It happened in a basement. Peter Griffin, the bumbling patriarch of Family Guy, sits his family down as the house floods with water and confesses a sin so egregious it nearly gets him disowned: "I did not care for The Godfather." The room goes silent. Chris is shocked. Lois is appalled. It’s a joke that resonated so deeply with the cultural zeitgeist because it spoke an unspoken truth. We are told, from birth it feels like, that Francis Ford Coppola’s 1972 masterpiece is the objective pinnacle of cinema. It sits atop IMDb lists. It is the "offer you can't refuse." But for a growing segment of modern viewers, the experience of watching it feels less like a cinematic revelation and more like a three-hour homework assignment.
Honestly, it’s exhausting.
The pressure to love this movie is a weird kind of social tax. If you say you don't like it, people assume you have the attention span of a goldfish or that you simply "don't get" the nuance of the Corleone family's descent into moral decay. But there are legitimate, artistic, and structural reasons why someone might find themselves checking their watch during the wedding scene.
The Pacing Problem Nobody Wants to Admit
Let’s be real. The movie is slow. Not just "pre-TikTok" slow, but genuinely, methodically sluggish. Coppola takes nearly thirty minutes just to get through the opening wedding sequence. While film scholars will tell you this is essential "world-building" that establishes the hierarchy of the Sicilian-American subculture, a casual viewer might just see a lot of people they don't know yet talking in dark rooms about things that haven't happened.
It insists upon itself.
That phrase, popularized by the aforementioned Family Guy bit, is actually a brilliant critique. To insist upon oneself is to demand reverence without necessarily providing the immediate engagement to back it up. The film moves with a funereal gravity. Every shot is framed like a Renaissance painting, which is beautiful, sure, but it also creates a distance between the viewer and the characters. You aren't with Michael Corleone; you are observing him from a curated, respectful distance. For many, that distance feels cold.
The middle act in Sicily is where most people who did not care for The Godfather usually check out. After the high-stakes tension of the restaurant shooting—which is, objectively, one of the best-directed scenes in history—the movie grinds to a halt. We spend what feels like an eternity watching Michael walk through the hills, fall in love with Apollonia, and deal with local customs. While it’s meant to show his attempt to escape his destiny, it kills the momentum of the gang war back in New York.
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The Marlon Brando Mystique vs. Reality
We have to talk about Vito Corleone. Marlon Brando’s performance is the stuff of legend, but if we’re being honest, it’s also a bit of a caricature by today’s standards. The cotton balls in the cheeks, the raspy whisper—it’s been parodied so many times by everyone from The Simpsons to Modern Family that the original performance now feels like someone doing an impression of the Godfather.
It’s hard to see the man through the prosthetics.
Compare Brando’s Vito to Robert De Niro’s version in The Godfather Part II. De Niro is lean, hungry, and dangerous. Brando is a monument. Monuments are impressive to look at, but they aren't exactly relatable. When he dies among the tomato plants, it’s a poetic end, but it lacks the visceral emotional punch of a character you’ve actually connected with on a human level. You feel bad for the family, but do you feel the loss of a soul?
Then there’s the dialogue. It’s iconic, yes. "I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse." "Leave the gun, take the cannoli." But the script by Mario Puzo and Coppola often feels like it’s writing for history books rather than for people. People in the Corleone world don't talk; they deliver edicts.
Cinematic Literacy vs. Personal Enjoyment
There is a massive gulf between acknowledging a film's importance and actually enjoying it. You can recognize that The Godfather revolutionized the way movies were shot—using Gordon Willis’s "Prince of Darkness" cinematography to embrace shadows in a way Hollywood previously feared—without wanting to sit through it on a Sunday afternoon.
It changed the industry.
It saved Paramount Pictures.
It birthed the modern blockbuster alongside Jaws.
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But none of those historical facts make the experience of watching it any more "fun." If your idea of a great crime epic is Goodfellas or The Departed, The Godfather is going to feel like a museum piece. Scorsese’s films have a kinetic energy, a soundtrack that pops, and a sense of humor that is almost entirely absent from the Corleone saga. Coppola’s world is humorless. It is a tragedy played in the key of "Major Importance," and that weight can be suffocating.
The Problem with the Female Characters
If you're looking for depth in the women of this world, you're going to be disappointed. Kay Adams (Diane Keaton) is relegated to being the perpetually confused outsider who gets doors slammed in her face. Connie Corleone is a punching bag for the plot until the very end. While the film is a critique of patriarchy, it also excludes half the human experience from its narrative core. This makes the stakes feel lopsided.
We are asked to care about the "honor" of men who are, at their core, mass murderers and racketeers. While the "Great Man" theory of history makes for sweeping cinema, it can feel hollow when the collateral damage (the women, the victims, the community) is treated as mere scenery.
Why It’s Okay to Not Like It
Cultural gatekeeping is the worst part of film fandom. There’s a specific type of "Film Bro" who treats The Godfather as a litmus test for intelligence. If you don't like it, you're "wrong."
But art is subjective.
The reasons someone might say I did not care for The Godfather are often the very things critics praise:
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- The length and deliberate pacing.
- The dark, under-lit cinematography.
- The operatic, non-conversational dialogue.
- The lack of a traditional hero.
If these elements don't click for you, the movie becomes a chore. It’s okay to prefer the frantic energy of Uncut Gems or the moral complexity of The Sopranos (which, ironically, features characters who are obsessed with The Godfather). In fact, The Sopranos arguably did the "mafioso as a human being" trope much better because it had 86 hours to explore the mundanity of evil, rather than just the grandiosity of it.
How to Handle the "Godfather" Conversation
Next time you’re at a dinner party and someone brings up the inevitable "best movies of all time" list, you don't have to lie. You don't have to nod along while someone explains why the lighting in the opening scene is a metaphor for the American Dream.
Instead, try these talking points to show you’ve actually thought about it:
- Acknowledge the craft: "I respect Gordon Willis’s cinematography, but the low-key lighting makes the movie feel too somber for my taste."
- Focus on pacing: "I prefer crime films with more momentum; the Sicily subplot always felt like it stalled the narrative for me."
- Discuss the characterization: "I find Michael’s transition from war hero to cold-blooded killer a bit too abrupt—I didn't feel the emotional connection to his descent."
You aren't saying the movie is "bad." You are saying it didn't work for you. There is a difference between a "bad movie" and a "movie I didn't care for."
Actionable Steps for the "Unconverted"
If you really want to give it one more shot—or if you want to understand why others love it without suffering through a rewatch—consider these steps:
- Watch the "Restaurant Scene" in isolation. If that sequence doesn't tense you up, the movie simply isn't for you. It’s the perfect distillation of Coppola’s talent.
- Read the production history. Sometimes knowing that the studio didn't want Al Pacino and that Brando had to do a screen test makes the final product more interesting. The drama behind the scenes was arguably more intense than the movie itself.
- Check out The Offer. This miniseries dramatizes the making of the film. It provides context that might make the artistic choices in the actual movie feel more earned.
- Accept your taste. If you've tried and you still don't care for it, move on. There are thousands of incredible films out there. Don't waste time trying to force yourself to love a "classic" just because a list told you to.
Ultimately, cinema is about how a story makes you feel. If The Godfather makes you feel bored, that is a valid response. You aren't "wrong." You're just not a fan of that specific flavor of 70s slow-burn drama. And honestly? That's perfectly fine.