Vito Corleone

The Sound of Nostalgia: Nino Rota’s “Godfather Waltz”

in The Craft of The Godfather/Tropes and Leitmotifs

By Rebekah Gonzalez

Nino Rota once said, about his work as a composer, “They reckon my music’s just a bit of nostalgia plus lots of good humor and optimism? Well, that’s exactly how I’d like to be remembered.”

It is ironic, then, that his best-known work is the score to The Godfather—a film that, on the surface, offers violence and loss rather than “good humor and optimism.” Yet Rota’s Godfather score draws out aspects of the film that lie beneath the surface— its dark humor and its nostalgia —and helps give the film’s nostalgia its emotional pull and complexity. As a period film, its story set in the mid-1940s, though filmed through the scope of a 1970s camera, The Godfather cannot help but become subject to the yearning for a time before. That general nostalgia is amplified through another more specific nostalgia found within the film—the nostalgia that gives a charge to Vito and Michael Corleone’s relationship. This type of nostalgia is concerned with the future, but a future that has been tenuously predetermined.

It’s as if “The Godfather Waltz” says, “I never wanted this for you, Michael,” before Vito Corleone himself can say it.

Rota, we’ll see, translates the nostalgia of the father-son relationship into the music of the Main Title or “The Godfather Waltz.” Rota focuses on the dualities of the relationship. While the song serves as a roadmap for Michael’s future, it simultaneously explores Vito’s struggle with granting the reins of his deadly business to his son. The film seems to be cognizant of what the future holds, but while Coppola makes the audience, as well as the characters in the film, work towards this ending, Rota surreptitiously clues them in through his Main Title. It’s as if the “Godfather Waltz” says, “I never wanted this for you, Michael,” before Vito Corleone himself can say it.

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(Nino Rota, “The Godfather Waltz,” from the soundtrack to The Godfather)

The film opens with a black screen, making the viewer’s first engagement with the film a purely auditory one. The trumpet plays the main melodic line of the waltz as the title of the movie appears and fades from the screen. After it plays through it once, Bonasera’s monologue begins. The only two characters on screen are Bonasera and Vito Corleone. It is clear that Vito is in a position of power. This is the first time the trumpet is attached to a scene with Vito. However, the connection is not made clear until the next time we hear the trumpet line at 46:05, when Vito is shot. As the dying Vito slides off his car and onto the ground, the melody is played at a higher key, making the powerful line of music sound frail.

At this point, it is clear that the trumpet is meant to represent Vito. It is never played when Vito is not somewhere in the shot. Directly after, the film dissolves into a shot of Radio City Music Hall, where Michael and Kay are leaving after watching a show. Although the trumpet fades away before Michael is on screen, this placement of the theme puts Michael in close proximity to his father’s haunting song. It also important to note that this is the last time we see Michael living a carefree and “normal” life; one not centered around the family business.

When Rota has the main melody played by oboe, not the trumpet we associate with Vito, he foreshadows how the role of Don will be passed onto Michael

The waltz is next used is at 58:08, and for the first time we hear past the trumpet solo. The trumpet solo is skipped and Rota instead uses an oboe to play the main melody. This choice solidifies the sense that the trumpet represents Vito, who has been sidelined by the hit on his life: the instrument that stood for him has gone quiet, and now other instruments must take up his theme. There is another dissolve into a shot of Michael; he is sitting outside looking down at his shoes. This time, instead of the trumpet solo fading out, the music continues into the traditional waltz portion of the piece: we sense, through the playing of theme, how the future of Vito’s business and legacy hangs over Michael’s head. During this particular moment of the waltz, the main melody has moved, once again, to the oboe. This orchestration foreshadows how the role of Don will be passed onto Michael, even though none of the characters expect it at this point in the film.

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While Michael is hiding out in Sicily, the Waltz does not follow him there, which is surprising given its folkloric elements. At 1:20 on the soundtrack version of the “Godfather Waltz,” Rota has an accordion play a couple of bars of the main melody before switching back to the oboe. The use of the accordion can directly be associated with Italian folk music. This moment in the score foreshadows Michael’s stay in Sicily. It would seem logical, then, that this specific moment in the piece would be used in tandem with the scene that it is derived from. However, its absence speaks to the physical separation between Michael and Vito, and roots the Waltz to the specific nostalgia found in their father-son relationship. Vito is upset when he learns that Michael has committed murders in the name of the family business.

We might say that, just as the film uses its geographical locations to show that they are physically separated, Rota’s score— specifically the fact that the “Godfather Waltz” is not played—expresses that the two are also emotionally separated at this point in the film. More generally, we might observe that, despite being the main theme of the film, the “Godfather Waltz” is used strikingly sparely across the film. This scarce use of the theme aligns with the scarce number of scenes that Michael and Vito share alone. Because these scenes are rare, they also become packed with meaning and purpose.

It is also important to note that the waltz is never used during a scene in which Michael and Vito are alone. Rather, the waltz is placed in between scenes that transition from Vito to Michael. It is used to link their two characters as well as to dramatize the tension between the two of them while Michael is on his way to becoming the Don. The tension is not personal, but it does affect their relationship. There seems to be a barrier, which derives partly from Vito’s pride and partly from their lack of alone time, which keeps Vito from speaking directly with Michael.

Through the waltz, Rota is able to verbalize, through the melancholic minor mode of the theme’s melody, what Vito struggles to tell Michael. The Waltz formulates Vito’s emotions throughout the film until he can say them himself, in a scene that Coppola added during filming because he felt that the two of them—and the film itself—needed this moment of emotional connection. It is not until we are over two hours into the film that Vito tells Michael that he once pictured his son as “Senator Corleone, Governor Corleone,” and confesses that “I never wanted this for you.”

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The “Godfather Waltz” is not heard again until the film’s closing scene. Although it is not technically considered the “Godfather Waltz,” the Finale draws upon the same waltz structure as well as the melody. The trumpet—lonely no more—blends with the rest of the orchestra as Michael’s hand is kissed and as he’s called, for the first time, “Don Corleone”; the swell of the music underlines that he has fully transitioned into his father’s position of power. The return of the trumpet also suggests that the trumpet was never associated with Vito himself, but rather with Vito as the Don. This, along with the cyclical structure of the waltz, alludes to the possibility that the family’s power might revive itself in this way again and again. Looking toward the past while announcing an eminent future, Rota’s “Godfather Waltz” establishes the particular nature of the Corleone family’s power: rooted in a never-ending nostalgia, and ever-seeking renewal.

Rebekah Gonzalez is a senior at UC Berkeley, where she is majoring in English and minoring in Music and Journalism. As the head of photography at the B-Side, a student-run music publication, she covers live concerts around the Bay Area. When she is not at a show, she spends her time thinking and writing about music.

Ripeness Is All: The Death of Vito Corleone

in Anatomy of a Scene

By Daniel Arias

Late in The Godfather, when Vito Corleone collapses to the ground and his grandson Anthony runs away to get help, viewers are left to look at the former Don’s body lying motionless in the shade of a trellised tomato garden. For five seconds, the only sounds that fill the soundtrack are the birds chirping and the wind blowing through the trees; then the image fades and funeral bells ring in the next scene. Unlike other critical scenes in the film, which rely on dramatic sequence and action, or intriguing dialogue between characters, this scene has a different way of registering with the viewer: its significance is encapsulated in the symbolic images that frame Vito’s final moments and the non-verbal gestures shared between Vito and his grandson.

It is no accident that the central prop of this scene is a watering gun — an implement which evokes power and the potential for violence but does so lightly, even ironically. (Water, not bullets, issue from its ‘barrel’.) Just before this scene, Vito speaks to his son, Michael, in the same garden. In that scene, Vito grapples with the guilt and uncertainty of having to transfer his power down to the next generation. Handing his status and the family business to Michael, he wants also to advise his son and ensure that the business can flourish. Though Michael is not unkind with Vito, neither is he overly deferential: the scene signals clearly that Michael, as the new Don, will make his own decisions.

This power dynamic is reenacted in the garden scene when Vito hands his grandson the watering gun. As a fatigued old grandfather, Vito can no longer stand for too long and he must sit down to watch Anthony play. From this position, Vito still seeks out any control he might have, shouting at his grandson, “over her, over here. Be careful, you’re spilling it, you’re spilling it. Anthony, come here, come here. Come here.” In the same way that he cannot control how Michael runs the family business, Vito cannot control how Anthony uses the water gun to feed the tomato vines. He has passed down the power to the new generation of his family: how they use that power, and how it affects them, are completely out of his control.

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Vito Corleone’s loss of power is reflected in his physical appearance and presentation. In the introductory scene of the film, Vito comes across as a powerful figure. His words carry weight and deliberation in his monologue; he wears a fine suit, and his hair neatly slicked back. By contrast, this scene presents Vito in casual clothing, and with unruly hair protruding out of his hat. His body appears languid and shriveled by age. It is a portrait of a powerless Don. Even the simple act of calling out to his grandson and extending his arm as gesture seems like an extra strain on his body.

The only gesture of power that Vito conveys in this scene is reliant on artifice. To get his grandson’s attention, Vito cuts an orange peel and fashions a pair of fangs for his mouth. In his final exertion of power before he dies, he pretends to be a big and scary monster to frighten his grandson. The performance of power is what leads to his death — both literally, in this scene, and symbolically for the overall story arc of his character. Through much of the film, Vito has performed the role of mafia Don as the ultimate exertion of his power, but in this scene, viewers are offered a glimpse into what Vito Corleone looks like without his presentation and appearance as the powerful Don Corleone. When he adorns himself with a pair of fangs, to play pretend with his grandson, the scene frames the gesture as a representation of how Vito performs throughout the film; the only difference here is that viewers witness the process of how Vito transforms himself to convey power, even if it is just to frighten his grandson for a brief moment.

Chasing his grandson through the tomato vines, Vito removes his orange peel fangs —and tellingly, it is at this moment that he erupts into the coughing fit that results in his collapse. Playing pretend with his grandson has been too much of a physical strain on his body; Vito gives up his monster act, and gives up the ghost. Likewise, Vito’s performance of power as Don has been the ultimate exertion in his life. He has structured his whole life and family around the power and persona of Don Corleone, and the toll ends up being too much to handle: Vito crumbles and falls in the tomato garden. He lies on the ground, next to the ripe, or possibly overripe, tomatoes that have burdened the vine branch with their own weight and have fallen to litter the soil.

