INT DAY: DON'S OFFICE (SUMMER 1945)

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.

The Godfather - opening scene

WWJD? Almost Certainly Not This

Speaking personally, the most disappointing thing about American governors DeSantis and Abbott flying and bussing undocumented immigrants to Democrat strongholds in New England and D.C. isn't the cruelty or inhumanity of it, or even that they used tax dollars (perhaps inappropriately) to do so - it's the fact that almost no other Republicans have called out these reputedly Christian officials on just how out of step such an act is with their professed faith.

When we hear the name of Jesus mentioned in a non-theological context, it is often from people who claim a Christian identity but seem to practice another faith - one less about compassion and forgiveness and far more oriented to a misapplied sense of justice and its alleged miscarriages.

Whether you regard Jesus as a religious figure, historical personality or strictly a mythical being, surely there can be very little argument that he 

• preached compassion
• spoke up for the marginalized
• healed the sick
• confronted authority
• self-identified as a servant, rather than leader
• rejected political power
• rejected violence (I know, I know - "but the tables!" were any hurt?)
• was gentle
• was humble
• was patient

It has taken me a significant portion of my life to understand the true value of "love thine enemy," and the absence of any discernible love in the actions of so many who label themselves as followers of Jesus - and this includes anyone chortling over how much this escapade 'owned the libs' - really makes a person like me wonder what their faith is actually based on.

A good friend and mentor of mine recently replied to a recent lay sermon of mine that addressed a similar topic:

How about just doing what you should do for your fellow humans? How about being the example of selflessness that Jesus set himself to be? So many of the ‘born again’ or ‘evangelical movement’ seem to feel that the return to Old Testament values is the key to the whole thing. My reminder is that an Old Testament Christian is really just someone who is practicing Judaism (without the kosher laws and such) but with just as many other restrictions for everyone else. Now, there's nothing wrong with Judaism, but the difference between it and Christianity was supposed to be the word of Jesus and the love he promoted. Not much love in making a child bear a child because she’s been raped or a mother having to carry a dead or dying fetus to satisfy those who say ‘Ya never know, maybe God will create a miracle here for this one.'

(Presented with all due respect from both of us to actual practitioners of Judaism - shalom!)

I can't find it now, but a tweet I saw briefly this morning summed it up very well for me (please excuse my paraphrasing): "If whoever is in your pulpit his morning does not denounce, loudly and strongly, the cruel and dehumanizing actions undertaken by Govs DeSantis and Abbott this week in a tawdry political stunt, you need to find a new place of worship. These people know nothing of Jesus."

And even those foolish enough to defend these callous actions do so in terms of either political savviness or the fact that the 'upscale liberal' communities deserved it - no one addresses the fact that the pawns being used in this egregious drama are actual human beings. And how many of those who identify as conservative and Christian are as disgusted by this display as I am, but are too intimidated to say anything?

Even the fact that volunteers came out in droves to house, feed and clothe these people before getting them resituated in a nearby military base (with their consent) is being presented by the right-wing as privileged people wasting no time in "deporting undesirables." But in the end, I feel the reactions in D.C. and Martha's Vineyard are far more in keeping with what Jesus taught than the actions of those who brought them there.

I have all the time in the world for spiritual differences based on personal experience or interpretation, but almost none for the kind of hypocrisy we are seeing play out around this situation.

(Video: GOP Jesus)

Gutted

"Gutted" is yet another example of a great British (or perhaps Great British) expression that has wormed its way into my vernacular like "cheers," "mate," "kip" and a handful of others. Anglicisms like these inject a little variety into the old lexicon, but gutted is there primarily because it is so comprehensive.

I have been gutted the past week and a bit due to the death of a friend, a good colleague from work.

His name was Krishna Tailor and we worked briefly together in Corporate Communications just prior to the pandemic. He was creative and friendly and genuinely gregarious and had the kind of enthusiasm that can be highly infectious, in addition to being a total and unabashed ham. Krishna was a great and generous collaborator and brought a lot of his experiences working in film and television to the projects we worked on together.

The fact that he was almost as big a nerd as I am and a Superman fan literally down to his socks didn't hurt our getting along either.

Of course, just before the big lockdown, we were both re-deployed out of Comms and our manager let go as part of a big re-org, but we agreed it was better to be working than not working and kept tabs on each other in our new roles.

I was thrilled in August when he let our other old teammates and me know he had taken a job at a tech startup. He would be doing almost every communication and marketing job in the organization at first, and then hiring others to do them and being their boss. He was so excited about the potential, and I thought it was a great opportunity for him. 

The plan was for him to take 1-2 weeks off after his last day and then start in his new gig, after which we would get together for the pint we had been postponing and rescheduling since damn near the spring. 

But instead, he was killed in a car accident near Foam Lake, Saskatchewan on September 1, heading back to Edmonton.

I describe feeling "gutted" instead of sad, or even heartbroken, even though both those things are true, because gutted not only perfectly describes the simultaneous feelings of pain and loss, but also the lingering vacuity - the pervasive sense of a palpable absence, the loss of bearings brought on by such a sudden, tragic and intrinsically unfair death.

Krishna was a decade younger than me, married, and had close personal ties to both his immediate and extended families. Trying to comprehend the grief and agony they were experiencing left me unmanned.

I was glad when they asked people to attend his memorial online this past Thursday, but I am not gonna lie - it was still tough. The raw anguish so freely offered by so many speakers spoke deeply to me and echoed many of my own feelings.

