"The Godfather" screening at Tribeca Film Festival
April 29, 2017
(You can read about Al Pacino walking into my life two hours before this event here.)
There’s something special about watching a movie you adore with six thousand other avid fans. My favorite mode of watching a flick is alone and pantsless on my couch with my cat and a snack of some sort, but inside Radio City Music Hall (pants on) with thousands of other people who are as passionate about the film as me is pretty great too. When it’s two of the greatest films ever made, The Godfather and The Godfather Part II, and the director and cast—who have all long since become legends of their craft, each of us in the crowd with our own favorites and reasons for being there—are also in the house, the excitement is profound. It was as if the excitement became its own entity, and when the lights went down, it was released, floating around the room and leaving us awash with exhilaration in its wake.
First came Paramount’s logo, and then cheers from the crowd when Francis Ford Coppola’s name appeared on screen. More cheers for Mario Puzo and his novel (on which The Godfather is based) when his named appeared, and then–and then–the haunting, single horn of The Godfather theme. When, from within the black, Bonasera tells Vito, “I believe in America,” I got choked up. That line struck me, reaching out to us from four and a half decades ago at this time in this country, or maybe it was just the excitement of the day catching up to me. Four seconds into the film, and I was already having irrational emotional reactions, and that is why I prefer to watch movies at home by myself.
Each character (and the actor portraying him or her) received a round of applause from the crowd as he or she appeared on screen for the first time, starting with Brando on through Sterling Hayden and Al Letteiri, who played McCluskey and Sollozzo, respectively, RIP. In a normal movie theatre setting, the clapping would have irked me. The actors aren’t here, guys, calm down. But this was obviously something special. Many of the actors were there, and this was The Godfather. Clap away, and I’ll join you. We clapped, we laughed at what might seem like inappropriate times, almost giddily. But this movie is so great, and it was such a unique setting, that it was impossible not to react to the iconic scenes that contributed to its greatness. And just about every scene in The Godfather is iconic.
I could go on and on and on about just about every moment in both films (“You broke my heart, Fredo. You broke my heart.” G’ah!), but I’ll spare you. As great as the films are, the behind the scenes stories from the director and cast are even better, so I’ll get right (ish) to that.
The Godfather is two hours and forty-five minutes long, and Part II is three hours and twenty minutes long, so with the first film starting around 1:30PM and including a generous intermission between it and Part II, it was well after 8:00PM by the time the panel discussion commenced. That’s a long time for six thousand strangers to be crammed in a room together, but there were no complaints, except maybe from my numb ass.
After the second film, a mock set popped up from beneath the stage, complete with a mantel, bookshelves, eight leather chairs, and a framed photo of Marlon Brando as Don Vito Corleone. Tribeca co-founder, Jane Rosenthal, came out to announce the cast and Coppola, and panel moderator, director, Taylor Hackford. Hackford, De Niro, Shire, DuVall, Coppola, Pacino, Keaton, and Caan made their way out as their names were called and everyone greeted each other with a hug. I got the feeling that they had been busy catching up with each other backstage, because it took them a few seconds to make it out after their names were called, and they seemed a little discombobulated. Like, oh, shit, that’s right, we’re here to do this thing, aren’t we? I had visions of them telling stories and jokes and teasing each other around a giant vat of spaghetti and basket of garlic bread, like the good Italian family they are, if only for the silver screen.
I paid special attention to Mr. Pacino’s introduction, because he’s the main reason I came to the reunion. He shuffled/bounded out on stage with a big smile on his face, waving to the crowd, half Michael Corleone, half mischievous child. It’s well known by now that Paramount hadn’t wanted Al Pacino to play the part of Michael Corleone. Taylor Hackford said that the head of Paramount at the time, Bob Evans, felt Al was “quote, too short” to play the part, and Al interjected, sitting in his chair like a little kid, fiddling with his microphone, “That’s sorta true…” and then shrugged, throwing a smile to those in the front rows. I love that self-depreciating style, particularly regarding his height, because it seems he really couldn’t care less about it. He’s so powerful an actor that it doesn’t matter that he’s short. He’s also fairly shy and slightly awkward, which I thought was adorable. It makes me wonder, had I had managed to speak more than two syllables to him out on the street, if I would have been the less awkward one for once in my life. He mentioned how it’s often hard for him to speak, especially in situations like that, and he told us, “you’ll get used to it.” He can say and do anything on camera with power and precision, when he’s playing a part, but when he’s just being Al Pacino he’s a bit awkward and has trouble putting things into words. I like that. I think he’s also got allergies, because he kept rubbing his eyes and blinking, and I recognize that on a cosmic level (or maybe he doesn’t have allergies and I’m just desperate to relate to Al Pacino on a human level).
Good god. I should have just called this, “Hey Guys, I Love Al Pacino!”
But seriously. He’s great.
