I always feel stupid bringing up the matter of the Godfather

As a follow-up to the previous post, I am sharing a letter from Francis Ford Coppola to Marlon Brando, in which the director tries to persuade Brando to play the young Vito Corleone in The Godfather Part II (1974). Besides being a sequel to the first Godfather film, Part II also serves as a prequel, in flashbacks following young Vito from Sicily to New York where he eventually builds his mafia empire. Coppola wanted Brando in the role of young Vito, despite the fact that Brando was too old for the part. (At the time 49 years old, Brando was supposed to play Vito aged 25-30.) The actor turned down Coppola's offer, although he did agree to make a cameo appearance as Don Vito in the birthday flashback scene in the film's finale. On the day of shooting, however, Brando failed to show up and Coppola had to quickly rewrite the scene. 30-year-old Robert de Niro was cast in the role of young Vito instead of Brando, his performance eventually winning the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor.

Marlon Brando and Francis Ford Coppola on the set of The Godfather (1972), with Robert Duvall in the background.

Below is Coppola's letter to Brando, undated but postmarked 1 May 1973. Coppola was trying to convince Paramount executives Frank Yablans, Robert Evans and Charles Bluhdorn to cast Brando as the young Vito Corleone. At the time, Brando and Paramount were not on good terms, especially after the actor's refusal to accept his Oscar for The Godfather a few months earlier. Also, Brando was mad at Paramount for the salary he had received for the first film, feeling he had been underpaid (considering The Godfather was the highest grossing film in history up till then, its success in large part thanks to Brando). Out of protest against Paramount, Brando decided not to appear in Part II after all.

Incidentally, Coppola would not be "quitting the movie business", like he announces in the letter, and would even make another film with Brando, the 1979 Apocalypse Now. 

Source: RR Auction

Transcript:

Monday

Dear Marlon,

I heard you were back from the South Pacific; but I didn't want to call you because I always feel stupid bringing up the matter of the Godfather. I know you return my calls on a personal and friendly basis, and so I can't bring myself to misuse that and bring up what is bothering me.

My problem is simply that I am stalling and stalling because I have the inkling that it may be possible that you will play the young Vito Corleone. I've seen in the past, that even a slight possibility may blossom into a fact, and so I've tried to kindle this as best I could. I've become a real behind-the-scenes monster playing Yablans and Evans and Bludhorn [sic]; trying to get them to do what I want. I tell Yablans that he's the only one who can do it. Then I tell Evans the same thing. 

I tell them the movie cannot be made without you; I tell Yablans he has to apologize to you. Now Yablans says that he's trying to do this, and get together on the money and stuff, but you don't return his call. 

Evans wants to approach you; but Yablans is terrified that Evans might make it work, where he failed…so he keeps preventing that.

But what it really comes down to is me. Marlon I respect you enormously; and if you told me that you did not want to do it under any circumstances, whatsoever…of course I would accept that, and never mention it again. And if you liked, I wouldn't tell anyone else. 

I learned a lot from you…one thing being that it's only a movie, and what's that compared to everything else there is in the world. 

At times, I try really hard to imagine what you're like in your thoughts. I realized that you've been in this strange state of adoration and exhibition for 25 years now, intensely…and I think that would have driven me crazy. And the fact that you're really a good man, and warm, and love people is a tremendous achievement considering that you've been in a glass box for half your life. 

I always to tell you that,…although it has nothing to do with this letter. 

All I'm saying is that if you will be in this movie; I will do my very best to make it be good; and human, and express the notion that the Mafia is only a metaphor for America and capitalism, which will do anything to protect and perpetuate itself. (I will do this anyway, if you're not in the film…but if you were in it, it would be better, and you would help me with your ideas as I work on the script.)

If you will not be in it, I will love you no less. All I ask is to please tell me without the shadow of a doubt. 

I am very happy; having a terrific time up here. After this film I am quitting the movie business, and will do other things that I am excited about (that may involve film). 

Sincerely, 

Francis 

My number is 563 2632 

_____

While Marlon Brando would not reprise his role in The Godfather Part II, several of the old cast members would, among them Al Pacino, Robert Duvall, Diane Keaton and James Caan (the latter in a cameo appearance in the birthday flashback scene). As with the first film, Coppola worked on the screenplay with author Mario Puzo. Although less successful commercially and critically than its predecessor, Part II was still very well received and won even more Oscars, six in total. Oscars went to Best Picture (Francis Ford Coppola, Gray Frederickson and Fred Roos), Best Director (Coppola), Best Supporting Actor (Robert de Niro), Best Adapted Screenplay (Coppola and Puzo), Best Art Direction (Dean Tavoularis, Angelo P. Graham and George R. Nelson) and Best Original Dramatic Score (Nino Rota and Carmine Coppola). 

