Dragging Grandma to The Godfather Part III
Christmas, the movies, and a favorite memory
The most anticipated movie of 1990 was The Godfather Part III. When I graduated high school in June of that year, I already knew what I would be doing six months later on Christmas Day. I would be spending it with the Corleone family.
“Just when I think that I’m out, they pull me back in.”
Oh boy, do I remember the moment I first heard those chill-inducing words; it was while watching the trailer for the new movie as a first semester film school student. In the third installment of The Godfather series by director Francis Ford Coppola, the iconic Al Pacino resumed his portrayal of Michael Corleone. (Do we need spoiler alerts for thirty-year-old films? You’ve been warned.)
Michael is now the Godfather, succeeding his deceased father as the head of the Corleone crime family. Michael is also responsible for the death of his brother, Fredo. The family biz also cost Michael his marriage. “Just when I think that I’m out, they pull me back in” was Michael lamenting how he could not leave behind the seedy side of the family business.
This was it. This was going to be THE Godfather movie I had spent my entire life waiting for. Second only to the Star Wars saga, the Godfather films had been the franchise that meant the most to my film obsessed life.
I was home from college, back in New York City for winter break. The December 23rd edition of Sunday’s Arts and Leisure section of The New York Times — the section that had all the adverts for the movies playing that week — ran a big two page spread: GODFATHER PART III OPENS CHRISTMAS DAY IN 70MM IN SELECT THEATERS. My local theater, the Loews 84th Street Six, was one of the select theaters. I was going to see The Godfather Part III in 70mm, my favorite film format of all time. Oh happy day!
This was going to be a Christmas to remember.
GRANDMA v. THE GODFATHER
My Grandmother wasn’t a big movie fan. She was completely blind in her left eye, so going to the movies was challenging and stressful. The darkness in the theater was difficult for her to negotiate, so she didn’t go often. But this year she decided she wanted to join me for my traditional Christmas movie excursion.
My Grandmother liked westerns, and it just so happened one was playing during Christmas 1990, Kevin Costner’s Dances with Wolves. It was getting terrific reviews, but however good Dances with Wolves could be…IT WAS NOT GOING TO BEAT THE GODFATHER! I was convinced of this. So I came up with a solution: I’ll take her to see Dances With Wolves on Christmas Eve, and then she’ll take me to see The Godfather Part III on Christmas day. She was totally game. Perfect!
THE LAST FRONTIER
So on Christmas Eve, Grandma and I headed down to the late Paramount Theater in Columbus Circle. (There are no signs of the theater today, as it was located in the plaza of what is now a hotel whose moniker is as of this writing that of an extremely prominent politician. He made sure to erase all signs that a movie theater was ever there when he slapped his name on the building.)
We got to the theater, I paid for our tickets, and we went inside. It was crowded, as movies on Christmas Eve tend to be. We sat in the spacious theater and waited for the film to start. There was a big generation gap between me and my Grandmother, and while I loved her dearly, I never really knew how to make small talk with her. But then it didn’t matter, because the movie started…and I’ll be damned, Kevin Costner’s western was the perfect movie for a grandmother and grandson to go to together.
Unfortunately, the next day’s experience was not the same.
THE DEATH OF MICHAEL CORLEONE
Of the three Godfather films, one could argue that Part III has the most confusing storyline — but I didn’t know that until the lights dimmed. My poor Grandmother, who had not seen either of the first two Godfather films, was walking into this three hour epic without ANY idea of who these characters were, what they were referencing from the previous films, or why it was so slow and quiet.
Grandma was a good sport about it, but I know she was bored out of her mind. Hey, I had built the film up for six months, and I was bored out of my mind. She politely smiled when the lights came on, and I am sure the disappointment of what had just flashed before us — in 70mm no less — must have hung heavy on my face. We went home and ate Christmas dinner with my mom, and I tried to put the whole thing behind me.
I always felt badly about subjecting my Grandmother to what was undoubtedly a boring and confusing movie, especially on Christmas. And we had just had such a great time the day before watching Dances With Wolves. I couldn’t understand at 18-years-old, in fact it took a couple of decades for me to figure out, that she really didn’t care how bad The Godfather Part III had been. She hadn’t go into it with the same level of excitement that I had. Her only disappointment was that I was disappointed.
I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but now that I am closer to the age my grandmother was that Christmas, I understand it much better: she just wanted to spend more time with her grandson, doing the thing that brought him so much joy. That Christmas is my favorite memory of Grandma, and it is that memory that now brings me joy.
