It’s not that I don’t like The Godfather; I do. And it’s not that I think it’s overrated; it probably is, at least a little bit, but it’s almost beside the point now to think of the movie that way, because it’s become such a cornerstone of the culture.

It’s that a lot of the movie is…not so good. And by “the movie,” I mean “the acting,” and by “the acting,” I mostly mean Talia Shire. I have seen a college TV room on a Sunday afternoon, strewn with carefully motionless hungover bodies all either captivated by the film or semi-napping, come to a rolling boil of motion the instant a Connie scene begins — suddenly, people want to get everyone more coffee, or have to pee, or remembered art history reading they have to do, or just urgently need to stand out in the yard for five to ten minutes while Songs In The Key Of C Sharp flings dishes around and flop-runs around that dingy apartment like…like…okay, one time, when I was a kid, I was playing on the swing-set in our back yard, and the swing-set had this trapeze attachment consisting of a wooden bar and two metal rings, heavy ones, and I did some flip off the trapeze, which went okay, but the trapeze swung back and clipped me full on the back of the head with one of the rings, and it just straight-up rang my bell, so loud that I saw triple and couldn’t even get it together to start crying yet, but I could run down the hill to the back door, sort of, so I did, seeing three times as many trees as usual and unable to breathe and just kind of flailing myself in the direction of the house like an angry noodle.

You know. Like…that. And by the time Connie tries to lock herself in the bathroom, the TV room is empty except for one knocked-over drink cup sloooowly turning to a stop in the wake of two dozen hasty exits, because she’s that unbearable to watch. Sonny takes ten trillion bullets at the toll plaza, nobody even wakes up, but “awwww, vaffancul’ YOU-uhhh” and it’s a soccer stampede.

The response is somewhat more measured these days — at McK and Scrapper’s house yesterday, a semi-formed, un-acted-upon plan to maybe go to Starbucks became an immediate shoes-be-damned Code Red when we came back from commercial to see Connie sporting a shiner — but not much. That board-planer inflection is a killer.

So, you know, it seems like the obvious thing to assign one drink to every instance in which Connie is annoying, but if I’m to believe what I see on House, it’s really quite difficult to get a liver transplant, so instead…

Every time someone in the room observes that maybe Carlo got garroted not for beating Connie up, but for failing to finish the job and kill her screechy ass: 1 drinkThe inevitable “…not that I condone violence against women, obviously” follow-up, because…obviously. But…”You just told me to make you diiiinneeerrrhhh!”: 1 drink

The character as written doesn’t give Shire a whole lot to work with, it’s true. In fact, the other actresses in the movie get saddled with one-note parts as well, because women don’t really play a role in the film’s world except as foils, and while I don’t have a problem with that on the merits, it can make for some irritating scenes. I understand Kay’s role in the following exchange is to prompt exposition, but…dude. “My father made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.” “What was it?”

“What was it”? Well, gosh, Kay, since his father is Vito Corleone, I think we can rule out free pizza for life or box seats at the Dodger game — what do you think it was, you simpering moron? He threatened to kill the guy. Do you want to try to keep up here?

I just don’t like that relationship. See above re: my sympathizing with the actresses here, up to a point, but the acting choices on Diane Keaton’s part could have used some work —

Diane Keaton does her best Katie-Holmes-melting-candle boo-boo-kitty face: 1 drinkCoupled with the trademark sad/pleading/confused/disappointed “…Michael!”: 1 drink

And her forehead is, like, 72 percent of her face in the shot: 1 drink

— and it’s one thing for Kay to dig Michael’s chili before he goes off to Italy, but when he comes back and is all cold and commanding, with the glowering and the nose-dabbing and the “I forgot all about you and married an Italian hottie I couldn’t even communicate with unless I had my English-to-Deflower dictionary handy, but they’re picking her ass up with a sponge back in Sicily, so I guess you’ll have to do, except don’t ask me about my business, don’t get an abortion, and pass the Kleenex”? Kay: you’ve got a good job, he’s a foot shorter than you, and you have no chemistry. Not shit you need. Next!