At the very moment of Vito’s death, Coppola notably cuts to a more distant shot. The camera frames the tomato garden at the center of the backyard; in the confines of the garden lies Vito’s body. The image of Vito resting on the soil, the foundation of the garden, resonates with Vito’s role as the foundation of his family and business. He has worked and exerted himself completely to maintain the growth of his personal and family legacy. As a result, like the ripe tomatoes that must fall to make room for new ones, Vito must fall in order to make room for the new Don, his son.

There’s a sense that, even as this scene portrays the death of Vito Corleone, it also encapsulates his life. Vito has done everything in his power to plant, care for, and grow the seeds of his personal and business life. By laying the foundation for his generation and the generations to come after him, he has become the foundation. Coppola gives us as viewers five seconds to hear the wind and the birds chirping so that we register that this is a natural death — one that, for all its sadness, completes a cycle.

Daniel Arias is a graduating senior (’18) at the University of California, Berkeley, where he studies English Literature. In his spare time he binge-watches The Office for the millionth time.

“I’m With You Now”: Michael Corleone’s Journey to Become His Father’s Son

in Anatomy of a Scene/Character Studies

By Nikki Munoz

The title of The Godfather is a surprisingly cunning one: ultimately it turns out to refer not to Marlon Brando’s Vito Corleone, but rather to his son, Michael, portrayed by Al Pacino. It is Michael who comes to sit at the core of this film — Michael, whose character is its focus. Viewers watch as Michael evolves from the outsider of the family — the one with higher morals who keeps his distance; the war hero—to a character distinctly like his father, the family patriarch and Don of this crime world.

Within the arc of any dynamic character, the instances of change are often subtle and dispersed throughout the narrative. Yet sometimes there is a decisive moment — a moment when a character chooses a new path. For Michael Corleone, this pivotal moment falls about an hour into the three-hour film, when he goes to visit his father in the hospital and declares quietly to him, “I’m with you now.” Through the intricate interweaving of details that allude to this character’s before and after, as well as meticulous shots that depict a transfer of power, the film develops this scene as the exact moment when Michael transfers his allegiance fully into his father’s world.

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Taking one last look at his previous life: Michael on the threshold of the hospital

The scene begins with a shot of the outside of the hospital, though the building is not easily recognizable as one — the first of several subtle, almost surrealist elements that impart a feeling of isolation and strangeness to the scene. The building is overcome by darkness, only vaguely lit up by a sparse amount of Christmas lights hanging above the door, and a small Christmas tree with lights by the gated entrance. There appears to be a second tree even farther right, creating the feeling of a tilt. After being dropped off, Michael stands in front of the gate, hardly visible through the darkness, and looks after the car that has quickly driven off. His hesitation before climbing the stairs and entering the hospital is explicit. The uneven lights, clearly denser on the right, lean to the side that Michael is not looking toward, but indicate the directional path he will be following as the plot moves forward. As he looks into the darkness, a disconnect is clear. It is the last moment before Michael crosses an important threshold and, here, he appears as if he is taking one last look at his previous life.

An emptiness so strong as to be surreal: the maze of hospital hallways

The darkness of this shot then cuts to an only slightly brighter shot of an empty hallway. Michael soon fills that emptiness, becoming, seemingly, the only person filling an empty hospital. What follows Michael’s entrance to the empty hallway is a long buildup to him finally finding his father’s hospital room. It takes almost exactly one minute of Michael traveling through the hospital’s consistently empty rooms before he reaches what he set out for. This minute feels much longer than the mere sixty seconds, however, as Michael roams through a seemingly endless maze-like path of empty hallways. The emptiness is eerie, and never addressed nor explained — not even by Michael himself — and we as viewers sense that we’ve been enclosed in a surreal world, a world with an altered atmosphere.

Michael in this hospital is almost outside of the realm of the rest of the plot and there is a sense of the viewer being let in on a very intimate moment for Michael— the emptiness being a key element to this. Throughout this prolonged search, Michael’s singularity is emphasized. As the sole moving figure of an empty hallway, all focus is on him, just as the film’s entire plot molds itself around this character. This scene becomes about Michael looking for his father, rather than the fate of Vito himself.

The long journey through hallways eventually leads Michael to his father’s hospital room, at the end of yet another hallway. Michael, who had been running, slows down his pace and takes his time walking down this hallway. He then turns into the crevice at the hallway’s end, and from the viewer’s perspective, it looks like he has entered the room. Yet the next shot reveals that he is still outside of the closed door, pausing before opening it.

Michael’s long journey to arrive at Room 2

The viewer sees him linger outside of room 2, an interesting room number, considering how long it took him to find it — quite low for being so deep inside of the hospital, adding another layer of surrealism. Michael’s pause here is not the first, as we have already seen him hesitate outside of the hospital. His initial slow pace through the hallways is related, indicating an overall feeling of not needing — or wanting — to rush. He has not yet seen his father, meaning his life has not shifted — not yet. This lingering and hesitating does not occur after he has seen his father, only before — which means that this moment of him in front of room 2 is the last instance of it.

Once entering his father’s room, the focus remains on Michael, as viewers are only given a limited perspective of Vito in the hospital bed. Now in the room, the changes within Michael start to become outwardly apparent. The presence of another person, besides him and his father — the nurse — indicates that he now has to enact the role he is stepping into. And he does, in the form of giving orders. Michael says, “Nurse. Wait a minute. Stay here.” And while the nurse has no reason to be listening to Michael, someone she has just informed is not even supposed to be there, she does anyway. He asks her to move his father’s bed — and, again, there is no reason for the nurse to do as Michael says, but she does. Michael has begun to grasp the elements of a leadership role. With the giving of these orders, he saves his father, the man who was previously the self-possessed family patriarch.

After moving his father’s hospital bed into a different room, Michael leans over his recovering father—and we as viewers see him shift before our eyes. The use of physicality to display the power dynamics here is vital. Vito is unmoving — he is physically restrained and cannot move; viewers have just seen this emphasized, as his motionless body was pushed through the hallway by Michael and the nurse. By contrast, Michael has just demonstrated his adept mobility to the audience, as he scoured the hospital for his father and, further, pushed around Vito’s bed. Throughout this moment between them, Michael is leaning over his father the entire time, always at a much higher level. The uneven level of power is not used negatively here, as Michael and Vito share a compassionate moment as father and son. The key detail, however, is that this is a decision made by Michael. Michael has the power to lead what happens here; he is wholly in charge. Michael is in this hospital room willingly, unlike Vito. He even gives his father an order, in the form of “Just lie here, Pop.” It is said quietly and soothingly, but it is an order nonetheless.

“I’m with you now”: a moment of father-son connection, and of the transition of power

Michael then utters the sentence to his father that signals his turning point: “I’m with you now.” This sentence indicates that Michael was not with his father beforehand — and indeed he wasn’t; he was distant from his family and its operations.

Further, he is verbally committing himself to the family; this sentence acts as a kind of oath. Then, there is slight repetition when he says again, “I’m with you,” which solidifies his stance more firmly. Vito does not verbally respond, but gives a clear smile, as you can see a small tear coming from his eye. With their hands grasping each other’s and Michael looking down upon the current patriarch, this moment also acts as a kind of transition of power. The smile can also be seen as an approval — the go ahead for Michael to move forward in his path toward becoming The Godfather. While subtle and intimate, this moment holds a great amount of significance, rippling beyond the two people experiencing it.

After this key moment, the film cuts to Michael exiting the hospital: a quick, five seconds of him walking through the hallway before cutting to him outside of the hospital. His five-second exit is in stark contrast to his previous minute-long odyssey through those same hospital hallways: the transfer of power has been completed and there is no longer a pivotal moment to build up to. Michael is coming out of the hospital a different person; the brevity of this exit conveys a man who knows where he is going.

It is just five seconds, yet with a distant and serious look on his face and a quick pace, the difference in Michael is clear. He resembles the person we imagine Vito to have been in his heyday—the purposeful head of the Corleone family—more than the person he was when he stepped into the hospital. He is now well on his way to becoming the Godfather.

Nikki Munoz is entering her final year at University of California, Berkeley where she is majoring in English and minoring in Journalism. She is a writer for the Arts and Entertainment section of The Daily Californian, where she writes about all things arts-related, with a focus on theater.

Mixing Business with Pleasure: Alcohol in The Godfather

in Tropes and Leitmotifs

By Neha Zahid

Alcoholic beverages – wines and spirits – are an essential aspect of Italian-American dining culture. A meal without a drink is no meal at all. Similarly, a scene without a drink is incomplete.

In Coppola’s The Godfather – a film that follows the Corleones as they try to balance their dangerous business with their personal matters – there are sixty-one scenes that feature characters drinking. There are three dominant drinks in the film—scotch, red wine, and white wine—and each type of drink correlates to a distinct role in the film. Scotch is a “man’s drink”; red wine a family drink; and white wine a party drink.

There are three main drinks in the film: scotch, a “man’s drink”; red wine, a family drink; and white wine, a party drink. But the drinks start to blur as the line between what “business” and what’s “personal” begins to blur as well.

These associations are developed across the film but are especially highlighted in three scenes – the opening scene, Connie’s wedding scene, and the Las Vegas scene. Yet although these different drinks begin with distinct associations in the film, the drinks themselves start to blur as the title of “godfather” passes from Vito to Michael, and as the line between what’s “business” and what’s “personal” begins to blur as well.

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The films open with a conversation between Bonasera and Vito (the godfather), in which Bonasera pleads for the godfather’s help to seek avenge his daughter’s assaulters. Bonasera is explaining the details of the account and begins to tear up. He apologizes for this unmasculine moment and then Vito prompts his men to give Bonasera a drink — a glass of scotch.

Bonasera taking a shot of scotch to fortify himself

The first drink of the film is a hard, dark spirit. The lens focuses on Bonasera’s eyes and with his voice trembling, body shaking in shock and fear of the horrific events his daughter endured, he sips on the drink and settles it on his lap. The camera zooms out, his eyes no longer in focus, and his voice returns to normal. As Bonasera regains his composure, it becomes clear that the drink functions to give him courage – and, in effect, to regain his masculinity. But Vito’s scotch not only transfers power to his guest; it also asserts Vito’s superiority and power.

