The cast of characters behind “The Godfather”’s success was nothing if not eclectic, from down-and-out Hollywood legends to ascendant show business superstars. Yet somehow, fifty years after its release—against all odds—the film remains in a league of its own for its evocation of the American dream, and for kickstarting a cultural fascination with the Mafia that endures today. On the tenth and final episode of “Leave the Gun, Take the Cannoli,” Mark and Nathan reflect on the lasting legacy of the movie, and how it impacted the lives of those like Evans, who considered the film his crowning achievement.

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By 1972, “The Godfather” had become the movie of the moment—and that’s before it even hit theaters. Leading up to the film’s nationwide release that March, critics and made men alike clamored to get an early look, motivated in part by the tactful publicity strategy devised by Paramount’s Marilyn Stewart. To promote the film, she ensured that no photographs of Marlon Brando’s highly anticipated "transformation" into Don Vito Corleone leaked to the public. To see the Don, you’d have to buy a ticket. That’s not to say that audiences needed much convincing. In the wake of the movie’s New York City premiere—to which Robert Evans arrived with Ali MacGraw on one arm, and Henry Kissinger on the other—“The Godfather” was an immediate critical success, vindicating the strain Francis Ford Coppola endured to achieve his vision. On Episode Nine, Mark and Nathan reflect on "The Godfather"’s debut, and how its acclaim altered the lives of, among others, Coppola and Evans. In some ways, for the worse.

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It’s difficult to imagine “The Godfather’s” torrid Sicily scenes being filmed anywhere but Italy. Yet, if Paramount executives had gotten their way, Michael Corleone’s love affair with Apollonia—played by Simonetta Stefanelli, an unknown actress who spoke no English—would’ve transpired on a Los Angeles studio lot. Fortunately, things didn’t turn out that way. “The Godfather” decamped for Sicily in the summer of 1971, and no one was more pleased about this change of scenery than Francis Ford Coppola, who was finally able to distance himself from the overbearing Robert Evans and his spy Jack Ballard. Coppola’s respite wouldn’t last long, though. He returned to America with 90 hours of footage badly in need of editing. Naturally, Evans and his fellow bigwigs had opinions about that, too. In Episode Eight, Mark and Nathan follow Coppola and the cast and crew on their journey across the Atlantic and back again, discussing the director’s original three-hour cut of the film, Nino Rota’s iconic score that almost never was, and Evans’s tennis injury and subsequent drug addiction. 

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From a strict budget and a tight timetable to the interference of the Mafia, Francis Ford Coppola had more than enough on his plate directing “The Godfather”—and that was before his own studio turned against him. During the early days of filming, in 1971, Paramount disparaged Coppola’s decision making at every turn, both through disgruntled messages sent by Robert Evans and in the form of Jack Ballard, a Paramount executive who shadowed Coppola on-set with the express goal of scrutinizing his every move. And yet, Coppola’s hellish experience couldn’t have been more different from the cast’s. Beginning with an Italian-style dinner in New York on St. Patrick’s Day that year (which ended with James Caan mooning Marlon Brando from his car), “The Godfather’s” stars remained more or less happy throughout filming—an attitude aided heavily by the presence of Brando, whom the cast and crew idolized. In Episode Seven, Mark and Nathan explore the transition from the scripting process to filming, from Coppola’s production design philosophy and securing the infamous horse’s head to the moment Al Pacino first demonstrated his greatness.

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Most big films confront roadblocks during production—financial, logistical, or otherwise. But how many Hollywood movies brush up against the Mafia, too? In 1970, the notorious crime boss Joseph Colombo founded the Italian-American Civil Rights League with the mission of dispelling stereotypes about his demographic, particularly those linking them to organized crime. Because of the Mafia’s depiction in Mario Puzo’s novel, the movie quickly became a prime target for Colombo and the League. Suddenly, the picture’s producers had trouble securing filming locations, the Teamsters Union threatened to freeze all transportation for the movie, and death threats were allegedly delivered to Robert Evans and Al Ruddy. In Episode Six, Mark and Nathan look back at Colombo’s role in turning Italian-Americans against The Godfather, and how Al Ruddy—after cutting a controversial deal, which led to a media firestorm and his firing and re-hiring—kept The Godfather from sleeping with the fishes. 

