The Godfather, The Offer, and Disinformation

This April 28th, the Paramount+ streaming service will premier its limited series, The offer. The series is about making the film, The Godfather, with the title referencing one of the most famous (infamous?) lines from the film; I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse. Most people have heard this phrase more than a few times; most Italian-Americans have listened to it and other quotes from the film ad nauseam. The popularity of these expressions only proves how ingrained The Godfather has become in American culture. This creates, for me, as well as many Italian-Americans, a dilemma.

On the one hand, The Godfather is an incredible film. Although much of the film is extremely violent and at times gory, there are many moments of sensitivity and beauty. Beyond the cinematography is the story itself. Puzo’s story of an Italian immigrant carving out a life for himself and his family in a hostile America has resonance with the Italian-American community. A community whose members overcame in their own lives the prejudices described in that film.

When I was fifteen years old, I saw The Godfather for the first time with my parents. Although neither of them was a movie-goer­, when my mother heard that they sang Che La Luna during the wedding, she insisted that we see it. My mother talked through the entire thing. Oh, I had a dress like that. My aunt had a dining room set like that. Look at how he makes the sauce, just like I do it. This is how the film rang true for Italian-Americans; we saw ourselves up on the screen.

Unfortunately, this element of truth has acted as an accelerant in spreading Mafia mythology. There is an adage; within every truth, there is a lie, and within every lie, there is a truth. Every good writer knows that you season your fiction with a taste of reality to make it more powerful. Mario Puzo, who is a good writer, knows this.

What is frequently forgotten, especially among Italian-Americans, is that a lie, even those lies that contain truths, is still a lie. This is the unfortunate part of the popularity of The Godfather. Puzo’s story continues to promote the Mafia honor myth, a lie they tell to vindicate themselves of their obvious guilt. The film opens with a man asking the godfather to take vengeance on some men who dishonored the man’s daughter. The godfather is willing to help the man but not kill, philosophizing that since the men did not kill the daughter, it would be unjust to kill them. He acts as if there is some moral imperative that ties his hands. We then go to Michael, who attempts to justify his father’s business to his future wife, Kay. He compares his father to democratically elected men, saying that any distinction between the two is naïve. It is all a romanticized fiction of honorable men defending the defenseless.

Honor permeates Mafia mythology, especially their origin story. I grew up with the myth that the Mafia began when a couple of Napoleon’s soldiers raped a Sicilian girl. In seeking to avenge the girl, the local community started a system of patronage that evolved into the Mafia, while others claim it began with monks during the Sicilian Vespers. Others suggest the Mafia began with a secretive society known as the Beati Paoli: a medieval society reportedly composed of an order of knights who, in protest against the Inquisition in Sicily, fought for the poor and oppressed.

The reality is that the Mafia was born in the prisons of the Mezzogiorno during the Risorgimento. They were common criminals. What set them apart was their association with the Carbonari, an Italian branch of the Freemasons, who had been imprisoned for their involvement in unification. From the Carbonari, they learned how to create a secret society, complete with its own mythology. Part of this mythology was that they were somehow honorable murderers and extortionists.

The Mafia is a product of the culture that gave it birth. Southern Italy, especially Sicily, is a culture of honor. This is a specific sociological term referring to a society where members feel obligated to retaliate in response to any challenge to one’s integrity. In these societies, individuals establish boundaries of behavior where a violation of the rules of etiquette or respect reaps swift, violent retribution. In responding violently, individuals demonstrate a willingness to retaliate to an insult or threat. This willingness shows that the honorable man or woman is someone with whom you should not trifle.

Frequently, you will see such cultures arise where the government does not have a monopoly on violence. This is the case with Southern Italy after unification. The Southern Italians saw the government from the north as just another invader. If you were to consider how the government in Rome treated the south, their complaint had a great deal of merit. In not recognizing this authority, Sicilians refused to submit to it.

What is most distressing is that Italian-Americans are oblivious to the reality of the Mafia. They have been duped. They do not see that we, Italians and Italian-Americans, are most often the victims of these crimes. This seems to be a disease almost exclusively within the Italian-American community and not among Italians themselves.

Roughly three years ago, I was in Sicily. I jokingly said to a friend who had done me a favor, “you are the capo di tutti capi.” It was an expression I used so often in the States as a joke that it lost its association with the Mafia in my mind. The reaction on my friend’s part was shocking. “Don’t ever say that here! It is not a joke.” He was pretty angry. He had more to say beyond that, but I will spare you the complete treatment I received. Suffice it to say, I not only apologize, but I also removed that expression from my vocabulary. I have found that any positive or even joking reference to the Mafia evoked similar responses.

Contrast my Sicilian friend’s reaction with an Italian-American who was one of the early readers of my most recent book, Italianità: The Essence of Being Italian and Italian-American. After reading the chapter that discusses the Mafia, the reader said, “at least the Mafia takes care of their own.” In a sense, the Mafia certainly does take care of its own. However, we must bear in mind the meaning of takes care of. In The Godfather, they certainly took care of Luca Brasi. Michael certainly took care of Sollozzo, Captain McClusky, and even his brother Freddo. So, yes, they do take care of their own.

The Italian-American attitude towards the Mafia is the tragic result of cultural amnesia. We were encouraged to jettison our culture during World War II to fit in and become American. As a result, the generations that have forgotten authentic Italian culture have replaced it with the stereotypes they are fed in movies and on television. They go around saying for-ged a boud it and debate whether it is sauce or gravy. They embrace the Mafia myth of honor, venerating those who only harm our community. It is this split with reality, this cultural psychosis, that does the actual harm, the inability to distinguish truth from fiction.

Will I watch The Offer? You bet I will. From the previews, it looks to be a real insight into how a talented director persevered to make a great film. As far as the movie itself is concerned, as I said above, The Godfather is a great movie. Whenever I stumble upon it while channel surfing, I am happy to watch. I am even more delighted when the sequel with all the great scenes with Robert Dinero follows. If anything, we should celebrate the great Italian-American artists who took part in making the film. However, we should also remember that it is fiction. While aspects of the movie may depict Italian-Americans well, we should also not forget that the greatest enemy of the Italian and Italian-American people is the Mafia.

To read more about Italian and Italian-American culture read my book, Italianità: The Essence of Being Italian and Italian-American.