by Billy Russell, Staff Writer

One of the traditions that I’ve carried with me into adulthood is the idea of theme-eating based on a movie I’m going to watch, and I’m glad it’s something my wife understands and has done independently in her own life before we ever met, because it’s a blast. It helps surround the movie with an event, it makes the experience more memorable. I’ll not only remember the movie, but the sights, the sounds, the smells, and be overcome with a wave of nostalgia.

The first time I ever saw The Godfather, I was twelve. And I can tell you why I saw it. Because I had always had it my head that The Godfather was boring. I’d only known it through pop culture references—Marlon Brando petting a cat and talking in a silly voice, some lines here and there, an orange peel in the mouth. And… ehhhhh… it didn’t sound like something that would be up my alley. It just looks boring, and on top of that, it’s 3 hours long.

I said something along the lines of, “Like that boring old movie The Godfather?” in some sort of context I can’t remember, and my dad had snapped back, “WHAT?! Boring? Old? Movie?”

The next day we were at the video store, renting it, and then heading over to the grocery store so that he could make what he called Godfather Spaghetti. He ground some pork into sausage, got some fancy pasta, got some wine for him and my mom and we made an evening of it. I remember my first screening so vividly because I was hooked right away. I can’t remember why, but I do distinctly remember being in a sleeping bag on the couch. It was super comfortable, so that’s probably why.

With so many movies, I remember there being a moment that clicked, where I realized I was watching something special, but with The Godfather, it was almost instantaneous. Francis Ford Coppola and Gordon Willis had created such a beautiful world of figures within the shadows, it just clicked. A lot of what happens in The Godfather is subtle and character-based, and the filmmakers do such a good job with it, that even at such a young age, I never felt lost. I never had to ask, “Why was the Don so upset with Sonny for speaking at the meeting?” You understand little things through the acting, through the body language, that certain faux pas in this gangster underworld have a deeper meaning. There is a language unto itself and you understand it based on these subtle cues that the movie brilliantly conveys.

My mom, dad and I had a post-film discussion where we asked each other what our favorite scenes were. For my money, my favorite scene both then and now, is the one where Michael chooses vengeance and lets himself be overtaken by the darkness inside of him, and decides to commit a double assassination in a public setting. My heart was in my throat. I knew what was going to happen, but the movie builds and builds and builds, with the sound of the train roaring, to its violent conclusion and it’s just masterful. It’s so goddamned well done.

Now, my mom, I remember that her favorite scene was one that none other than George Lucas had helped in editing. Francis Ford Coppola had said that in the editing process, he was stumped with a scene that was bland, the one where Michael arrives at the hospital to visit his father. There was nothing to it. No tension. Just… it just sort of existed. It was George Lucas’s idea to add in shots of empty corridors with echoing footsteps. These shots were never intended to be used, they were just trims off of existing shots, but they added an emptiness and a dread. It took the whole scene to a completely higher level.

After that first watch, The Godfather rocketed up to my top five movies of all time, where it’s stayed for over twenty years at this point. It was phenomenal.

Now, my dad had told me that back in the day, on television, after The Godfather II was met with equal praise, there was a two-night even in which both Godfather films were edited chronologically together into one. He told me it wasn’t the best way to watch it, but that it was a really fun experiment, and should be watched at least once. I found some copies online on eBay that were taped from the original broadcast, and I was curious, but never curious enough to actually purchase and watch.

A few years ago, HBO presented that version, with all R-rated content intact, called The Godfather: A Novel for Television, at a gargantuan 7-hour run time. Deleted scenes were restored. This thing was an event. I told my wife how I’d always wanted to make a day of it, and just have that be thing we watch all day, and she was game. We got some cheap wine and some fancy pizza from a great little restaurant down the street, and we buckled ourselves in for it.

My dad was right, it’s not the best way to see either of the first two Godfather movies, but if you are a fan, you’ve gotta do it at least once. Just pretend it’s the Super Bowl and have a day’s worth of snacks.

At 50 years old now, The Godfather casts a long, long shadow. It’s a rare movie that cinephiles, snobs and movie fans who love popcorn flicks all seem to agree on and enjoy in equal measure. It’s like Star Wars in that way, or Raiders of the Lost Ark, or The Wizard of Oz. There’s just something about it, something you can write about and discuss to death, trying to figure out, but what it is, what makes it so special, in something that can’t be replicated. It’s magic. There’s a magic in the celluloid and it casts a spell on you when you watch it. When you’re done, you know that you’ve seen something incredible.