Scotch, throughout the film, is present during meetings between men; it is not observed in any scene involving women. It is presented as a peace offering during meetings, a welcoming gesture for males, and as a mode of relaxation for men. No matter the scene in which it appears, scotch symbolizes a significant power dynamic between the men who offer it and the men who drink it.

Directly after this encounter between Bonasera and Vito is Connie’s wedding scene. The choice of drink? Wine. Red wine. Red wine is an Italian necessity. It complements the lavish gathering and joyful energy. The film, in a future scene, alludes to the health benefits of red wine. Vito explains to Michael that he has been drinking more red wine in his old age to which Michael responds with, “It’s good for you.”

Clemenza guzzling red wine from a pitcher; red wine pitchers, as essential as centerpieces

The association between red wine and good health is developed throughout Connie’s wedding. Men are seen drinking red wine while dancing to upbeat music. Clemenza drinks red wine as a replacement for water after exhausting himself in a dance. Pitchers of wine rest on tables — as essential as the centerpieces. Women are seen sipping red wine during casual conversations. Michael and Kay drink red wine along with their meals during a private conversation in which Michael is explaining the roles of members of the Corleone family. Young women enjoy red wine while gossiping about men. Every guest, old or young, male or female, is seen with a glass of red wine in hand. Red wine, then, has a strong connection with not only Italian culture, but also family.

It serves to bring people together, regardless of the “business behind the scenes.” In the wedding scene, the viewers are repeatedly taken from the cheerful events of the wedding to the serious discussions in the Don’s private office. Despite these ominous transitions, we are constantly comforted by the presence of red wine.

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“Welcome to Las Vegas”—a world of light fun and white wine

White wine is starkly different than the former two types of drinks. There is just one scene that involves white wine – the scene in Las Vegas where Michael proposes to buy out Moe Greene. Here the only people drinking white wine are the women whom Fredo hires for Michael (Johnny Fontane is holding a glass of white wine but never actually takes a sip). Within this context, white wine serves more as a party drink. Its lightness, in both color and strength of alcohol, represents the environment it tries to create – light, fun, worry-free. And indeed, it is a fun environment: music is playing, the girls are smiling, the colors are vibrant.

Michael Corleone: no women, no white wine, when discussing business

However, Michael immediately prompts Fredo to get rid of the “party” elements – the women and the band – because he is “here on business.” Strictly business.

The drink of choice, we might infer, should have been scotch. Fredo insults Michael’s masculinity by presuming the fun environment as appropriate for his interaction with his brother. Fredo further insults Michael by disrespecting and questioning his decisions in front of non-family members.

Clearly there is a disconnect between Fredo’s and Michael’s understanding of masculinity. Fredo’s perceived role in the Corleone family as an outcast relates to his misinterpretation of masculinity, family, and business. Fredo understands masculinity to be fun – in which white wine, a seemingly more feminine drink, is the drink of choice – and does not understand the seriousness of the Corleone business. It is this misunderstanding that results in his disrespecting of Michael. Where Michael was expecting scotch, Fredo was providing white wine.

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Across the film, there is no clear progression of drinks: the type of drink is dependent on the scene and the environment. Sequential scenes tend to have a mix of drinks, primarily scotch and red wine, and the overlap further blurs the lines between business and personal.

Arguably the most prominent scene to highlight this blurred mixing of business and pleasure is the final scene. In Michael’s office, Kay is told by her sister-in-law Connie that Michael is responsible for the assassinations—including the murder of Connie’s husband Carlo—that have just occurred. In shock, Kay asks Michael if it truly was his doing. He says no — a lie.

Kay, in relief, hugs Michael and calls for a drink. But what drink will it be? The camera is angled on Kay pouring two glasses; the figure of Michael is in the background. We as viewers cannot see which drink she is deciding to pour.

Kay hugs Michael and calls for a drink—but what drink will it be? The audience, much like Kay, is left in the dark.

If Kay truly believed Michael, red wine would be the appropriate drink, as it represents celebration of the bonds of family. But then we see, from Kay’s perspective, Michael’s men approach him and shake his hands, honoring him as the new Don Corleone.

Kay Adams: pouring two drinks but drinking alone

The office door closes and Kay is shut out from the truth — and the look on her face does not suggest that this is a happy outcome; she has poured two glasses, but the shut door keeps the two of them from sharing drinks and sharing a moment. Perhaps the drinks should be scotch, to signify Michael’s masculinity, his power, and his capacity for deceit — a capacity that Kay may now recognize.

Ultimately, the audience, much like Kay, is left in the dark. The drink is unknown; the future of Michael and Kay, uncertain.

Neha Zahid (Cal ’19) is a junior double-majoring in Public Health and Biology. She is interested in the role of health policies in addressing health inequities at the local and global levels. In her free time, she enjoys playing soccer and is a member of the Cal Women’s Club Soccer team.

Men of the House: Modes of Masculinity in The Godfather

in Character Studies

By Janani Hariharan

In The Godfather, director Francis Ford Coppola introduces the lead character Michael Corleone in the most curious of ways: almost thirteen minutes after the film has begun, Michael walks into his sister’s extravagant wedding, wearing a full Marines Corps uniform with a non-Italian-American woman on his arm.

This choice on Michael’s part, and on the part of Coppola, signals how The Godfather — though produced in the early 1970s — is a film that reflects on the mid-1940s, a time when masculinity was being redefined in the wake of the Second World War. Historian Corinna Peniston-Bird argues that during the war, “opportunities for contraction, transformation and resistance were limited. Men did not have a choice whether to confirm or reject hegemonic [military] masculinity.” But what happened once the war ended, when men had to use their bodies outside of war? What happened when decorated war heroes like Michael had to come home and redefine their manhood without wartime’s existing framework?

This problem is tackled in The Godfather through Michael but extends to every man in his family. The Godfather dramatizes this crisis of masculinity through male characters’ interactions with other men. While Vito uses restrained movements to exert influence, Sonny’s big, brash, impulsive actions take up space. Michael, meanwhile, takes a page out of both their books, using his intelligence and audacity to command authority. Insofar as the film equates masculinity with power, these important male characters in the film use their bodies in different ways to secure their patriarchal positions at the head of the family.

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Power expressed in a small gesture: Vito signals for a drink for Bonasera

Vito Corleone controls his movements impeccably, using his body in only the most understated of ways to convey a sense of omnipotent authority over other men. This becomes evident as soon as the movie begins: the first time we as viewers lay eyes on any part of Vito, the camera faces Bonasera from over Vito’s shoulder. Bonasera, sitting on the other side of Vito’s desk, begins to sob at the plight of his daughter’s suffering. We see not a commanding body towering over Bonasera but an out-of-focus hand in the foreground, gesturing to a capo to bring Bonasera a drink in consolation, which he gratefully accepts.

Vito with the kitten: calculated gentleness

With just the use of one out-of-focus hand, the film situates Vito’s authority in methodical action and institutional relevance. His is a masculinity characterized by the deference and obedience of other powerful men — a masculinity that doesn’t need to exert power actively because the institution he has built on his own terms does it for him. Soon after the camera cuts to face Vito, we see him petting a small cat on his lap as he discusses matters of life or death with Bonasera. The cat, sprawled on his lap, luxuriates in his attention and infuses a playful energy into an otherwise dark and brooding room. Past critics have pointed to the cat as representative of hidden claws under Vito’s subdued façade. To me, however, a subtler detail stands out, particularly when Bonasera makes the grave mistake of asking Vito, “How much shall I pay you?” Vito immediately looks up at him from the corner of his eyes, affronted, and stops playing with the cat. He puts the cat on the table as if to mean serious business, stands up, and calmly confronts Bonasera about his infraction: “Bonasera, Bonasera. What have I done to make you treat me so disrespectfully?”

Playtime is over: the Don dispenses with the kitten

The cat in Vito’s hands is a symbol of the judicious way in which he wields power: he plays with the cat and gives it what it wants until he decides playtime is over. The Don giveth, and the Don taketh away, so to speak. These first few scenes illustrate what I would call Vito’s calculated gentleness: his body language is characterized by restraint, which highlights the authority he draws from simply being the head of the family and being revered and feared by so many.

Tenderness without calculation: the Don with his grandson

Of course, Vito’s authority changes after he steps down from his position as the copo dei capi. Vito becomes more of a family man, indulging in wine and time with his grandchildren. In an uncharacteristically tender moment toward the end of the film, we see Vito playing with his grandson in the garden. He presses an orange peel against his teeth to scare the child and lets him spray him with a water gun as they run around through the orange plants.

Poignantly, this is when his body gives out and he passes away. “I spend my life trying not to be careless,” Vito had admitted to Michael just moments before the film cuts to the garden scene. You would think that being a Mafioso is more life-threatening than being a grandfather, so it seems particularly biting that during his most unprotected moment in the film, he dies. Vito’s masculinity and power rest on the foundation of the institution he has built; when he finally moves without formal restraint, his vulnerability is not allowed to last. Within the scope of being a being a don, tenderness — when it’s not calculated — becomes weakness.

***

Reckless self-indulgence: Sonny with the bridesmaid

This weakness becomes apparent after an attempt is made on Vito’s life by a rival family, and the film offers up his oldest son, Sonny, as a solution to this newly created vacuum of power. But if Vito spends his life trying not to be careless, Sonny is a man who spends his life doing the complete opposite. Brash and impulsive, Sonny wields his body in intensely physical, violent ways; he asserts a hypermasculinity in relation to those around him, men and women alike. During Connie’s wedding, Sonny flirts with the maid of honor as his wife Sandra sits at another table. Soon after, we see Sonny and the bridesmaid in a bathroom having rough sex up against a door. Tom Hagen goes looking for him at Vito’s request and knocks on the door. “Sonny, are you in there? … the old man wants to see you,” Tom calls from the outside. “Yeah, one minute,” Sonny responds, before continuing with his pursuit.

If Vito maintains his masculinity through restraint in order to keep the family in power, Sonny asserts his through reckless self-indulgence, prioritizing his own needs and desires over those of the family. A particularly telling moment later on in the film illustrates this difference of worldview between father and son. In a meeting about the possible growth of the drug trade in their area, Vito and Sonny learn from a fellow Mafioso that the Tattaglia family would be willing to work together to ensure the Corleone family’s security. Sonny, immediately interested, butts into the conversation: “You’re telling me that the Tattaglias would guarantee our invest—” But Vito does not allow him to finish. “Wait a minute,” Vito tells Sonny, as he looks back at him, irked and disappointed, and proceeds to elegantly divert the conversation away from the infraction.

