While you can argue that there have been better books adapted into a film, I don’t think you can argue that a better film has been adapted from a book than The Godfather (1972). To put it simply, it’s one of those films that has resonated in culture for almost 50 (!) years and has launched the modern perception of the Italian gangster. True, we had others come along in the years since, but when you think of great gangster movies, few have compared to the reputation that The Godfather has. Even if another masterpiece comes along, it doesn’t seem likely that it will usurp its reputation. Don’t believe me? Goodfellas (1990) has tried, and it’s only succeeded in persuading a fraction of the crowd.
There are countless moments that have become timeless set pieces. Who can forget the opening shot that finds the story of a man coming to Vito Corleone for help as the camera pulls back? In those few minutes, with judgmental eyes on this man, we hear the story of an American Dream. It’s one of sacrifice and desire to only provide the best for family. Considering that this will be a story focusing on the transition from Vito to his son Michael, the feeling of loyalty is important to establish right away. While this is a gangster story, it’s ultimately revered because of how it paints the basic rules of the family, of needing those people to watch your back when the heat is on.
Together director Francis Ford Coppola and screenwriter Mario Puzo would make three films in The Godfather franchise. While many (including me) consider Part II (1974) to be the best and expands on everything great about the first, Part III (1990) was a notorious misfire that I think deserves more credit for reflecting The Godfather story, but from the perspective of a more negligent father. Its only flaw is that it’s the third-best film in the trilogy.
However, there’s an incredible “What If?” to be had with knowing that this franchise could’ve kept going. Before Puzo’s death in 1999, there was talk that a Part IV was in the works. Considering how Part III ends, it would be an interesting extension of the narrative, especially since it concluded Michael Corleone’s story in such a way that if not satisfying, then conclusive. There was nowhere to go unless you focused on the more notorious new generation. Of course by then The Sopranos was on TV and created a gangster show where The Godfather existed, thus making it all seem like a hat on a hat.
There are few writing careers that feel as stone-cold lucky as Puzo. For whatever reason, he is responsible for writing some of the most influential films in history. Besides The Godfather trilogy, he also co-wrote Superman (1978) and its 1980 sequel. How could this man possibly be able to get into the right rooms?
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| Puzo (left) with Francis Ford Coppola |
That’s especially given that I honestly don’t know that he’s written another book on par with “The Godfather.” Okay, that’s facetious. I only comment on the book’s legacy because anyone who comes to it now is doing so because of the Coppola film. While groups like PBS’ Great American Read have suggested that there’s literary value, I would argue that it’s at best a trashy novel. You wouldn’t know it watching the film because Coppola had the common sense to centralize the themes, bringing forth the dramatic weight of Michael’s story.
However, that book is incredible in its ability to both be the blueprint for the film as well as an example of knowing when to remove subplots. With very limited exceptions, all of the key scenes are present in this book.
It even has a fairly compelling opening that builds up anticipation in a way that builds up the mythology of Vito. During his prose, Puzo goes through a series of scenarios that we as human beings understand deserve some form of revenge. You’re already getting a sense of how seedy this world is, feeling like you’ve been invited into a lion’s den. Everything is tense, and you’re immediately looking for someone to have your back, forming this implicit loyalty that the story will ultimately build on.
So, what do you do when the world treats you bad?
As Puzo would say, you have to go see the godfather.
I can’t remember specific lines of this, but I remember the repetition. There is this urgency, this building of importance that I loved. I wanted to believe that the novel would be like this as if there was a switchblade under your chin at every turn. True we get to see the characters who open the film, but they’re presented in a less elegant form, more casually interacting with Vito. Still, there is something thrilling about watching this scene play out and knowing that there is a man whose connections would be able to bury your problems in a shallow grave.
As a structure, it’s largely the same. We’re at Vito’s daughter’s wedding. We’re watching events play out as we’re introduced to a whole host of characters. However, the adaptation process from here is where things become more fascinating. Puzo for one is emphasizing almost with multiple underlines the value of loyalty and family in every passage. The characters seem to be drawn to this form of conversation.