The final installment in the Godfather series, The Godfather Part III (1990), would be the least successful of the three films, and while nominated for seven Oscars it won none.

After Brando had declined the role of young Vito Corleone, Coppola offered it to Robert de Niro, with whom he is pictured here on the set. De Niro is great as the young Vito, a much better choice than the older Brando would have been. 

I think you’re the only actor who can play the Godfather

Published in 1969, Mario Puzo's novel The Godfather tells the story of the (fictional) Corleone mafia family, headed by patriarch Vito Corleone. The book covers the years 1945 until 1955, with its main storyline following son Michael who eventually succeeds his father as head of the mafia clan. Puzo's novel became a huge success, remaining on The New York Times bestseller list for 67 weeks and selling more than nine million copies in just two years. 

Before Mario Puzo had even finished his novel, Paramount Pictures bought the film rights for $80,000, on the basis of a 60-page treatment. To direct the film, Paramount hired Francis Ford Coppola after several other directors had declined (including Sergio Leone, Peter Bogdanovich and Otto Preminger). Coppola would work on the script with author Puzo, the latter hired by the studio in April 1970. They worked on the script separately, Puzo in Los Angeles and Coppola in San Francisco. While writing their respective screenplays, the men kept in touch with each other, their combined efforts ultimately resulting in a completed script in March 1971.

From the start, even before he was hired by Paramount to work on the picture, Puzo already knew who should portray the family's patriarch —Marlon Brando. (Brando was also Coppola's first choice.) In order to entice Brando to play the role, on 23 January 1970 Puzo wrote him the following letter.

Source: Gotta Have Rock and Roll

Transcript:

Jan 23

Dear Mr Brando

I wrote a book called THE GODFATHER which has had some success and I think you’re the only actor who can play the part Godfather with that quiet force and irony (the book is an ironical comment on American society) the part requires. I hope you’ll read the book and like it well enough to use whatever power you can to get the role.

I’m writing Paramount to the same effect for whatever good that will do.

I know this was presumptuous of me but the least I can do for the book is try. I really think you’d be tremendous. Needless to say I’ve been an admirer of your art.

Mario Puzo

A mutual friend, Jeff Brown, gave me your address

_____

Brando was not interested in the role despite Puzo's letter. The actor later said in his autobiography Songs My Mother Taught Me (1994): "Alice Marchak [Brando's secretary] remembers my throwing [Puzo's letter] away and saying, "I'm not a Mafia godfather". I had never played an Italian before, and I didn't think I could do it successfully. By then I had learned that one of the biggest mistakes an actor can make is to try to play a role for which he is miscast .... But Alice took the book home, read it and said she thought I should take the part if it was offered me. She didn't change my mind, though I did call Mario without having read the book and thanked him for his note." 

While working on the screenplay, Puzo called Brando every now and then, pleading with him to reconsider his decision. Puzo was also lobbying at Paramount on Brando's behalf (without the actor's knowledge) but his attempts proved futile. The studio didn't want Brando for the role, partly due to his notorious bad behaviour on set and his recent box-office failures. Paramount's preferred choice was reportedly Orson Welles, and other actors who were being considered include Laurence Olivier, Anthony Quinn and Ernest Borgnine. Unable to make the Paramount executives change their minds, Puzo typed this letter to Brando in March 1970.

Source: RR Auction

Mario Puzo and Marlon Brando on the set of The Godfather, pictured here with Red Buttons (left). (Buttons and Brando had become good friends after co-starring in the 1957 Sayonara.)

In the end, after reading both the novel and the screenplay, Brando decided he wanted to play Don Corleone after all. Paramount finally regarded him as a serious option but wanted to do a screen test first. Afraid that a test would offend Brando, Coppola thought of a way to do one secretly. He visited Brando at his home with a video camera and told him, after first having discussed the role, that he wanted to test some things on tape. With Kleenex stuffed in his cheeks and shoe polish in his hair, Brando then did his interpretation of Don Corleone for Coppola, not realising he was being screentested. The footage impressed Paramount and they finally agreed to Brando playing the role. Brando was cast in January 1971, just a few months before production was to start. His performance turned out to be one of the most iconic of his career, earning him the Oscar for Best Actor (which he famously declined).