After the meeting ends, Vito tells Sonny to stay behind and reproaches him: “Santino … what’s the matter with you? I think your brain is going soft from all that comedy you’re playing with that young girl. Never tell anybody outside the family what you’re thinking again.” Sonny, like a disobedient child who refuses to listen, looks away and rolls his eyes at the scolding. Through this interaction, we see that Sonny’s intelligence and competence as a man and a leader is frustrated by his impulsive desire to disobey the configuration of norms and codes as set by Vito. His refusal to practice restraint and judiciousness in making decisions upsets Vito, and it is ultimately what leads to his downfall.

Yet Sonny loves his family as fiercely as he indulges in his own whims and fancies — and as the film progresses, these two passions create a recipe for disaster. Sonny finds his sister Connie with bruises all over her face, ostensibly because she had been abused by her husband Carlo. “Sonny, please don’t do anything. Please don’t do anything,” Connie pleads, recognizing where Sonny’s mind would immediately go. “What am I going to do? Make that baby an orphan before he’s born?” Sonny says as he holds her. In the scene that immediately follows, Sonny jumps out of a car with a baseball bat and chases Carlo down. “If you touch my sister again, I’ll kill you,” Sonny says through gritted teeth, after having beaten him to a pulp.

While it may seem like a justified retribution — a black eye for a black eye — it is this hotheadedness that triggers Sonny’s downfall. After another violent altercation between Connie and Carlo, Sonny receives a call from Connie. “You wait right there,” he says, and jumps into a car and drives off angrily, despite pleas from Tom to stop or at least slow down. “Go after him, go on!” Tom tells other members of the family, and they get into a car to follow him. Sonny ultimately drives off to his demise as he is ambushed at a tollbooth by machine gunfire, in a set-up orchestrated by enemies of the family with the help of Carlo.

If Sonny had not been so quick to attack Carlo after the first incident, he may have never made an enemy out of Carlo and would not have met such a gruesome and sudden death. Minutes after the assailants drive away, Tom’s men arrive at the scene only to find Sonny lying dead in the middle of the road. At the very least, if Sonny had waited for others to join him before he drove away to confront Carlo, he would have had some form of reinforcement during the ambush. Unlike Vito, Sonny is neither calculated nor gentle, relying on brutish force and carnal instinct to use his body and exert power. His masculinity ultimately proves to be an unfeasible solution to the vacuum of power in the wake of Vito’s attack.

***

Sonny’s response to a threat: artless aggression

Sonny’s death leaves his younger brother, Michael, as the most viable option to take the helm of the Corleone family. If Vito’s quiet authority and Sonny’s careless impulsiveness occupy opposite ends of the spectrum of masculinity presented in the film, Michael’s masculinity lies squarely in the middle. He is intelligent and collected but unforgiving: he has the tact of his father and the audacity of his brother. A telling difference between Sonny’s and Michael’s body language is highlighted during the two brothers’ meeting with Clemenza, Tom, and Tessio, as the five discuss how to handle Sollozzo’s request to discuss a truce. Sonny unsurprisingly raises his voice at the idea of Sollozzo’s proposition, pacing the room aggressively and yelling at those who suggest hearing Sollozzo out. “No more meetings, no more discussions, no more Sollozzo tricks,” Sonny yells, towering over Tom. “Do me a favor, Tom, no more advice on how to patch things up. Just help me win.” Michael, on the other hand, sits stoically on a plush chair, watching the scene unfold. After a brief moment of silence, Michael enters into the conversation. “We can’t wait,” he says calmly, remaining seated. “I don’t care what Sollozzo says about a deal, he’s going to kill Pop. That’s it.”

Michael’s response to the same threat: a methodical plan of action

Interestingly, Sonny and Michael want the same thing: they both think it’s wiser to strike now rather than give Sollozzo the benefit of the doubt. This is indicative of their potential to both be sound leaders. However, what Sonny articulates via artless aggression, Michael expresses in a methodical plan of action. “They want to have a meeting with me, right? … Let’s set the meeting,” Michael says, as he goes on to detail how they will orchestrate the ambush and dodge any possible retaliation.

We might see both Vito and Michael as self-made men — or self-made Dons — though they take different routes to that same destination. While Vito built the institution of the Corleone family from the ground-up, Michael comes of age over the course of the film and makes himself into a man by virtue of avenging an attempt on his father’s life. We later see that Michael successfully carries out the plan for the Corleone family, unflinchingly putting bullets in Sollozzo’s and Captain McCluskey’s heads and ending the threat to this father’s life. Insofar as Vito possesses a calculated gentleness and Sonny does not, Michael learns from their shortcomings to realize a calculated ruthlessness. He is a man who does not strike unless it is absolutely necessary — but does not hesitate to get his hands dirty when he must.

Calculated ruthlessness: Michael with Carlo

Michael’s newfound, calculated ruthlessness is powerfully evoked in the movie’s bloody climax, in which the camera cuts between the baptism of his godson and the assassinations of his rivals. But Michael’s metamorphosis is even more strikingly dramatized in a scene soon after, when Michael confronts Carlo about his complicity in Sonny’s murder. “Sit down,” he tells Carlo, as he pulls up a chair and takes a seat next to him. He pats Carlo on the shoulder and calmly reassures him: “Don’t be afraid. … Do you think I’d make my sister a widow?” Michael tells Carlo that he will have to leave for Las Vegas and hands him a plane ticket. “Only don’t tell me you’re innocent because it insults my intelligence. … Now, who approached you?” Michael asks. When Carlo finally admits to his involvement, Michael directs him to a car that is supposed to take him to an airport. Clemenza, sitting in the backseat, garrotes Carlo to his death, as Michael watches from the outside.

Michael, in the vicinity of violence: the murder of Carlo

For all the talk that we hear of Vito “taking care of business” toward the beginning of the film, we never once see him personally enact violence or be in the vicinity of it. Michael, on the other hand, both tactfully extracts a confession and also watches his brother-in-law lose his life at his own order, without so much as a flinch. The film establishes Michael’s masculinity relationally through the men that came before him: he learns from his father’s distaste for violence and his brother’s carelessness to become a true, successful copo dei capi of the Corlene family.

Michael’s consolidation of power proves to be a fitting end to the first installment of The Godfather trilogy, which is primarily interested in charting the jostle for power between and within families to establish a new socio-political hierarchy within the organized crime circuit in mid-1940s America. In the post-war context, men grappled with how to express their masculinity and assert their dominance outside the battlefield.

The film encapsulates this struggle by moving through two different modes of masculinity — through Vito and Sonny — before settling on the only viable option in Michael, whose calculated ruthlessness secures the survival and prosperity of the family. The other Dons have been vanquished, and there are no other characters within the family who might take its helm: the film underscores how Fredo’s feebleness and lack of intelligence and Tom’s non-Sicilian heritage effectively take them out of consideration for the leadership of the family, while the women of the film are shut out of that form of power entirely. Michael stands alone, unchallenged — his character having “successfully” resolved the film’s complex exploration of the relationship between gender and power in the post-war era.

Janani Hariharan (Cal ’18) is a senior studying Business Administration and English. She may have been much too young when she first watched The Godfather twelve years ago, but she is using this project to help her recover as she continues to explore the implications of gender and its performance in her favorite works.

Work Cited

Linsey Robb and Juliette Pattinson, Men, Masculinities and Male Culture in the Second World War (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2018).

A Family in Celebration, and in Transition: The Godfather’s Opening Wedding Scene

in Anatomy of a Scene/Character Studies

By Hansol Jung

The men in the wedding party in black, the bride in white, the women in the wedding party in pink. Michael Corleone is not in the photo. Early in the opening wedding scene of The Godfather, a photographer lines up the Corleone family, preparing a family photo to solemnize the marriage of Constanzia, or Connie, Corleone to Carlo Rizzi. Yet Vito Corleone, the Don of this Sicilian family, notes his youngest son’s absence and so stops the shot from being taken: “We’re not taking the picture without Michael.” A picture is forever, and Vito—the center of the family, and with an especially soft spot for his son Michael—insists that all must be present and all must be willing to play their part. What Vito has created through the Corleone family is represented in its purest and most picturesque form by Connie’s wedding, which is huge, vibrant, and cheerful.

But even as the scene dramatizes the splendor of the family, it also suggests, through the characters of Vito’s three sons, the cracks that will split it apart: Santino, or Sonny, is hot-headed and unfaithful; Alfredo, or Fredo, is drunk and immature; and Michael is at odds with his family, holding himself apart from its operations. This distance, however, is not easily made, and through his dialogue and personality comes another image of Michael, one who is entrenched within Sicilian family values and unable to shake the influence of his father. And so the wedding scene works as a representation of the Corleone family in all of its glory and grime, setting up a family at the height of its power and influence while subtly undermining it through ugly portrayals of its key players.

***

The wedding is a grandiose celebration, and rightfully so for a Corleone celebration: Vito has put in exhaustive work to be able to put on display the love and care he has for his daughter, and more generally, his entire family.

An image of the festive wedding from above In the first shot following Vito’s dealings with Amerigo Bonasera, we glimpse the throng that has assembled for the event: though a tree covers half of the crowd, there are still dozens of visible people milling around, and by placing the camera far from the event, the individual people become a blur and turn into one huge sea of costumed bodies. The image suggests how, to the Corleones, a family should function: though the individuals that make up the larger family business are essential to its workings, they are all under the guise of one group and so are united by that group. Even with a sizable attendance already inside the estate, people can be seen still walking into the courtyard. Everyone, from tiny toddlers to their aging grandparents, must come and pay respects to Connie in this momentous event.

Still, the celebration wouldn’t be complete without the proper decoration and music, which Vito ensures are in tune with the rest of the festivities. Both the entranceway and courtyard are festooned with a huge overhanging of lights; no expense has been spared in the preparation of the party. The music jovially plays in the background and sets the scene for the constant dancing, which extends until the very last moments of the wedding scene. The orchestra that plays the music, visible later, is made up a great number of suited musicians—undoubtedly another considerable expense.