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In retrospect, it’s almost unfathomable that a cast as strong as “The Godfather’s” could have been assembled. Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, Diane Keaton, James Caan, and Robert Duvall are all considered legends of the screen today, but back in the early 1970s, most of these actors were unknown and starred in the film for relatively low pay. And Brando, once Hollywood’s prince, was thought to be an unreliable, washed-up shell of his “On the Waterfront” self. Francis Ford Coppola, however, knew precisely who he wanted for “The Godfather,” and he fought for them tooth and nail, even in the face of Paramount executives who were intent on casting proven stars like Robert Redford and Ryan O’Neill. In Episode Five, Mark and Nathan talk about Brando’s legendary screen test, how Coppola ended up hiring real mobsters to star in the film, and why Pacino and Brando almost couldn’t join the film. 

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By 1969, Paramount's efforts to turn "The Godfather" into a feature film were in full swing. But there was one problem: the movie needed a director. Robert Evans and Al Ruddy tried to wrangle Hollywood heavyweights such as Richard Brooks and Otto Preminger, but nobody wanted the job. So, Paramount went after their last-resort option, the little-known Francis Ford Coppola. Like seemingly everyone else working on the movie, and especially Puzo, the Queens-raised director had had a few early brushes with failure, but possessed the hunger to be a great artist. But Coppola, for all his talent and ambition, was hardly handed the job on a silver platter. In Episode Four, Mark and Nathan trace Coppola's career to find out how he went from directing student films at U.C.L.A. to handling some of the richest source material in the history of cinema. They also catch up with Mario Puzo, who in addition to befriending Coppola, has had a makeover of epic proportions and is living out his Hollywood fantasies.

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By the spring of 1969, The Godfather had turned its author, Mario Puzo, into an overnight celebrity. Tasked with adapting his best-selling book for the screen, Puzo’s life soon became that of a Hollywood big-shot. He took up residence at the Beverly Hills Hotel, had an office on the Paramount lot, and even hired a personal assistant, Janet Snow, who spent as much time playing tennis with the overweight writer as she did driving him to-and-from dinners with Puzo's newfound friends and admirers such as Orson Welles. All the while, Paramount still had a movie to make. The studio turned to Al Ruddy, a no-nonsense, pennywise producer and former shoe salesman who—like Robert Evans and Puzo—found success by good luck as much as by tenacity. In Episode Three, Mark and Nathan trace Ruddy’s unorthodox path to the top of the film industry, and explore the circumstances of Puzo’s new life in the spotlight—which included an unfortunate dust-up at Chasen's with the real-life inspiration for The Godfather's Johnny Fontaine, Frank Sinatra.

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It was the fall of 1963, and Mario Puzo—a gambler, overeater, and dead-broke pulp fiction writer with outsize artistic ambitions—was glued to his television. Like the rest of America, he was captivated by the widely broadcasted Valachi hearings, in which a Mafia foot soldier publicly revealed the inner-workings of the Italian-American criminal underworld. Puzo also happened to be on the hunt for the subject of his next book, and what could be more appealing to a man who'd grown up surrounded by crooks and hustlers in Hell's Kitchen than a shadowy underworld filled with strongmen and wiseguys? In Episode Two, Mark and Nathan chronicle Mario Puzo's life before "The Godfather," and explain how the writer's chosen subject matter coincided with a growing public interest in the Mafia, resulting in Puzo becoming one of the best-selling authors of his time. 

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The genesis of "The Godfather" dates back to 1966, when Paramount Pictures was Hollywood's last-place studio, financially flailing and desperate for a hit movie. Enter Charles Bluhdorn, an Austrian-born industrialist captivated by the romance of Hollywood and in the market for a studio with which he could prove himself as a movie mogul. Upon taking hold of Paramount through his conglomerate, Gulf and Western, Bluhdorn hired as head of production Robert Evans—a green but dogged producer and former actor—based solely on the strength of a profile he had read in "The New York Times." In Episode 1, Mark and Nathan examine how Bluhdorn’s immigration to New York led to Evans's hiring and a chance meeting with a certain cigar-puffing, gambling-addicted pulp fiction writer named Mario Puzo, who was hawking the option on an unfinished draft of his novel about a New York crime family—a novel that would change their lives, and Paramount’s legacy, forever.

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