagery, he participates in a particularly violent aspect of American capitalism, a hostile takeover. While celebrating this new life brought into the world and family, Michael’s cavalcade of assassinations transitions him into the underworld and the “family,” a baptism in blood and firepower.

In conclusion, The Godfather possesses several Italian stereotypes – the patriarch, the sad clown, the silent mamma, and the fiery and fiendish lover – yet the most self-destructive, in terms of identity and self-expression, is that of Michael, a character torn by two worlds, neither safe from nostalgia nor pervading moral corruption.

For two more epic chapters of The Godfather saga, Michael Corleone will struggle to rid himself and the family of all internalized flaws, by transforming the business into a legitimate and respectable facet of American politics, economics, and society. At this, he will never succeed, whether by mingling with politicians, expanding to Las Vegas or Cuba, leaving the New York shares to the emerging gangs and families for drug-trafficking, and finally, giving financial incentives to the Catholic Church. By Michael’s inevitable end, he cannot retain either the assimilated American identity of his youth nor the respected yet ruthless Italian-American identity of his father; he cannot wash away the blood of friends, family, and enemies alike; he cannot go home again, and this ego-destructive, soul-shattering, and identity-mutilating struggle first to the top and then to the bottom, kills him – leaving his lone blank corpse slumped in the dust, where not even a dog will take notice.

Works Cited

1. Benshoff, Harry M. and Sean Griffin. America on Film: Representing Race, Class, Gender, and Sexuality at the Movies. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell Publishing Ltd., 2009. Print.
2. Casillo, Robert. Gangster Priest: The Italian American Cinema of Martin Scorsese. Toronto, Can.: University of Toronto Press, 2006. Print.
3. Godfather, The. Dir. Francis Ford Coppola. Perf. Al Pacino, Marlon Brando, James Caan, Robert Duvall, John Cazales, Diane Keaton, and Talia Shire. Alfran Productions & Paramount Pictures, 1972. Film.