Yet Vito is not just a man who spends a lot of money to make his daughter’s wedding a great celebration; he’s the sort of father who actively shows his care with that money by partaking in the festivities, spending time with his family throughout despite his ongoing business deals behind the scenes. This scene fills the wedding with his attention and care as he dances with his wife in the midst of the crowd. Smiles on their faces, the couple waltz as Vito makes an inaudible comment to his wife that conveys the couple’s agreeable intimacy.

This scene is mirrored again at the end of the wedding: Vito leads his daughter through the crowd of clapping attendees, clutching her hand tightly. Holding hands is a sign of affection often seen between a parent and a young child, and in this context the meaning is still valid—perhaps even more so due to Connie’s older age and the likelihood that they no longer are so physically close. As Vito carefully lays his hand on her waist and they begin to waltz, Connie speaks inaudibly to him, causing them both to smile. When the scene cuts to a shot farther away from the two, Connie hugs him tightly as they continue their waltz. This increased physical affection suggests their own emotional intimacy, which they unabashedly display on stage.

***

Despite all the effort Vito puts into the celebration, he is undermined by each of his sons, who fail to share the same love and attention he puts into his family. Fredo, his second oldest son, is particularly marginalized within the framework of the wedding. He is introduced in a scene where he meets Michael and Kay Adams, Michael’s girlfriend.

Fredo inserting himself drunkenly between Michael and his girlfriend (later wife) Kay Adams Instead of greeting Michael with care and love—as Tom Hagen does when he first sees Michael, and as an older brother should do after not having seen his younger brother in quite some time—Fredo flicks the back of Michael’s head. While this gesture suggests a kind of playful intimacy, it underscores Fredo’s immaturity and inability to socialize with people in a more dignified way. The blocking of the action in the scene—with Fredo kneeling between Michael and Kay—also conveys his awkwardness and divisiveness. Michael’s act of bringing Kay to the wedding shows his devotion to her and telegraphs that one day, they too might get married. When Fredo sits between them, he separates the two and effectively disrupts the natural state of the couple.

John Cazale, the actor who plays Fredo, draws out the character’s immaturity through his particular way of inhabiting the character. Cazale acts slightly too drunk, with his hands too active in touching both Michael and Kay and his way of speaking too oblivious to have a continuously flowing conversation. This is Fredo’s single scene of dialogue in the entire opening wedding sequence, and it makes clear that he is a son who lacks many of his father’s qualities. He is too drunk to function properly at the wedding, is unable to have mature social interactions, and fails to understand the intricacies of familial relationships.

***

Sonny offers crumpled bills ot an FBI agent after stomping on his camera Though Sonny Corleone, the oldest son and therefore the eventual successor to the family business, shares few of Fredo’s character traits, he is also unlike his father in both personality and values. His reckless and impulsive nature is dramatized in his interaction with the FBI agents who are documenting, in an act of surveillance, the people who are attending the wedding. After unsuccessfully attempting to get the agents to leave and being met instead with a stoic face and an FBI ID, Sonny takes his frustration out on one of the agents, yanking his camera away and throwing it on the ground. Afterwards, he’s held back by Peter Clemenza; if Clemenza had not been there, Sonny would have likely thrown some punches. Then, in classic gangster fashion, he drops a couple of crumpled bills on the ground to pay for the broken camera.

This scene speaks volumes about Sonny, especially his inability to control his temper: once he fails to get what he wants, he will continue to take further action, no matter how irrational, to exact his petty revenge. Sonny has his own form of immaturity, that is, and although it is quite different from Fredo’s, it still is a huge character defect. By committing such irresponsible actions, he distances himself from his father. During the wedding, especially in his dealings with Amerigo Bonasera, Vito is defined by his poise, gracefulness, and eloquence. He does this not only to maintain control over intense situations, but to handle them maturely and ensure that they reflect well back on to him. By contrast, Sonny lacks the foresight to control his emotions, and fails to understand how his outbursts will reflect back upon his family.

If his personality suggests a mismatch with his father’s, the way Sonny treats his own family absolutely confirms this mismatch, setting him up as the antithesis of Vito. In a cruel irony, Sonny takes advantage of the drama around the celebration of a new family to cheat on his wife.

This moment from the wedding scene encapsulates well the cruelty of the irony. His wife is in the foreground, busy talking to other guests and joking about the size of his phallus—which in its own way is a form of endearment. Meanwhile Sonny is almost directly behind her, just having whispered into the bridesmaid’s ear to meet him in a more private setting. He is cheating on his wife literally behind her back, and her close proximity to him while he commits this act suggests how normal this sort of betrayal has become for him. He puts a little care into hiding his unfaithfulness, but his suspicious activities are not unnoticed by his wife, who looks behind her to find him, only to see that he is already gone.

Sonny’s willful disregard of his own family reveals the biggest possible contrast between him and his father: while Sonny is scheming to have sex in an act of unfaithfulness, his father dances with his wife on stage in an act of faithfulness. Vito makes it plain that he disapproves of Sonny’s actions in a later scene from the wedding sequence.

Vito to Sonny: "a man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man" While talking to Johnny Fontane, he asks him if he spends time with his family, which Johnny replies affirmatively to. He follows up with a bit of moral instruction—“Because a man who doesn’t spend time with his family can never be a real man”—and here he looks directly at Sonny, directing the line more to him than to Johnny. Vito doesn’t address the issue in a private one-on-one, but he doesn’t need to, as this line serves as his condemnation of Sonny’s act. And in this condemnation, he embarrasses his son for failing to be a “real man” and a proper Corleone father.

Structurally, the shot echoes the one earlier with Sonny’s wife: in both, Coppola places in the foreground a character who’s talking about Sonny and positions Sonny in the background. His placement in the background suggests his participation in suspicious activities and his attempts to keep them out of sight from his family. Consequently, Sonny is the opposite of Vito in both personality and moral conduct, and his obvious lack of belief in traditional Sicilian family values indicates how inappropriate he would be to succeed Vito as head of the Corleone family.

***

Michael enters the wedding in olive green military garb, accompanied by Kay Adams, a non-Italian-American While Michael may not be as immature as his two older brothers, the moment he walks into the wedding a distinction is already made between him and the rest of his family. As he walks into the estate with Kay, noticeably late—13 minutes already into the film to be exact—his military uniform sticks out like a sore thumb. Michael makes deliberate choices to differentiate himself from the rest of the Corleone family, showing up when he wants to instead of at the beginning of the wedding, wearing what he wants to instead of a tuxedo like the rest of his brothers, and bringing a non-Italian-American date (who herself chooses to wear a dress that is Americana in style). These choices construct his character as just another attendee and not a central member of the Corleone family. In his first interaction with a member of the family, Michael hears from Tom that his father is looking for him.

Coppola cuts to a close-up shot here, placing emphasis on both the importance of the statement as well as the secrecy of it—as it is family business—to ensure that Kay will not overhear. But Michael barely reciprocates, simply nodding before sitting back down to continue dining with Kay. This is a direct rejection of Vito, and more generally a rejection of any effort to craft stronger ties with his family and the dubious business they deal in.

Michael saying to Kay, "That's my family, Kay. It's not me." Michael’s decision to create a strong distinction between himself and his family is epitomized in a later scene in which he recounts the story of how Vito helped launch Johnny’s solo career. As he relates Vito’s criminal activities to Kay in vivid detail, he ends with the line “That’s my family Kay. It’s not me.” Michael makes it clear to Kay that he no longer feels a sense of belonging within his own family. It appears that Michael, decked out in his military uniform, is attempting to rebrand himself as a law-abiding, patriotic citizen — the exact opposite of a Corleone.

***

The opening wedding scene of The Godfather serves a dual purpose, revealing Vito’s love for the entire Corleone family and the standard of behavior he expects from them, while also exposing his three sons as failing to meet that standard. However, we can make a crucial distinction between the three sons: while Sonny and Fredo are both defined by their immature actions, Michael is Vito’s only son who chooses, on purpose, to fail to meet this standard.

Furthermore, we can see that, outside of his decisions to distance himself from the family, Michael is still a bearer of Sicilian values and culture: he talks about Sicilian family titles, recounts stories regarding his father, and even waltzes with his significant other, much like Vito is seen doing at various points in the wedding.

And so, with Michael finally present at the wedding, the photographer lines up the family once again. Michael stands with his family, even bringing in Kay despite her not being Italian-American nor his wife at this point. His presence in the picture hints that he may one day be ready to rejoin the Corleone family, but it won’t be to assimilate back into the previously established culture. Instead, it will be on his own terms, with his own standards of morality and his own family values.

A complete Corleone family, with Michael now posed in the family portrait

Hansol Jung (Cal ’20) is a sophomore majoring in English. A student with many aspirations, Hansol is part of various extracurriculars that align with his interests. At one point a Daily Californian Arts writer, Hansol now devotes his time to working as a vice president of the Korean-American Student Association on campus as well as the president of an awards-winning competitive advertising club, imagiCal.

Pop, Flash, Bang: Color Accents in The Godfather

in The Craft of The Godfather

By Katerina Marovich

The Godfather is a sensually ingenious movie: it lulls its viewers into a dream state with scenes of comfortable warmth, then shocks us awake through punchy pops of drama and action. This rhythm is developed, in no small part, through Francis Ford Coppola’s distinct and painterly use of color. The visual scenes of the film—brushed with broad washes of color, while featuring sharp points of accent—give us many clues and guides into the powerful world of Don Corleone and his “family business.” There is an overwhelming sense of warmth to what we see onscreen: the general palette holds soft tones of orange, sienna, and mahogany—colors that draw in the viewer and make them feel like one of the family, cozily perched in the Don’s snug office or falling in love with Apollonia alongside Michael in Sicily. Yet it’s the accents—the colors that accentuate and ‘pop’—that drive the most interest in each scene and offer the truest signs of action and meaning.

To understand these meticulous placements and punches of color, let us first delve into the most iconic example: Vito Corleone’s red rose in the opening scene.

Don Corleone in his office, making a deal with Bonasera

We are first introduced to Don Corleone through this vivid image of him in his tuxedo, in the dark room, with the bright red rose sported on his lapel. Our eye is immediately drawn to this gleaming source of color, as this red rose promptly becomes an image carried through The Godfather’s iconography in and out of the film itself.

