Marissa Q
The movie was fantastic. I have seen it numerous times at home on the small screen but to see it on a huge screen in a theater is how a movie is meant to be seen! Great experience. Only one complaint: the server was HORRIBLE! It took him 30 minutes into the movie to bring my husband his drink and popcorn. and this was after a number of times stopping him and asking him about this order. Others came later than I did and placed their orders while in the theater. My husband and I placed our orders when we showed our QR code. The server was snarky, horrible, unhelpful and deliberately holding up our order as other late movie goers were receiving their orders before ours.
Rated 4.5/5 Stars •
Rated 4.5 out of 5 stars
05/01/23
Full Review
Joseph B
Greatest sequel ever made. GRAY W believes the Minecraft movie is better. GRAY W YOU SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! Made this account to troll you my guy 💜
Rated 5/5 Stars •
Rated 5 out of 5 stars
04/14/25
Full Review
Audience Member
It is a most singular rarity in the realm of cinematic endeavour when a sequel, rather than merely following in the footsteps of its predecessor, dares to transcend the very work from which it was born. *The Godfather Part II*, directed with masterly precision and unerring instinct by the estimable Francis Ford Coppola, represents not only the continuation of a grand narrative, but a deeper, darker, and far more tragic meditation upon the themes introduced in the first film. If *The Godfather* may be likened to a majestic operatic overture—a tale of power rising from the soil of loyalty and familial duty—then its successor is surely the mournful requiem: a lamentation, not simply for the soul of one man, but for the withering of a dynasty, for the erosion of virtue beneath the relentless march of ambition, and for the bitter solitude that power, once seized and secured, so often entails.
The film, in its structure, is daring and, one might venture, peerlessly original. It unfolds not linearly, but in two elegant and interwoven threads of time. The first follows the figure of Michael Corleone—now undisputed head of the Corleone empire—as he presides over his family's affairs with a cold, inscrutable solemnity. He is a man who, having ascended to the throne left vacant by his father, finds himself ever more entangled in a web of betrayal, moral decay, and increasing isolation. The second thread carries us into the past, to the sun-drenched hills of Sicily and the immigrant slums of early 20th-century New York, where a young Vito Andolini—later to become Vito Corleone—is shaped by tragedy, necessity, and quiet resilience. It is in this juxtaposition—this delicate and deliberate contrast between father and son, between legacy established and legacy corrupted—that the film achieves its most potent and devastating effects.
Robert De Niro’s portrayal of the young Vito is, in a word, sublime. He imbues the character with a quiet nobility, a gentle but unmistakable authority, that recalls Marlon Brando’s original performance not through mimicry, but through deep internal understanding. He speaks seldom, and when he does, his words carry the weight of lived experience and unspoken sorrow. His rise is not that of a man driven by avarice or bloodlust, but rather one compelled by the need to protect, to restore dignity, to build something stable amidst chaos. In contrast, Al Pacino’s Michael is the very embodiment of the tragic sovereign—calm, calculating, impenetrably cool, yet increasingly hollowed out by paranoia and estrangement. His face, once alight with youthful idealism, has become a mask: elegant, expressionless, and profoundly lonely.
It is in the quiet moments that the film most resoundingly speaks—Michael, seated alone in the darkened parlour of his vast estate, contemplating the ruin of all he has endeavoured to preserve; Vito, walking the streets of New York with his infant son, the future of his family nestled in his arms, unaware of the shadow his name shall cast. Such scenes are rendered not with melodrama but with exquisite restraint, underscored by Nino Rota’s haunting score, which weaves like a sorrowful thread through the fabric of the film. The cinematography, too, deserves the highest commendation. Gordon Willis, often hailed as “The Prince of Darkness,” bathes the interiors in sepulchral shadow, invoking both the intimacy and menace that define this world. The visuals do not merely complement the narrative—they amplify it, suffusing each frame with gravitas and mournful splendour.
One must also take note of the performances across the board, for they are uniformly of the highest order. John Cazale, as the pitifully fragile Fredo, delivers a portrayal so deeply moving that it lingers in the mind long after the credits have faded. His final scenes with Michael are among the most heart-wrenching in all of cinema—two brothers, bound by blood yet fatally severed by betrayal. Diane Keaton, too, brings a chilling intensity to the role of Kay Adams, Michael’s long-suffering wife, who delivers, with quiet devastation, the blow that shatters what little remains of Michael’s illusions: the revelation not only of her despair, but of her rejection of the very legacy he has sacrificed so much to secure.
As a meditation on power, *The Godfather Part II* stands alone. It eschews the glamour so often associated with tales of organised crime and instead casts its gaze upon the consequences—the silent toll, the moral rot, the withering of love, trust, and humanity. It asks, with great subtlety and unrelenting sincerity, whether power gained through sacrifice can ever truly be retained without further sacrifice, and whether there comes a point at which the cost renders the triumph meaningless. The film’s final image—Michael, seated utterly alone in the freezing silence of his Lake Tahoe compound, reflecting on a past that slips through his fingers like ash—is among the most haunting in cinematic history. No grand gesture, no violent reckoning, no dramatic collapse—merely a man who has won everything, and lost far more.
To describe this film simply as a sequel would be to diminish its breadth and profundity. It is a Greek tragedy draped in American tailoring, a Shakespearean chronicle of descent, a novel rendered in light and shadow. It rewards patience, introspection, and the willingness to be unsettled. Its artistry lies not only in its craftsmanship but in its moral ambiguity—its refusal to offer clear heroes or villains, its insistence that power does not always wear the face of evil, but often of solemn duty, of inherited responsibility, of justified vengeance.
In sum, *The Godfather Part II* is not merely a film—it is a monument, hewn from the same timeless stone as the greatest works of literature, theatre, and music. It does not cater to the impatient or the casual observer, but for those who yield to its deliberate pace and sombre tone, it offers an experience both intellectually rich and emotionally shattering. It is not entertainment in the common sense—it is enlightenment through tragedy, a masterclass in cinema, and an enduring testament to the complexity of the human soul.
I would, without the slightest hesitation and with the fullest conviction, bestow upon it a rating of five stars out of five—though even such a metric feels woefully inadequate for a work of such rare and majestic calibre.
Rated 5/5 Stars •
Rated 5 out of 5 stars
04/09/25
Full Review
M B
Pinnacle of American film making. A timeless Classic.
Rated 5/5 Stars •
Rated 5 out of 5 stars
04/08/25
Full Review
Chase S
Super boring and long
Rated 2/5 Stars •
Rated 2 out of 5 stars
04/07/25
Full Review
Gray W
Not better than the Minecraft movie 🥺😔
Rated 0.5/5 Stars •
Rated 0.5 out of 5 stars
04/06/25
Full Review
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