The Godfather (1972) was a huge success, both with critics and audiences. The film won the Academy Award for Best Picture (Albert S. Ruddy), Best Actor (Brando) and Best Adapted Screenplay (Puzo and Coppola). It was followed by two sequels, The Godfather Part II (1974) and The Godfather Part III (1990). Brando appeared only in the first Godfather film. 

On the set of The Godfather with director Francis Ford Coppola (left), Marlon Brando and Al Pacino, the latter playing the role of Vito Corleone's youngest son, Michael.

All three occasions cling to my memory as fun experiences

Barry Sullivan and Barbara Stanwyck made three films together. Their first picture was John Sturges' film noir Jeopardy (1953), followed by two westerns, Joseph Kane's The Maverick Queen (1956) and Samuel Fuller's Forty Guns (1957). Sullivan enjoyed making all three films with Barbara, even though —as he says in the letter below to Ella Smith from March 1972— "only Jeopardy [stuck in his] mind as having any merit". In his letter, the actor talks about working with Barbara, while elaborately singing her praises and jokingly admitting to being "in love with the lady". Ella Smith was the author of the 1973 Starring Miss Barbara Stanwyck, and Sullivan's letter was his contribution to the book. As can be seen in previous posts (here and here), other people had also sent letters to Smith about their collaborations with Barbara, each of them praising the actress for her character and professionalism.

Barry Sullivan and Barbara Stanwyck in Jeopardy

Source: eBay

Transcript:

10/3/72

Dear Ms Smith,

This note is probably too late for your deadline, but I do want you to know I am not really a rude SOB. Your letters re Barbara have just caught up. What circuitous route they traveled only God may know, but please understand I was not resisting a chance to expound on one of the more divine people I have known. (Allow me to throw down a few impressions for your personal edification and say good luck with the book)

Most of your replies to date, I am certain, have included glowing words about Missy's fantastic professionalism (and every word justified, by the way), but professionalism is nonsense if unaccompanied by heart.

Of the films I did with Miss Stanwyck only JEOPARDY sticks in my mind as having any merit, but all three occasions cling to my memory as fun experiences. This may seem a minor thing in discussing a fabulous artist, but, Dammit, in my book it looms very formidably. We start out in this business thinking of it as a glorious adventure and "fun", and all too often it seems like drudgery. You know you're not doing your best work when something is drudgery, right? When you work with the lady you know damn well it is fun and thus the glorious adventure you always dreamed about and you come up a couple of octaves.

All great artists have this one thing in common. Tracy had it, Bette Davis has it, George C. Scott has it, young Robert Foxworth has it -- They give it their very best shot regardless of the calibre of the material. And Barbara most certainly has it in large quantity.

We don't always get Arthur Miller or Lillian Hellman to perform. It is common knowledge that most of the material today borders on the mediocre. It would be easy, and perhaps forgiveable, if one were to sluff, or, as we say "walk through it" using only part of whatever God has given you. You'll never find Barbara doing that. I think maybe she might have worked harder when the writing was thin. She just damned well pulled it up to her level and everybody else in the cast could do no less.

I guess I am labeling her "inspirational", and she would laugh uproariously at that word. The ability to laugh, though, is perhaps what makes her so damn great. The set was always loose. No phony tensions that can distract from the job at hand. Young actors and actresses, perhaps on a first job and understandably somewhat nervous would lose the nervousness and begin to enjoy. I've seen her, too, with some of our senior performers who might be up tight (it happens at both ends of the spectrum, God help us). Her infinite patience, her joshing way, her generosity in blaming herself to reduce pressures when a scene would blow - all these things are marks of professionalism mayhap, but I rather feel they are the marks of one great human being.

This carried over to the technical people, too. She knew their problems always. Always their mechanical problems that beset all film making, and almost always their personal problems. If a director goofed because he had a hangover maybe, she was better than Bromo; If a prop man forgot something because the baby was sick at home, she was better than pediatrician; If a makeup man started applying the wrong color because he was preoccupied about a fight with his girl friend, she was better than Max Factor. What else can I tell you? One can go on ad infinitum. Bear in mind, however, that none of this was phony bleeding heart concern- it was and is all genuine.

If all this gush sounds like I'm in love with the lady, I plead guilty. My fondest hope is that I will walk on a set one day soon and and [sic] find her waiting. (as she will tell you, I am always late dammit). I know I will have one helluva good time and that's what it's all about, isn't it?

Sincerely

(signed) Barry Sullivan

Sullivan and Stanwyck in The Maverick Queen (above) and in Forty Guns (below). The Maverick Queen is, I think, by far their weakest film and Forty Guns their best.