The red rose, highlighted in the promotion of the film

The rose, with its splash of color, is featured prominently in the posters and marketing for the film. Yet what does this red rose represent? Most obviously it is the symbol associated with love and romance. Placed over the Don’s left breast, or over his heart, it may represent passion or foretell the spilling of blood. In retrospect we can see how it foreshadows the circumstances of the Don’s downfall (how his love of his family takes his business into a crisis) as well as his ultimately peaceful end (his death of a heart attack). All of this is pulled through this pinhole image of the red rose against all the darkness surrounding him.

The Godfather in his office, surrounded by his family

Even as the scene pulls away, the red rose is at the center of the frame, pin-pricking the Don’s heart with incredible precision. Although the rest of the frame is set in the soft warm oranges and browns that we grow accustomed to, this red-hot image on the breast of the Don presses all of his warmth and his love of family into a single center. From another angle, we might say that the entire family center is found within Vito—or that the passion and love and emphasis on family all derive from Vito Corleone’s own vision.

This image of the red rose returns, in a more minor key, at the Don’s funeral, as the mafiosos each leave a red rose on the grave at his burial. Barzini and the other mafiosos nonchalantly lob the roses onto the grave of the late Don, without any semblance of emotion or grace. The passion and love that these roses represent to the Don die and are left alongside Vito Corleone, and we are left with the dark mercilessness of Michael to replace him. The powerful passion that held the family center is no longer at the center as it was in the opening scene of the film, but now tossed rather unceremoniously to the grave.

However, the bright red rose is not the only warm accent that punctuates drastic images within the film and creates an indelible moment in the film. Another beautiful example is seen when Vito Corleone goes to the market and is subsequently shot by men sent by Sollozzo, “The Turk.”

This single image epitomizes the entire scene, which unfolds in an incredibly beautiful and aesthetic way. Notice the composition of the colors in this frame, the darkness and coolness that envelops most of the frame in the bottom left-hand side. Yet the pop of warmth and orange draws the eye to the upper right-hand corner. The shot is at a dizzying angle up and away: the camera is elevated to a birds-eye view that offers both an objective and an artfully tasteful representation of the moment. The angle disorients the viewer, pulling the emotion out of the moment directly, and viewing the sequence as a ‘whole picture.’ The image recalls the genre of American realist painting—for example, Edward Hopper’s New York Movie.

A genre entirely true to the subject matter that attempts to depict the moment in a scrupulous way that also appeals to the senses. In Coppola’s American Realism, the oranges that spill onto the street speak to the life being drained from Vito as he is shot in the street—a metaphor for the blood being spilled—and stand for the disarray of the family as well. The Don descends from the warmth and falls into the cool darkness of the street on both a physical and metaphorical level.

After this moment, the last instance of a warm color we see is once again the red accent of dripping blood from Vito himself. He is then drowned in a wash of cool tones and dark colors as we lose sight of this bright flash of red. We are left not knowing whether the Don is alive or dead, as the darkness of the scene envelops his entire person and pulls away our knowledge of his life. This is a distinct turn in the movie as well, as the power turns from Vito Corleone to his sons, and there is an incredibly dark shift in the way the business is run. The movie drifts into this darkness just as Vito Corleone slips to the darkened pavement in this scene.

To fully understand the impact of these pops of color surrounding Vito Corleone and his mode of managing the family business, we might contrast them with the final scene with Michael taking over for Vito in the office in which it all began.

Michael in his office as the newly sanctioned Don

In this moment, the hues of the warm browns and oranges are dampened, deepened, almost entirely muted with the exception of Michael’s stark white shirt at the center. As opposed to this whiteness presenting purity, it can instead be seen as a beacon of harsh light. The source of all attention, much less comforting and aesthetically sympathetic than Vito’s romantic red rose. We are left with the cooled earth-tones of Michael rather than the warmth of reds and oranges associated with the late Don, and forebodingly end the movie in deep darkness. All the warmth of the family business that the viewer has come to associate with the Corleone family throughout the movie has been entirely sucked out. Nothing remains but Michael’s stark, brisk coolness.

Katerina Marovich (Cal ’18) is a senior English major from Northern California planning on taking her English degree into the publishing field.

Never Let Your Body Show What You’re Thinking: Gesture and Masculinity in The Godfather

in The Craft of The Godfather/Tropes and Leitmotifs

By Alex Chellsen

Mind Your Mannerisms

For a film filled with intense scenes of violence and gripping dialogue, Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather contains an equal amount — if not more — of quieter, more understated moments. Throughout the film, masculine power is not expressed in feats of physical strength, or through hardened exteriors and hyper-masculine personas. Instead, it is conveyed by the manner in which Vito and Michael Corleone carry and conduct themselves around other men, specifically the other Families with whom they are dealing. Small actions often speak louder than words. By controlling their physical faculties, Vito and Michael maintain the appearance of authority: their power is dependent upon the suppression of their violent, primitive urges in the midst of things going amiss. Fascinatingly, as Michael inches closer towards becoming the new head of the Family, his mannerisms begin to mimic those of Vito. The men, for brief moments, become mirror images of each other, or reflections and refractions.

There are four pairs of scenes that reveal both the parallels between Vito and Michael’s physicality and their divergences. By comparing and contrasting the mannerisms of Vito and Michael, we can observe the differences in how they exercise their masculinity — differences that become especially evident in their shared scene in the garden, where Vito is the experienced elder, exhausted from his responsibilities, and Michael is the heir, hungry for revenge and committed to advancing the family name and the Family’s legacy.

Sitting Still

Vito and Michael resemble each other in the way they sit and are seated, displaying their masculinity through the manner in which they restrain themselves.

As the head of the Family, Vito is not stripped of his patriarchal position when he sits down. Rather, his status is elevated: he is a king upon his throne. With all eyes drawn toward him, he is careful to use limited and deliberate physical gestures to conceal his thoughts and emotions. When Tom Hagen briefs Vito about Sollozzo’s request to receive protection in exchange for a percentage of the profits of his drug trade, Vito sits with his legs crossed while reclining in his seat. Before the meeting with Sollozzo commences, Vito nods his head, shrugs his shoulders, and sways—as if he were doing Sollozzo a favor by indulging his offer, only bestowing the minimum physical attention required to hear his request. He also asks Tom if he is “not too tired,” as if to suggest his own fatigue as the Don. His body language reveals a disinclination towards stretching the reach of the Family business, as it jeopardizes the familial affiliations that he has established within and outside his blood ties. When Sonny asks him what his decision is going to be, Vito raises his hand from his cheek before resting it on his chin, withholding his thoughts until the next scene.

After he inherits Vito’s throne, Michael’s sitting posture recalls his father’s — but with some striking differences. When Michael offers a plan to exact retribution for his father’s shooting, he positions himself in an armchair in a similar manner to his father, crossing his legs and lolling in the furniture. However, Michael is not as calm and collected as Vito had been: he rubs his eyebrows and slumps in his chair, moving his body back and forth before proceeding with his plan. He’s restless—sweaty and squirming. He wants to take immediate action, but he does not act upon his impulses. In the following moments, he places both arms on the handles of the chair as a way to ground himself within the turbulence. As the camera zooms in, Michael’s body becomes more relaxed while still tilting forward: we sense that he is more comfortable with his position, prepared to prove his power. He slurs his words, recalling how his father often mumbles his words, but he does so in anger, his gestures intensified by the sternness of his stare and speech.

Michael is channeling the Don, but uneasily: he’s trying to hold onto himself, in the same way that he holds onto the arms of the chair.

Showing—and Not Showing—Their Hands

Vito and Michael both use hand movements that reveal them suppressing their anger and frustration. In the opening scene, mortician Amerigo Bonasera offers to pay Vito Corleone in exchange for revenge upon the men who abused his daughter—an offer which offends the Don, as it insinuates he is both a killer and can be “bought.” Prior to this exact moment, Vito’s hand is petting and playing with a cat sitting on his lap; just after, his grip tightens around the animal’s head. The sequence of gestures suggests a few meanings: (1) he is crushing his urge to act upon his anger towards Amerigo Bonasera—he is a man, “not a murderer”—which would demonstrate a childish weakness that cannot be associated with the patriarch of a family, let alone the Family; and (2) given that the image of a cat often carries both feminine and sexual connotations, Vito’s intensifying hold shows him flexing his masculine power and exerting his dominance, his full control.

Michael, on the other hand, is less composed and constrained in his physical mannerisms—his body is seemingly riddled with anxiety. After Michael’s return from Sicily, he makes significant decisions as the new “head of the Family,” including relocating the business transactions to Las Vegas and replacing Tom Hagen as consigliere. During this scene, Michael is twiddling a zippo lighter between his fingers, smoking a cigarette, and prolongedly pressing it into an ashtray.

Michael is adjusting to the fluidity of his new power as the Don, and this is reflected in his body language, as he is both looser in the movement of his limbs and firmer in the way he carries himself among the other men. When Vito tries to be sympathetic with the suspension of Tom’s position, resting a hand on his shoulder, Michael tells him in a sturdy voice, “you’re out.” After Tom exits, Michael slackens his collar, leaving his tie more disheveled than before. His newfound power possesses a chokehold over him, as it is still an extension of his father’s hand.

Different Strokes

Both Vito and Michael stroke their heads during times of great stress, and the repeated gesture underlines how both of them confront the emergencies they face. Combing their hair is a coping mechanism, a gesture made to maintain their cool, or at least the image of such.

After the opening scene, Don Vito runs a hand against his grey, slicked-backed hair and qualifies his terms for the mortician’s debt: “We’re not murderers, despite what this undertaker says.” In this scene, Vito is literally scratching his head at his decision to expand the scope of the Family to meet the pleas of an acquaintance who has deliberately avoided them. Yet Vito’s grooming habit is second nature to him—he stays in character as the cool and collected Don.

This gesture is replayed in a different key in the pivotal scene at the Italian restaurant, in which Michael struggles to carry out the plot he proposed—to kill Sollozzo and his police guard. Just after he retrieves the gun from the restaurant’s toilet, Michael stands in front of the bathroom’s mirror and presses both hands against his hair in an attempt to gather himself. Here, Michael is on the edge of becoming a part of the family — a family that he had pointedly described, to his girlfriend Kay, as “not me”. His fingers are pushed against his head—he is trying to wrap his brain around his decision. By executing his plan, he not only will be initiated into the business, but also will finally be able to feel like a part of the Corleone family by embodying the role of his father. With the gun concealed in his jacket, Michael seats himself at the table with Sollozzo and his police guard; he brushes his hair back and switches from speaking in Italian to English when staking his claim: “What’s most important to me is that I have a guarantee: no more attempts on my father’s life.” By protecting the patriarch, Michael secures his succession.

