It's been a while since either Damian or I have done one of these, so I thought I'd throw on a good one to make up for the lack of time. This one is almost self explanatory. George C. Scott does the George C. Scott thing, which is to say he's remarkably charismatic while never relinquishing even a hint of his brusque demeanor. And unlike other speeches, this one isn't hidden in the editing. We are put in the position of the troops as Patton riles us up for battle. It gets us excited for the rest of the film, and it introduces us to the central focus of the film. What more could you want from a speech?
It's one of those films that's buried deep into the American subconscience. I cannot think of a film that is referenced as much as this one, or one that has so many pieces that could be referenced. It's practically a rite of passage. You are not a man until you have seen The Godfather. And everyone has seen it, which is more than can be said about Casablanca or Citizen Kane, the other two in the Elite Three of American Cinema. I exclude others like 2001 or Vertigo because those aren't nearly as popular as those three. But The Godfather has something for everyone. For those looking for allegory, it's not hidden from them. For those looking for a great story, it's there. For those who are there for the bloodshed, this one is not lacking.
I got a chance to see The Godfather on the big screen last night, and it blew me away like it never had done before. Some shots that I never noticed before announced their beauty so simply that it knocked me off my feet. Like the simple shot of Tom Hagen walking down an alley in a Hollywood backlot before first meeting Jack Woltz. It could have been a simple throwaway shot, but it echoes with the past and future of cinema while showing how Tom Hagen has much less influence when he's in L.A.
There are a number of quotable lines, most notably, "I'll make him an offer he can't refuse." But the film scholars note a different one. The first words of the film. "I believe in America." These words are spoken by Bonasera, a man pleading for Don Vito Corleone to give him "justice," when he really wants vengeance. This speech sets up the entire dynamic of the film, showing just how America works. America will not give Bonasera justice, so he comes to Don Corleone. Bonasera, like most of the other characters in the film, misuses the word justice. He envisions a Utopia in America, but that Utopia should only apply to him.
One of the fasinating aspects of the speech is how it sets up a duality to be later established with the complaints of Jack Woltz. Jack also complains about a beautiful woman who was defiled by an arrogant man. Jack has the power to get his own justice, yet the Corleone family stops him. The difference here is whose justice the Corleone family looks out for. The Corleones have an interest in Jack Woltz's affairs because the guilty party here is Vito's godson. The Corleones set up their own type of favoritism to counter that of America.
The speech also sets up the fall of Michael by showing a man who desperately tried to avoid becoming involved in the mob. Bonasera eventually falls before the power of the mob, just as Michael must. Also, the speech is given in a single shot. During that shot, we get our first look at Vito. Our first glimpse is of Vito's back, just as our first look at Michael is of his back. The link here shows that Vito is Michael's future, that Michael will fall and be the eventual Godfather.
In a continuing combined effort with Damian over at Windmills of My Mind, I present the next great cinematic speech, and one which I love over almost every other.
Note: SPOILERS AHEAD. If you haven't seen The Third Man, watch it right now, and then you can read this. The movie is too good to be spoiled. Please go watch the movie. Even if you have seen it before. Watch it again.
I love The Third Man, from Anton Karas' zither score to Robert Krasker's gorgeous cinematography. It is a film that borders on perfect for me, and one of the absolute highlights of the movie is the first real interaction between Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten) and Harry Lime (Orson Welles). It's a scene that perfectly captures the interaction between two friends whose friendship has soured.
There are some things worth noting before even considering the dialogue. First, look at the clothing that Holly and Harry wear and how they wear it. Holly wears his overcoat over his arms, severely limiting his motion. Harry wears his overcoat over his jacket, freeing his arms for greater movement. This is indicative of their own abilities to move within society. Harry can do anything he wants because he doesn't have a normal moral compass. He is completely free of the rules placed on people by society. Holly, on the other hand, finds himself bound by his conscience. Note how in the final scene, Holly wears his overcoat over his jacket. He has rid himself of his conscience in killing Harry, so he now wears his overcoat like Harry did.
Second, note how Holly's physical gestures are so much more emphatic than Harry's. Holly shows his feelings for Harry immediately by refusing to embrace him at the amusement park. Then, when on the ferris wheel, Holly grabs at the door when he asks talks about how easy it will be for Harry to get rid of him. Though he talks in a gruff, reserved manner, his fear is apparent through the need to hold onto the door. It's this little touch that reveals so much more about the character of Holly Martins than dialogue can.
The amazing thing about the interaction here is that though Martins stands on the moral high ground, caring about the law and Anna, yet we don't think of him. We think of Harry Lime and cukoo clocks. Harry Lime is extremely verbose and extremely charismatic. His scenes manage to effectively combine the menace in his voice with his moral justification. Audiences remember Harry's thoughts on the dots on the ground, yet his "You never should have gone to the police" goes practically unnoticed. But this piece is about the speech, so let's have it.
The speech is nothing more than an attempt to justify his actions. Unlike a psychopath like Hans Beckert in M (as covered by Damian here), Harry Lime takes responsibility for his actions. He never denies that what he is doing is wrong. However, he attempts to make himself a sympathetic figure by comparing himself to governments. If a government has no scruples, why should a man? His argument is convincing, but it cannot remove the fact that he does create victims. He can try to distance himself from seeing the real impact that he has, but it is an undeniable fact that he is a cancer on society. And so we get this.
This is the first contribution to the Billy Wilder Blog-A-Thon over at filmscreed. I posted my thoughts on Stalag 17 before, and you can read that here. But for now, I'm posting this in anticipation of my thoughts on the only noir ever to win Best Picture. And yes, I'm blatantly borrowing this (I swear I'll give it back) from Damian over at Windmills of My Mind.
Arthur wasn't the first lovable alcoholic. Long before he took his first sip, Don Birnam extolled on the virtues of the sauce. What lifts the speech is his eloquence. It is easily the most well-written speech in the film, and it is about alcohol. It namechecks everything from Shakespeare to Cleopatra, and it is delivered with the perfect amount of passion. It is rare to see someone on film say something good about alcohol, but to see it put so intelligently is a marvel only Billy Wilder could pull off.