Keaton and Pacino have all the smoldering heat of people who met on jury duty that morning: 1 drink

And speaking of Zadie Smithereens…oh, Apollonia. Such pretty outfits; such nifty footwear; so, so grating. The scene where she’s chanting the days of the week in English drives me bazoo, and meanwhile “Michele” is staring at her like she’s a Ferrari wrapped in bacon and never blinks once. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a beautiful girl, but…a nuance? Just one? Please?

You spend an Apollonia scene memorizing her shoes so you can try to find a similar pair on Zappos.com; betting your friends how many of the female chaperones have mustaches; defending your opinion that Fabrizio is too sort of cute; wishing aloud that you could see the alternate ending in which Michael marries Vanity or Sheila E. instead; or in the kitchen, fixing a snack and waiting to hear “No! Apollonia! [car go boom]” before venturing back into the living room: 1 drink

It’s not just the ladies, unfortunately. Robert Duvall delivers almost every line while looking, and sounding, like he has to poo. If you don’t want to pass out before the wedding scene has even ended, though, you have to confine your sipping to the extreme examples.

Robert Duvall renders his dialogue not just as if he has to poo, but as if he really has to poo, as if the minute Coppola yelled “cut!”, Duvall did the lock-kneed otter-is-poking-his-head-out poo shuffle to the nearest bathroom, pausing only briefly to yoink a magazine out of the hands of a key grip en route: 1 drink

And then you’ve got the tertiary characters. My theory is that Brando’s salary, Brando’s own personal craft services line item, Brando’s adenoids’ demands for their own car and a masseuse, and Brando’s kids’ legal fees ate up so much of the budget that the first AD had exactly $7.68 left with which to buy a log, paint it to look like Sterling Hayden, and arrange with the sound team to loop McCluskey’s lines in later. And Richard Conte, good grief. It’s a sit-down with the heads of all five Mafia families, sir, not the set of an infomercial for those jeans with the butt-lifting inserts. Guys who didn’t even have lines in the same scene in Analyze This took it more seriously than you, and the check already cleared, so how about you use your lower register, damn.

A below-the-line actor gets a nomination for the Golden Two-By-Four Achievement In Wooden Acting Award: 1 drink

Other squirmy moments come from good acting —

John Cazale’s “…nnnnnert!” line delivery, bowing and scraping to Moe Greene, belief that Michael would want a bunch of showgirls capering around on his lap, and/or neckerchief cause you to squirm in delicious mortification on Fredo’s behalf: 1 drink

— weird blocking —

Incest or incest-adjacent conduct is occurring or seems about to occur: 1 drink, and a toast to Joe R for that oogy contribution (Low Resolution: It Goes There)

— era-appropriate but awkward hiked-up pants styling —

Oh, hello, James Caan’s jibblies. …Damn you, James Caan’s suspenders: 1 drink

— kooky camera angles —

A shot is deliberately framed to make Pacino seem taller: 1 drink

— and distractingly realist sound design.

In every single scene in the Corleone compound, a baby is not merely crying, but screaming its head off like the set nanny jammed him with a red-hot pin, to the point where you have to cup your ear to hear the dialogue: 1 drink”I think that’s Sofia Coppola, actually.” “Whoever it is, somebody burp her for chrissake, I can’t hear what’s going on.”: 1 drink

Not feeling me? Think Kay is an awesome character? Feel sorry for Connie? Don’t hear a telltale “[hoint!]” coming from the direction of Duvall’s trousers? Well, if we all agreed on everything, we’d live in a pretty boring world. Still, that’s not going to tank you up in time for the credits, so feel free to use the old standbys.

Hey, It’s That Sopranos Character!Hey, It’s That GoodFellas Character!

Someone else on the couch quotes the next line incorrectly, is embarrassed, gets dramatically angry at his friends for misquoting it around him all the time and making him screw up, and proceeds to quote it incessantly — but correctly, sort of — for the next two weeks, in all situations, “Look how they massacred my parking spot” this, “Look how they massacred my omelet” that, all right already, everyone thinks it’s “Look what they’ve done to my boy,” forgive yourself and let it go, dude!: a salut’

April 24, 2006

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