Unlike Father, Unlike Son

In the divergences between Vito and Michael’s mannerisms, the film suggests the differences in how the two men play their parts in the Corleone patriarchy.

When Vito meets with Sollozzo to listen to his proposition (only to decline), his blazer is unbuttoned, and he droops one arm over the chair while the other dangles from his hip. Vito gives the appearance of approachability while still upholding his authority—he does not need to exercise his dominance in the situation because his mere presence is enough. Vito’s amiability is not so much a sign of respect for Sollozzo, but a means of maintaining respectability as a representative of the Corleone tribe. As Vito turns down Sollozzo’s request, his hands are clasped, but not fastened together, and he strokes and shrugs his thumbs: “It doesn’t make any difference to me what a man does for a living.” Vito is not interested in what can be done to advance his enterprise, but in what he can do to preserve the relationships with his current business partners.

Michael is not as gentle, however, when he arrives in Las Vegas to buy Moe Greene’s casino and offer Johnny Fontaine a new contract. In this scene, Michael clasps his hands as well, except with his thumbs pressed together. Not only is he steadfast in his position, but also he’s confident that no one in the room can “refuse” him nor the strength he flexes. Moe Greene then barges in and argues with Michael over the notion that he can “buy [him] out,” and Fredo defends Moe and questions Michael’s reasoning. Echoing the earlier scene in which his father advised Sonny to “never tell anyone outside the family what [he thinks] again,” Michael warns Fredo never to “take sides with anyone against the family again.”

Both Dons are strict in these commands, but Vito’s raised eyebrows and shifting gaze reveal concern, whereas Michael’s unrelenting stare silences anyone who rises to test his supremacy. Vito exercises his power as a means of protecting his family, whereas Michael flashes his influence to uphold his place and ensure the progress of the Family.

Connect to Disconnect

In their final interaction in the film, Michael is already Don of the Family and Vito is “retired.” The viewer can sense a shift in Vito’s demeanor; he is smiling, joking, drinking wine, and sitting with his right leg folded above the other. He is not hunched over, as he had been in many previous scenes. The burden of the Family business has been removed from his shoulders, and he can take it easy, if only for an instant.

Michael is hunched over, however, with his arms pressed into his thighs. He feels the weight of death looming over his shoulder: Vito predicts, in a surprisingly casual manner, about how the train of events will unfold: “And at that meeting you’ll be assassinated.” Vito’s gestures in this scene may be read as a relinquishing of his patriarchal position out of respect for the new male head of the family. Michael leans in because he still displays an insecurity regarding his power and position as a man. He still looks to his father to be the Don for him. When Vito struggles from the chair and shuffles to sit near Michael, Michael leans back. He wants to be close to his father, but only at a certain distance, as intimacy often necessitates an emotional and physical vulnerability, one that threatens his male assertiveness.

Tellingly, when Vito positions himself in his seat, he obscures the image of Michael. The camera work suggests how succession works in this family: the importance of the patriarch means that there’s no room for others, just the single male head. To be powerful, to be head of the family: this aspiration is tied to Michael becoming singular, with a way of moving his body that—however indebted to his father—is his and his alone.

Alex Chellsen (Cal ’19) is a junior majoring in English and minoring in Creative Writing. He is an avid reader and writer of poetry and plays keys and synths in the band Dream Without Sleep.

A Son’s Devotion to His Father: Michael and Vito’s Garden Scene

in Anatomy of a Scene/Character Studies

By Maria De Jesus Ramos Mendez

Michael (left) and Vito (center) in the dark and enclosed garden, discussing the future of the family business

We begin the scene in a noticeably dark garden: Michael Corleone has his back to us on the left, while his father, Vito Corleone, looks away to the right. They are meeting to go over Michael’s possible assassination from a traitor in the business. The scene of their meeting — in a garden —strikes a different note from earlier Godfather scenes, in which business is handled indoors, and in dark and private rooms. Yet it is not so different: the fencing encloses the garden and gives it an exclusive feel, and the lighting is gray rather than sunny and bright, suggesting the death that looms over both Don Vito and Michael (between the previous attempt on Vito’s life and a possible future attempt on Michael’s).

Although the scene is set in a garden, which might evoke the work of women (gardening) or the play of children (a suggestion taken up by the bicycle in the background), we see that the ground is mostly dirt with some big trees near the dark concrete border mentioned earlier. Too, the placement of Don Vito and Michael at the edge of the garden and not in the middle—where there are rows of vegetables being cultivated —reinforces the idea that they are not in the garden to pass the time but to go over a plan to keep Michael safe. Michael is, after all, living his life “on the edge,” and so it is fitting that he confers with his father on the edge of the garden rather than in its more sunny center. The atmosphere may be more informal than usual in the Corleone family business, but there’s no question of its seriousness. In fact, the nature that surrounds Michael and Vito acts as a framework that preserves the transfer of power between father and son as a natural and conventional gesture.

A study in contrasts: black hair vs. gray hair, new clothes vs. faded clothes

The same frame allows us to take notice of Vito Corleone and how he has been worn down by age. His hair is a dull gray, with white accents; his skin is wrinkled; he wears stubble, as if he has stopped keeping up appearances. Another critical point about the first frame is how Vito Corleone isn’t looking directly at Michael. Instead, his eyes are low and looking elsewhere. In the same manner, we don’t have access to Michael’s face. Our only way to discern how Michael is feeling at this particular moment is through his body. He leans towards his father in a concerned and caring manner.

However, moments later, the camera shifts, and we see Michael’s face and only the back of Vito Corleone’s head. Unlike Vito Corleone, Michael’s hair is black, his face is young-looking, and even his clothes are more polished compared to Vito Corleone’s old style and almost faded shirt. The difference in clothes accentuates how Vito Corleone has retired as the head of the family business and can wear comfortable clothes and be outdoors.

We come back to Don Vito as he tells Michael that he has been drinking more wine. The brief moment presents a shift in mood. Don Vito drinking the wine makes the scene appear more casual. In the background we can hear the birds chirping; the conversation eventually turns to them talking about Michael’s family, with a focus on his son. The mention of Michael’s son and his ability to read the funny papers lightens the mood; for the first and only time in the scene, Vito’s face spreads into a smile and we feel his affection for his family.

Michael looks to his father, his back toward us, while Vito looks down at the wine in his hand

Vito smiles as he faces Michael and thinks about his grandchild

Half in shadow, half in sun: Vito contemplating the paths he’d hoped Michael would follow

The happiness vanishes fairly quickly, and the scene continues to dramatize the disconnect between Michael and Don Vito. Vito and Michael’s lack of eye contact suggests many things at once. First, as part of different generations, they are constantly seeing things from a different perspective. Don Vito is still in the old habit of going over plans, and Michael has to continue reassuring him that he has already taken care of things. Second, there is a guardedness to the warmth between them: constant eye contact might be dangerous — too affectionate, too soft, for this father and son. As Robert Towne, who was brought in to script this scene, has suggested, “they couldn’t just outwardly declare their love for each other.” Lastly, there’s the possibility that Don Vito can’t look at Michael because he can’t literally face the reality that his son has become the new Don Corleone.

This last suggestion is taken up by Vito’s dialogue in the last part of the scene, which brings out both the tenderness and guardedness of their rapport. Vito gets up from his seat and sits closer to Michael, making the space between him and Michael significantly smaller. Even though Don Corleone stands up, he doesn’t have a strong presence nor much authority in the frame because his eyes are still looking down and his walk to the seat is sluggish. The scene exposes his old age even more by closing in on his aged features.

Here the lighting underscores Don Corleone’s smallness. Despite the fact that Don Corleone is closer to the screen because of where he is seated, his appearance is darkened, and Michael’s face is lit up in profile. The lighting naturally forces our eyes to focus on Michael’s face, making us see Don Corleone as a mere shadow, almost insignificant. Under the safety of the shadows, Don Corleone permits himself to utter the words, “But I never wanted this for you.” The confession enables the scene to reach a higher level of intimacy without the need for light or eye contact because the words carry all the weight. This instance of vulnerability communicates how important the family is to Vito, so much so that he taps into the unconventional tenderness of fatherhood. The sense of vulnerability is heightened by the shadow that drapes Vito’s face — a shadow that, given Vito’s age, seems not unrelated to the shadow of death.

Michael and Vito’s bodies are positioned towards each other, but the difference in lighting (Michael’s face made lighter and Vito’s darker) makes it appear that they are looking past each other

An alternative reading of this particular moment might suggest that Michael and his father are two sides of the same coin. The main difference is that Don Corleone has his eyes looking to the left as he reflects on his past, while the frame forces Michael to look to the light, towards the future.

Coppola’s particular framing of the back and forth between father and son leaves us asking why they don’t share the screen with full faces at the same time. Perhaps the camera purposefully only grants one or the other to stress the difference in generations and how that affects the future of the godfather role. After all, this scene was written so that there could be “a visible transfer of power from father to son.” The scene wraps up with Don Corleone kissing Michael on the cheek, giving last-minute warning of the traitor, and then walking off the frame of the lens. Immediately, we see Michael lay down.

A closing frame: Michael, slumped on the patio chair, carries the weight of the family

The last frame with Michael slumped in a pillowed chair conveys the weight he now bears. In the scene as a whole, Michael has become newly sympathetic — he’s framed as the son who wants to free his elderly father from the burden that is work. At the close of the scene, we see that he has taken on that burden, along with the conviction that he is the new Don Corleone. Having given the viewer that assurance, the scene fades out to the next.

Maria De Jesus Ramos Mendez (Cal ’18) is a senior studying English and Education. She is committed to fulfilling her passion for teaching literature in high school. She has taken up multiple teaching positions in hopes of gaining experience and refining her skills as an educator. When she’s not reading her novels or teaching, she enjoys the company of her husband and their beautiful little girl.