In very Tom Hagen fashion, Mr. DuVall didn’t have much to say unless asked directly. He shared a story about the constant moonings that took place between him, James Caan and Marlon Brandon on set. “An extra said (about his ass), ‘Mr. Duvall, you are fine,” and then she turned to her friend and said, ‘but did you catch the balls on that Brando?’” James Caan has no use for a microphone, and seemed to forget at times that he was on stage in front of thousands of people. Not in an old man kind of way, but in a, I’m-just-here-with-my-friends-having-a-chat-so-screw-your-microphone kind of way. “I don’t do this,” he said at one point after forgetting about his mic again—his wise-guy accent as strong as it was when he played Sonny. And his voice is so deep and scratchy, he makes Pacino’s rough voice sound velvety. And an interesting (if you’re me) side note: of the entire cast, Mr. Caan is the only one who isn’t an Italian. But Coppola said he has long been an honorary one.
(I have a confession: The first James Caan film I saw was Elf. I know. I know! But it’s true. When I watched The Godfather for the first time back in February, and Sonny first appeared on screen, I squinted at my television and said to myself, “Is that Buddy’s dad?” Oh, god. I’m so sorry, Mr. Caan. It’s like when a someone, probably a millennial, speaks the blasphemous words, “I love that song “Landslide” by The Dixie Chicks.” Now, of course, I understand that one should never refer to James Caan as Buddy’s dad. James Caan is Sonny Corleone. Bada bing!)
Coppola said that Paramount wanted someone who looked like Robert Redford or Ryan O’Neal to play Michael, but he, Coppola, wanted someone who looked more like him, and that got a big laugh. Al nodded and said something like, well, yeah, we could be twins. Coppola clarified, saying he meant he had wanted someone who looked authentically Sicilian. And although there are blond and red-headed Sicilians, his vision of Michael was of a handsome young man with black hair (cheers from the crowd), and as he read the novel, particularly the part where Michael walks through Corleone with the shepherds, he saw only Al Pacino’s face. (Fun fact: Pacino’s grandparents emigrated to the United States from Corleone, Sicily.)
When Al told us that “me and Diane got loaded” after filming the wedding scene in Part I, because there were so many problems on set, and this was early on, when Paramount still wasn’t on board with Al playing Michael, and weren’t shy about telling everyone that, Diane shook her head and mouthed the word “no” to the crowd, but in a cheeky kind of way, kind of like, I did no such thing, but yeah, we totally did. Ms. Keaton looked phenomenal, by the way.
When he found out one week during filming that he was going to be fired as director on that Friday, Coppola said he fired basically everyone around him except his actors, figuring with everyone but him gone, there was no way Paramount could then fire him, and it worked. Coppola is a testament to what a great director can accomplish if he or she is willing to fight for his vision, and boy, did Coppola fight. Paramount fought him every, single step of the way while shooting and editing The Godfather. They didn’t want Brando or Pacino, but Coppola fought hard for them both and got them, and look what happened. Magic.
There was more. Much more. But I'm beat, and I'm annoying myself at this point. If you’ve read this far, I sincerely thank you, because I know I can be quite insufferable when I get going about these things. So, thanks.
The day Al Pacino walked into my life
April 29, 2017
PHOTOGRAPH BY JUSTIN BISHOP
There are times in my life (more and more lately) when I question the decisions I make for myself. This is an old story but one that bears repeating because sometimes it's hard for me to believe it actually happened.
Last April, I was on the subway in New York City with my mom. We were on our way back to our hotel from the 9/11 Memorial when my phone pinged at me.
It was a Google Alert.
This will come as absolutely no surprise to those who really know me (and probably even those who only know me a little bit) but I set up Google Alerts for my favorite actors and musicians.
A Google Alert is a lovely little gift, sent to us from the Google gods, that sends out all the up-to-date news and information that exists for whatever or whomever you've set up the Google Alert for. It's basically techno-stalking but I prefer to think of it as being a dedicated fan.
My current Google Alert list is fairly exclusive and includes: Al Pacino, Lindsey Buckingham, Gabriel Byrne, Stellan Skarsgard, and, for my sister, James Spader. (Updated for 2018: It now also includes Billy Bob Thornton and Hugh Laurie.)
Back to the subway: The alert I got that day was an article about a 45th anniversary screening of The Godfather films at Radio City Music Hall that was taking place the following weekend. The screening, the article informed me, would close the Tribeca Film Festival and would be followed by a panel discussion with the director of the films, Francis Ford Coppola, and The Godfather actors, Al Pacino, Robert De Niro, James Caan, Robert Duvall, Diane Lane, and Talia Shire.
Here's the thing: Once my brain grabs hold of something, it will not let it go. Until it convinces my body to do whatever the hell it is that my brain has decided it's going to do, it will not shut up.
For the rest of that night this was cycling through my mind: You have to come back next week. You have to go to that screening. Go. Find a ticket. You have to go. Go find a ticket. You have to go.
Me: Well, brain, that would be a pretty expensive trip for just one night.
So?
Me: What if the tickets are sold out?
