Review of The Godfather

I finally watched it. If you were to ask what took me so long, I would do little more than offer a meek smile in hope of forgiveness and then hang my head in shame. Sensing that your hostile judgement has given way to pity, I'd lift my head, look at you straight, and declare that, yes, The Godfather is every bit the masterpiece that you say it is, that so many before you have claimed it to be. And I would be speaking the truth. The Godfather is a nearly flawless film. It combines substance and style with such mastery and care, it is of no wonder that it has become such a revered example of the possibilities inherent to film as an artform and as a form of storytelling. Running nearly three hours, the viewing experience never drags as we are completely absorbed in a world so different, and so similiar to our own. Like any great artwork, the creators (writers, directors, actors, and myriad others) seem to have devoted all their love and energy to the subject at hand (the movie itself) without any worry about the audience that comes later. The belief the film-makers have in what they're doing, in its importance and in its worth is almost palpable. The result is a product that truly speaks, that truly engages, that almost seems to have a life of its own. And, really, what stronger compliment can be paid to a film?