Office Space: Don Vito’s Home Office, and Michael’s

in The Craft of The Godfather

By Robert Norte

The Corleone office is a crucial setting in The Godfather: after all, it is the place where Vito Corleone is introduced and subsequently the setting in which he hands over power to his son Michael. The office’s interior décor — first with Vito in power, and later with Michael — contains details that, while small to the audience’s eye, speak powerfully to how the mafia leaders choose to represent the family and how they manage the family’s affairs. Despite the office’s various changes as power shifts from father to son, enough of the décor stays the same to suggest that both men rely on a complicated moral framework — one that gives power to themselves and demands obedience from those around them. More radically, the office’s décor suggests a code of ethics which lacks depth — a framework more concerned with appearances than with discriminating between right and wrong.

In a dimly lit office, Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando) listens to the pleas of Bonasera (Salvatore Corsitto) to avenge his daughter, as Sonny Corleone (James Caan) and Tom Hagen (Robert Duvall) wait for Vito's orders. — Don Vito, in his dimly lit office, listens to the pleas of Amerigo Bonasera

The first thing that stands out about Vito Corleone’s office is the lighting, or lack thereof. The blinds are only slightly open, and shadows draw the eye to the corner of the room: domestic wallpaper, portraits of family members on the mantel, along with a bookshelf create the impression that this meeting is taking place not in an office complex, but rather in the Corleone home — or, more precisely, in Vito’s study. The room’s overall darkness conveys that Vito handles the family business as a true criminal would: colluding in the shadows rather than being open about his affairs.

Fittingly, in the film’s opening scene, Bonasera has come to Vito’s office to ask for the favor of murdering the two men who attempted to rape his daughter. Vito, however, rejects Bonasera’s request, as Bonasera’s daughter is still alive and according to Vito “[the two men are] not murderers.” Vito’s dialogue, supported by the scene’s interior décor, furthers the notion that Vito is a just family man who is sympathetic to his fellow Italian Americans. However, this family man persona is as artificial as the office itself: doing business in the cozy confines of his office ensures that the violent acts carried out in his name cannot be traced, and so are not seen as a reflection of Vito’s character. Just as shadows mask images for what they truly are, so is Vito’s complicated morality masked by the appearances of his family business.

Likewise, the furniture in Vito’s office shows how he chooses to close off the outside world to his business. Three dark-colored chairs surround Vito’s desk, countered only by Vito’s light-colored leather chair. All of these chairs are padded except the chair directly across from Vito, which is reserved for those who require help from him. This layout is essential to how Vito conducts his business: the singular chair that sits across from him showcases that there is only room for one request at a time. Moreover, the lack of padding on this chair has symbolic resonances too: asking for Vito’s help is an uncomfortable experience, one that leaves you indebted to a powerful man — a man whose family business includes political bribery, extortion, and murder. From the perspective of protecting Vito’s familial image, the uncomfortable chair also ensures that no illegal request lasts longer than it needs to, and is over as quickly as possible. Vito may rebuke Bonasera for never inviting Vito to his house and for being terrified of being in his debt even though Vito’s wife is Godmother to his daughter—but the scene of the office suggests exactly why Bonasera would not have put himself in this literally uncomfortable position. Vito may offer himself as a family man helping out extended family and friends, but we see him also as a criminal who forces people into submissive positions to further his grip on power.

Vito directs the men to follow all of Michael’s orders as the power shifts from father to son and the aesthetic follows suit.

(Composite image) The desks of Vito and Michael suggest the different but also shared approach to organized crime and family business.

When Michael takes the reins of the family business and engages in some ‘office redecoration,’ we get a strong sense that there will be a power shift in how the family will operate. Where Vito’s office lacked light, Michael’s is exquisitely lit. The blinds in Michael’s office ushers in light unlike the previous blinds of Vito’s office, giving a sense that Michael is trying to push the family business into the legitimate corporate world of America. There will be no more hiding in the dark, no more whispering about back door deals and crimes: the family, at least in Michael’s eyes, is headed toward becoming completely ‘legit’ through the casino business in Las Vegas. The old wallpaper from before has now been replaced with white paint: Michael is proposing a fresh start for the family, with the family business becoming a proper one, with no illegal activity. Michael even tells Clemenza and Tessio that they can leave the Corleone family and start their organized crime ring only after the casino business is legitimate.

However, like his father, Michael never really abandons his family’s violent nature. This ‘fresh start’ — like the fresh paint of his office’s walls — is only doing what paint does, covering something in a thin layer to mask it. It is, quite literally, a “whitewash”. Michael’s morals are still aligned with the old wallpaper and the ways that his father had established for the family. A morality of family profits first and moral righteousness last. After all, Michael will not allow Clemenza and Tessio power until the Corleone family has established itself as a powerhouse in Las Vegas. Although Michael puts a new face on the family, he carries forward the family’s unwillingness to relinquish power and control of those around them.

The abundance of furniture in Michael’s new office speaks similarly to the modern spirit of inclusion and comfort that he is projecting. Two padded chairs now sit in front of Michael’s desk, whereas Vito only allowed for a single chair to sit directly across from him. The aesthetic of Michael’s office is that of a modern businessman: he has added carpet, chairs, and couches, all of which rest now in a circular formation. He seems to be creating a comfortable and inclusive environment: it’s no longer one person sitting in a single chair, as in Vito’s office, but multiple people sitting together at a conference meeting. The room is not anywhere near as threatening as Vito’s office at first glance.

At the same time, the new clutter on Michael’s desk suggests how complicated things are about to get under his command. The addition of two plants on his desk, as well as two more plants on the television and mantel, creates a sense that the office no longer is used to plan hit jobs but rather is now a place where life can thrive. However, the placement of books on Michael’s desk brings into question how much life will thrive in this space. The books suggest Michael’s more intellectual airs (in the novel he’s a Dartmouth grad); his actions aim to be more considered and planned. There also appears to be a ledger on the desk — suggesting that Michael will be engaging in a more formal system of “accounting,” in his business practices and in his settling of accounts with those who have betrayed the family. At the same time, the presence of all those books suggest another power play at work in Michael’s office. They may be part of his “mental game” — his way of convincing those who sit across from him that there’s a deeper level to Michael, morally and intellectually. Yet even though Vito has an empty desk, we should note that more violence comes from Michael than any other character within the movie. He masks his moral wrongs like he masks his office with new furniture.

Michael’s final office space — sparsely furnished, and with books piled on the floor, because the Corleone family is on the move

Vito’s room allows for little light and arrangement in furniture—all of which create an aesthetic appropriate to the idea of pre-WWII organized crime as a backdoor business. By contrast, Michael’s aesthetic reflects his attempt, in the postwar period, to push the family away from criminal activity and establish a completely legal organization. Both men long for the family business to become legitimate and believe that Michael can be the factor that allows for this clearing of the Corleone family name. However, the change of the interior design of an office is only a surface change. The end of the film—with Michael ordering the killing of his brother-in-law Carlo from a better-lit room—suggests that, in the world of The Godfather, appearances are deceiving indeed.

A UC Berkeley Production

The Sound of Nostalgia: Nino Rota’s “Godfather Waltz”

By Rebekah Gonzalez

Ripeness Is All: The Death of Vito Corleone

By Daniel Arias

Daniel Arias is a graduating senior (’18) at the University of California, Berkeley, where he studies English Literature. In his spare time he binge-watches The Office for the millionth time.

“I’m With You Now”: Michael Corleone’s Journey to Become His Father’s Son

By Nikki Munoz

Nikki Munoz is entering her final year at University of California, Berkeley where she is majoring in English and minoring in Journalism. She is a writer for the Arts and Entertainment section of The Daily Californian, where she writes about all things arts-related, with a focus on theater.

Mixing Business with Pleasure: Alcohol in The Godfather

By Neha Zahid

Neha Zahid (Cal ’19) is a junior double-majoring in Public Health and Biology. She is interested in the role of health policies in addressing health inequities at the local and global levels. In her free time, she enjoys playing soccer and is a member of the Cal Women’s Club Soccer team.

Men of the House: Modes of Masculinity in The Godfather

By Janani Hariharan

Work Cited

A Family in Celebration, and in Transition: The Godfather’s Opening Wedding Scene

By Hansol Jung

Pop, Flash, Bang: Color Accents in The Godfather

By Katerina Marovich

Katerina Marovich (Cal ’18) is a senior English major from Northern California planning on taking her English degree into the publishing field.

Never Let Your Body Show What You’re Thinking: Gesture and Masculinity in The Godfather

By Alex Chellsen

Mind Your Mannerisms

Sitting Still

Showing—and Not Showing—Their Hands

Different Strokes

Unlike Father, Unlike Son

Connect to Disconnect

Alex Chellsen (Cal ’19) is a junior majoring in English and minoring in Creative Writing. He is an avid reader and writer of poetry and plays keys and synths in the band Dream Without Sleep.

A Son’s Devotion to His Father: Michael and Vito’s Garden Scene

By Maria De Jesus Ramos Mendez

Office Space: Don Vito’s Home Office, and Michael’s

By Robert Norte

Robert Norte (Cal ’19) is an English major and a cinephile who enjoys unpacking the often-overlooked aspects of film.

Vito Corleone

By Rebekah Gonzalez

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By Daniel Arias

Daniel Arias is a graduating senior (’18) at the University of California, Berkeley, where he studies English Literature. In his spare time he binge-watches The Office for the millionth time.

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By Nikki Munoz

Nikki Munoz is entering her final year at University of California, Berkeley where she is majoring in English and minoring in Journalism. She is a writer for the Arts and Entertainment section of The Daily Californian, where she writes about all things arts-related, with a focus on theater.

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By Neha Zahid

Neha Zahid (Cal ’19) is a junior double-majoring in Public Health and Biology. She is interested in the role of health policies in addressing health inequities at the local and global levels. In her free time, she enjoys playing soccer and is a member of the Cal Women’s Club Soccer team.

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By Katerina Marovich

Katerina Marovich (Cal ’18) is a senior English major from Northern California planning on taking her English degree into the publishing field.

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By Alex Chellsen

Mind Your Mannerisms

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Different Strokes

Unlike Father, Unlike Son

Connect to Disconnect

Alex Chellsen (Cal ’19) is a junior majoring in English and minoring in Creative Writing. He is an avid reader and writer of poetry and plays keys and synths in the band Dream Without Sleep.

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By Maria De Jesus Ramos Mendez

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Robert Norte (Cal ’19) is an English major and a cinephile who enjoys unpacking the often-overlooked aspects of film.

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