It is no secret that The Godfather (1972) is my favourite movie and my personal uncontested nominee for best film of the 20th century. The benchmark of quality for this movie is nowhere more evident than in its opening scene. In it, a tearful undertaker relates to a powerful crimelord the tragic tale of his daughter's beating, and his eventual acknowledgement that to see justice served to her attackers, he must enter the debt of a man he knows to be involved in terrible things.
The boldness of the scene establishes itself from the first frame; everything is black as we hear the opening line, "I believe in America," in a distinct Italian accent, then a slow reveal of a tight close-up on the face. There is no establishing shot, no indication of where or even when the film might be set. There is only blackness behind and around him until the camera zooms out and we see a darkened office, and eventually, the back of a shadowy figure at a desk in the foreground, listening intently.
There is no interaction between them until Bonaserra, the undertaker, is briefly overcome with emotion. The figure makes a slight gesture with his hand and seconds later a hand reaches in from off camera with a small glass, presumably liquor (anisette, perhaps?), which Bonaserra accepts, taking a small sip.
Imagine being poor Salvatore Corsitto, an actor with only two screen credits to his name, having to emote so profusely and without any cuts, in front of one of the most highly regarded actors of the day, Marlon Brando. Talk about pressure! But Cosittor is brilliant, mesmerizing, even, and Brando's subtle gesture to get this poor guy a drink already keeps our focus on Bonaserra as he continues his tale of woe and his disappointment with American justice.
Corsitto's monologue is uninterrupted for two and a half minutes, an eternity by modern editing standards, Brando's Vito Corleone finally speaks, asking why Bonaserra went to the police instead of coming to him first, then asking what it is the undertaker would have him do.
Bonaserra gets up from his seat gingerly, sets his tiny glass on the immense desk of Don Corleone, and moves to whisper in his ear. What tremendous discipline to leave the camera still as Bonaserra moes offscreen in the background and then back into view in the foreground. The camera moves, almost imperceptibly, to center the frame on the inaudible interaction between the undertaker's lips and the godfather's ear.
The point of view finally switches to show Marlon Brando behind the desk in a dapper tuxedo with a red rose boutonnière, and the jowly implants he had insisted upon in place deforming his face from the handsome features most viewers would have been likely to remember. It has taken nearly three minutes for us to see the face of the title character, despite his presence in the scene.
The next change in perspective lets us finally see the other two occupants of the room: the don's son Santino (James Caan ) and adopted son and concigliere Tom Hagen (Robert Duvall). They get no lines, however, as the characters are clearly there to learn and to serve. I wonder how much the actor appreciated their proximity in such a well-composed scene, and how much learning they might have done as well.
While seated at the desk, Brando nonchalantly pets and plays with a grey cat on his lap. The cat was not in the script - it was a stray that had wandered onto the set that Brando had picked up and director Francis Ford Coppola decided to leave it in the shot. Ironically, while adding some dimension to the scene and offering comparisons to the sharpness of Vito's claws concealed behind a charming facade, the cat's purring was so loud that Brando had to re-record most of his lines afterwards.
When Corleone rises to converse with Bonaserra, and express his disappointment at the lack of respect he has been shown, it is a masterclass in both acting and lighting. The most recent BluRay edition (the Coppola Restoration), spotlights the latter brilliantly as the don angles his head ever so slightly and wags his finger at the undertaker, the shadows under his eyes deepening and his face darkening as he intones, "...and then they would fear you."
After Bonaserra finally displays the appropriate respect to the godfather and timidly offers his friendship, Brando lightens the mood of the room immediately with an air that combines noblesse oblige with grandiose generosity, asking him to accept the justice as a gift on his own daughter's wedding day - but not before making it clear that someday the don might call upon Bonaserra for a favour. Service tempered with servitude is a recurring theme in the film and its sequel.
After Bonaserra leaves, the don gives detailed and implicit instructions as to how the beatings of the men who assaulted the undertaker's daughter is to be handled - brutal but also measured, and a proportional response that needs to be handled by "reliable people."
In six and a half minutes of a subtle and nuanced scene, two actors in a darkened room lay out nearly all the themes of The Godfather: family, power, violence, and duty.
If you haven't seen it (or need to see it again) and are in town, hit me up - I am nearly always down for watching it again.