However, the adaptation process becomes clear when dealing with certain characters. Michael’s arc is largely the same, but when you get to his brothers things become more interesting. Tom Hagen isn’t too much of a stretch, reflecting the feeling of being an outsider due to him being adopted.
Then there’s Sonny Corleone, who carries one thing over from the film. He is an amorous love hound. He is eager to have sex at every turn. Puzo seems to be obsessed with his affairs, mixing in an erotic novel in between this moral conflict with Michael. We get it. Sonny is irresponsible and abuses power, but Puzo really wants you to know that not only is he likely to take his girlfriend to bed midsentence, but there is a whole subplot about him being well-endowed.
Talk about envy, Puzo is obsessed with the idea of Sonny’s penis being too big for Lucy’s vagina. This ultimately leads to a whole scene of vaginal surgery in order to make things more comfortable for their experience.
It’s a moment so staggering that if it doesn’t make you pause, put down the book and rub your eyes, then you’re a better man than me. When all you know of The Godfather comes from the film, the idea of spending pages diving into medical discussion of a supporting character’s privates is quite jarring. This has nothing to do with the bigger picture unless Puzo was trying to make an exploitative tale of gangster culture, not really focusing on one story that would make the novel stronger.
That’s why it becomes baffling to assess “The Godfather” as a cultural landmark. Not the film, but the novel. It was a best-seller in 1969, and I can understand why to a fault. When the book focuses on moments that you’d later see in the film, there was something fast and dirty about it, making you feel riveted by every page. This was a look into a society that we’d never be invited into, and to have it so full of melodrama is undeniable to the entertainment experience. It’s a miracle that the studio didn’t give Coppola a crate of soap to lather over this.
Even then, I think some things become clear about how inferior the novel is the more that the culture changes. It’s got a strong case of misogyny. Lucy has to change in order to appeal to Sonny. She has nothing wrong with her body, but because of a man, she’s developed this insecurity that requires a surgical scene. That’s the most egregious choice and one that should forever keep it off the list of greatest books ever. If anyone abridged the book, it would be for the best. I guess that other forms of misogyny are easier to write off given that they tie to the main characters’ masculine worldview, but even Coppola found ways to make them more sympathetic and human than they are on the page.
If there’s anything that I personally love about The Godfather franchise as a whole, it’s that the whole thing came out of desperation. Puzo needed the money, so he wrote this novel. Coppola first reluctantly made The Godfather and had to be coerced into Part II, and Part III only came out of Coppola’s production studio going bankrupt throughout the 1980s. Nothing about this franchise feels like it came from personal artistic expression. Even then, it came to define all of their careers in such a way that you’d think they poured blood, sweat, and tears over the entire thing. I suppose that’s true, but I think it’s more admirable to look at it as artists not only adapting material, but adapting their ethics within a professional prism.
So in that respect, I can get why Puzo’s novel feels so hangdog at times. I can see why it’s said that the mafia used to ask them who he talked to due to its accuracy. Still, there is a reason that this is our shared vision of what the mafia looks like. There’s something concrete and fascinating about how this world came to be, and that it all starts with one of the messiest novels to produce a masterpiece, likely ever. You can’t write it off because Puzo had the iconic moments first, but he also had the vagina surgery.
I can see why he chose to stick with writing gangster novels, expanding upon the world in novel form. Still, I don’t know that “The Godfather” is a book that holds up to scrutiny. It’s pulpy, existing more like a breezy read that transports you to a world unlike your own. In that way, it’s excellent. He created a phenomenon by reinventing the gangster imagery. Because of him the mafia now has godfathers, and the world has endless parodies and homage. Cinema has borrowed endless techniques from those films, and I suppose he deserves some credit.
But if I’m being honest, Puzo’s biggest achievement is being lucky. In all respects he should’ve faded after The Godfather films, existing mostly as a pulp writer. How he managed to reinvent the mafia and superhero genre by the end of the 1970s is a baffling accomplishment. I guess he understood writing well enough to appeal to what audiences wanted. Either that, or it became clear that he was at his best when he was filtered through somebody else’s vision. On his own, he was a clever writer. With a technical wizard, he was brilliant.
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