Film Review: 'The Godfather' tastes best when it’s served cold


Brent Northup

“The Godfather” and “The Godfather: Part II”

Streaming on Amazon, et al.

I can never refuse “The Godfather.”

Anytime I hear Nino Rota’s hypnotic theme beckoning on cable, I pause to listen, to watch. “Just a brief hello to a family friend,” I think.

But the friend never leaves — one minute turns to 10, and eventually the evening is gone, papers still ungraded.

Both “The Godfather” and “The Godfather II” are addictive, more seductive than Ingrid Bergman’s most alluring wink.

The 50th anniversary of “The Godfather” seems the right time to ponder the appeal of Coppola’s masterpieces — on moviegoers, on men, on me.

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Books have been written deconstructing the genius of these family films — the hypnotic cinematography, the hummable music, the impeccable casting, the artful direction.

But I’m going to set all that aside and simply ponder the gravitational pull of those films on me, and, perhaps on all men.

A facile explanation for the appeal of the Godfather films to men is that they remind us of

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