But there was also laughter amidst the tears, and fond recollections, and gratitude for good times past, and clear signs that the remaining connections would not be frayed by this loss, but made even stronger in defiance of grief.

Krishna's father was one of the last to speak, and his heartbreak came through in every syllable. But then he began speaking directly to his son, reminding him that the soul is immortal, and his journey was not yet over. He gave Krishna clear and patient instructions in terms of what to expect, and the importance of laying down his earthly ties, not to be tied here with his mortal husk. He told his son to relax and follow the guidance of Lord Shiva, who would lead him on eventually to eternity, where they would all meet again one day.

So many of the Christian funeral rites I have experienced treat the beloved deceased as already being beyond our reach; so it was striking to me to hear Krishna's grieving father steady his voice and give these final insights to his offspring. It was profoundly touching, and despite my not being of the Hindu faith, quite comforting as well. 

I have already spoken to my work colleagues about getting together again to raise a glass to our departed friend, and hope we can do it before too long. Krishna's memorial went a long way to making me feel less gutted, but the only reliable long-term treatments are time and fellowship spent with others who knew the man and share the loss.

Godspeed, Krishna.

Age of Aquarium

It probably seems odd for three people from Edmonton visiting the United States for the first time in nearly five years to choose to spend some of their limited time in visiting their biggest mall, but that is exactly what we did. Twice.

We had booked our Minneapolis stay at the IHG MSP, which is normally connected directly to the airport by a pedway, but TSA staffing shortages have closed that connector bridge for a while now. It is still less than a 10-minute shuttle from the terminal to the lobby though.

More importantly though, that same lobby is about an eight-minute walk to the local transit hub, where you can catch a Blue Line train downtown (including US Bank Stadium) or in the other direction to the fabled WEM competitor the Mall of America. Tragically the train line to the mall is currently under repair so we had to dismount and jump on a sub-in bus, but the transit schedule was easy enough to figure out that we just used the people's chariot for our return and subsequent trips.

Anyways, we spend much of Friday night exploring the immense shopping and entertainment structure and yes, it is easily as impressive as West Edmonton Mall, and significantly bigger to boot. In fact, with 5.6 million sq ft of leasable area, MoA is only ninth on the list of world's largest malls, while WEM's increasingly paltry 3.8M sq ft has relegated it to a three-way tie for 28th! Our is still the second-largest in North America though. 

We explored a few of the shops and eventually found a Minnesota Vikings hat at the fan store to replace the one I had foolishly left on the hotel shuttle in Toronto that morning. We didn't buy too much but got the lay of the land and got to experience our first meal at the legendary Shake Shack, which was delicious! (Pro Tip: yes, it is totally worthwhile to get your shake malted for an additional charge.)

We also visited the M&M store and while we did not avail ourselves of the opportunity to make custom M&Ms with our own letters or graphics, we did appreciate the whimsy of the place and its immense M&Minnesota M&Mural.

Stand by that mosaic ki- wait a minute...

My God - it's full of chocolate...

Returning to the hotel a bit before 9:00, we rested our weary feet (a lap of one level of the mall is something like 1.15 miles, and did all three floors plus some doubling) and started planning the next day's concert travel. The original plan was to go and explore downtown in the early afternoon, then get an early dinner and try to get to the doors close to the 5 pm opening.

The trouble is, we had no real idea what was downtown to actually see or proximity to the concert venue, and if we made any purchases or got any souvenirs, we would have to either mule them into the stadium for the concert or trek back to the hotel. On further reflection, we decided to have a decent breakfast at the hotel restaurant and then return to the mall to visit the Sea Life Aquarium instead.

I was a bit reluctant initially, as that seemed kind of an expensive way to, essentially, kill a few hours until we could go downtown to eat. But museums and exhibit trips have been a part of both girls' lives since we began travelling with them, and Glory's grade 11 trip to the Bamfield Marine Sciences Centre had a huge impact on her. And the odds of the three of us ending up somewhere else with an acrylic tube for shark-watching were too slim to be estimated, so that is what we did.

And for an aquarium in a mall, it is actually legitimately impressive. Worth checking out if you have any interest in sea life, and it is oriented very well for a variety of age groups.

Two chill garials (alligator subspecies)

Fenya's least favourite exhibit, the emperor scorpion

Bad photo of a sturgeon, but decent one of Fenya!

But the shark tube, a 2.5m walkway passing through the bottom of an enormous tank filled with sharks, sawfish, rays and even a couple of sea turtles was unquestionably the best part, based on the sizes of the smiles it generated anyways.

This is  just one small corner of the enormous tank

Delighted by rays overhead

Yep, totally worth the trip

What a joy to see these creatures so clearly and close!

Dad's obligatory group selfie

Man, I forgot how much I LOVE sharks

Following the shark tube, there are also a number of smaller tanks with clownfish, seahorses and jellyfish illuminated in a cycling swath of colours.

The lighting of the moon jellies even inspired me to get a little (very little) artsy with the Layout tool in Instagram...

And after that, there was still a chance to feed shrimp to hungry rays and a touch tank.

Even lingering the way we did, we were still out of the aquarium before 11:30, which gave us a little more time to shop and grab a slice of DeLeo's NYC-style pizza on our way out.

Sea Life Aquarium ended up being far more than a time-killer, and seeing the girls' smiles in these pictures and videos underscored that for me even before we left the mall that dethroned WEM.

Sadly, no time for actual margaritas...