The Godfather is arguably the most important American film of the 1970s (especially if both parts are considered together) not only because it struck a deep, mythic chord in most Americans, but also because it demonstrated clearly that a highly popular film need not be superficial, that art and commerce need not be antithetical. (pp. 339-40)

Coppola is by no means a filmmaker, the way Cassavetes and Altman are. He makes movies, and thus we tend not to pay attention to his mise en scène. We shouldn't. He obviously wants us to concentrate on the mythic dimensions of his movies, not their cinematography and montage, not even their acting. Nevertheless, as a cinéaste Coppola can hold his own against any rivals. He takes real chances, artistically, and he succeeds. Gordon Willis's cinematography for both [Godfather] films manages to capture both the harsh light of southern Italy and the brown shadows of the American forties in direct contradiction to the sort of high-key lighting we would ordinarily expect in a film meant to attract massive audiences. Visually, both films really are private and personal.

This quality extends to the mise en scène. Coppola has a special distaste for closeups, preferring to set his actors in broad visual contexts for the most part. This too causes him to sacrifice some immediately visceral power for more atmospheric, intelligent ends. (pp. 343-44)

Coppola also showed an unparalleled attention to detail in the practical mise en scène of the Godfather films. It wasn't necessary. He would have got by with less. A few of us recognize the rightness of a car with wooden bumpers in 1945. (p. 345)

Meticulous attention to period detail is, at the least, nostalgic. Coppola makes something more of it here. He recreates times and places that many of us half remember. In the process he helps us to integrate the experience of our own pasts.

Similarly, a significant, if minor, reason for the films' success with audiences is their evocation of the forties and fifties. Coppola knows that what the world knows as tomato sauce Americans with Italian backgrounds call "gravy," and that the first thing you do upon entering the kitchen is to dip a piece of bread in the slowly simmering pot, as Sonny does when he goes to see his mother to break the news that Pop has been shot.

These thousands of details eventually add up to a powerful and affecting authenticity which measurably moves audiences, even if it doesn't call attention to itself. This profound—even reverent—reconstruction of a common past, together with an understanding of the inherent dilemmas of American family life that approaches tragic dimensions, and a political perspective that thoroughly dissects the myth of the American Dream and demonstrates with painful clarity that "we are all undesirables," makes The Godfather (both parts—all seven hours of it) the most significant American film since Citizen Kane. Charles Foster Kane and Vito Andolini Corleone, separated by thirty years, are brothers. Together they explain a great deal about this country—more than most books, more than most songs. They are the best evidence of the extraordinary power of the medium of film.

If Francis Coppola never made another film save The Godfather, his place in the history of American film would be assured. (pp. 345-46)