In the absence of grace, the movies affirm, life becomes a power struggle, a fact which the Machiavellian Michael understands better than anyone else. Revenge becomes an obsession–a path which reaches its nadir in the second film when he cannot forgive even his own brother. But what’s remarkable about the films is that this existence is not glamorized, as many contemporary gangster movies or other elements of our culture are too eager to do. Michael has made it to the top (unlike, it ought to be noted, everyone else who competed–too bad for them), but even winning the contest of wills doesn’t grant fulfillment.
Michael Corleone slowly becomes a tyrant without friends, a man without God:
Ultimately, the films exhibit agreement with Socrates’ almost-preposterous assertion to Glaucon in the Republic that “the tyrant is the unhappiest of men.” As the series progresses, Michael eliminates everyone who has featured in his life, but he also becomes increasingly paranoid and ruthless. His initial promise to “go legitimate” within five years of his marriage is put on indefinite hiatus; killings which are supposed to settle problems inevitably lead to another murder, and another, as further plots are uncovered; trust collapses and love, even the much-exalted “family” love, is methodically eviscerated. The master becomes dependent on the slaves, and when he can no longer trust them, sets off on his own into the desert to throw himself off the temple. He is peerless–and that is a terrible thing.
Even though I've seen both films numerous times (the third one, not so much), I will have to watch them again after reading this essay. As they say, please read the whole thing.
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