They probably are. Use Stubhub.
Me: That will be even more expensive.
Yep.
Me: So, we’re just never going to save money ever again?
Basically.
Me: Cool.
So, I found a ticket (on Stubhub because yes, tickets were sold out), I booked a room for Saturday night, and set my alarm for 3AM Saturday morning.
It's worth mentioning here that I am not a morning person. At all. I can appreciate aspects of it. Yes, sunrise is lovely. But, I am not a morning person. When the alarm went off, I cursed at it and my brain.
Me: Is it really necessary to drive six hours to this thing today? Can’t we just stay in bed? I’m tired!
No. Get up. Yes, we really have to do this. Get the hell up and quit whining.
My brain is not a morning person either.
So, I got up. I threw some clothes in a bag, grabbed some Red Bull, and off we went to New York City, me and my brain. Again.
Short story made much longer by my rambling, I ended up running late. The screening started at 1PM. We were instructed to be at Radio City no later than noon, and it was already after 11.
Now, I’m okay with driving in New York City at this point, as long as I don't venture away from my normal route that I have memorized. How thrilled was I, then, that my usual route into the Theatre District that morning was blocked off coming out of the Lincoln Tunnel. Instead of going left into the city to 42nd Street, I was forced to go right and ended up on 34th. And it was like a whole different world back there. I felt the panic rise.
(Mind you, I have navigation in my car that rerouted me straight away and told me exactly where and when to turn to get to my hotel, but there was no time for rational thought. I was late.)
I got to my hotel about five minutes after I would have without the construction detour but it might as well have been an hour later. I checked in, changed quick, scratched out a thank you message in the inside cover of my book that I hoped to give to Mr. Pacino somehow. (Thank you for your work. You’re such an inspiration to me. Other embarrassing things. Blah, blah, blah, etc.) I stuffed the book into a gift bag and was back out on the street by 11:45, practically running to get to Radio City by noon.
I hit every intersection on the way to Radio City almost perfectly, with a “Walk” sign waiting for me at each one. Two blocks away, my luck ended. At 48th and 6th, I had to stop. Ugh. It was five minutes to noon, and I stood there, contemplating whether or not I could dash between the oncoming cars without getting run over. Only because my mother would never forgive me if that happened, I decided against it.
Impatient, I looked up and down the street, checking traffic and the clock on my phone. I glanced up 48th again and, walking toward me on the side of 48th, approaching from about fifteen yards away, was Al Pacino.
Alone. Just walking. He walked right up to me and stopped..
Picture it, if you will. There was me, starting to sweat because I hadn't bothered to check the weather report and I was wearing all black and my leather jacket. This is usually okay in the city in mid-April but that day was unseasonably warm, already close to 80 degrees. There was Al Pacino, also wearing all black (including black Converse sneakers, bless) literally strolling into my life and stopping to wait for the light, shoulder to shoulder with me.
My brain is usually pretty quick on its feet but in that moment it had nothing. It wasn't quite computing yet. I just sort of stood there. I was in that city on that day to attend a screening of two of the greatest movies of all time, starring this man. I was holding a gift for him in my hands. And he just...walked into my life.
At that point, I was wondering if that was the moment I’d completely lost touch with reality. It’s bound to happen someday with how much I live inside my mind. And I thought, well, today’s as good a day as any, I suppose.
So, here was me and Michael Corleone just hanging out in all black together in the 80 degree heat at 48th and 6th. I was sweating. He wasn't sweating at all because of course he wasn't. I side-eye
I side-eyed him for along moment. I was still wondering if he was only a figment of my fractured mind that had slipped between the cracks and out on to the street.
I lifted my hand and was quite relieved when my hand didn't just pass through him. I patted his shoulder lightly . I said, “Hey, Al.” At that, he turned and looked at me. I smiled. Not creepy at all, I'm sure. He straightened and replied, “Hey, man!”
And then he crossed 6th Avenue against the light.
For the second time in as many minutes, I contemplated throwing myself into oncoming traffic because of Al Pacino. But the traffic just kind of stopped for him. Each lane, one by one, as he crossed. I’m sure it was just because nobody wanted to mow a guy down but, for me, I was witnessing Al Pacino part 6th Avenue like Moses parting the Red Sea.
I crossed 6th too and made my way to Radio City with Al Pacino. No, I stayed back, not wanting to bother him (anymore) but if anyone asks you, I once walked with Al Pacino to Radio City Music Hall for a screening of The Godfather films.
He met up with a handler at Radio City. I remembered the gift bag then, still clutched in my hand, and asked the handler if I could please give it to him. She said sure. I did.
I continued to the first mezzanine and immediately bought a strong alcoholic beverage because my nerves were shot. And between getting up at 3AM, the traffic and construction issues on the way in to the city, and hanging out with Al Pacino on a street corner, I felt absolutely drained.
There you have it: The day Al Pacino literally walked into my life.
That was also the day I decided to never again question my brain. Ever. It knows exactly what it's doing.
