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When the Mob Protested The Godfather

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Francis Ford Coppola was just a few months into production on The Godfather when he began directing the fictional assassinations Michael Corleone (Al Pacino) orders against family rivals. On June 28, 1971, as a Corleone hitman aimed his prop gun under Coppola’s direction, a very similar scene was taking place just four blocks away. Joe Colombo, a professed real estate agent who led the Italian-American Civil Rights League in protesting stereotyped depictions of Italians in film, was approaching a podium to make a speech during a rally at Columbus Circle in New York. He was oblivious to the very real gun being aimed at his head.

For months, Colombo had waged war against the Paramount movie, asserting it propagated an exaggerated fiction about the existence of the mafia. Colombo had intimated there would be labor issues, production delays, and other, less defined obstacles that could threaten to curtail the studio’s multimillion investment in their adaption of Mario Puzo's 1969 novel. He could make such statements because, in addition to his real estate interests, Colombo was a major figure in organized crime.

Before Colombo could utter a word at the rally, a man disguised as a press photographer dropped his camera, raised a revolver, and shot Colombo three times in the head and neck. Colombo’s men immediately retaliated, shooting the assassin dead.

For Paramount, any sense of relief would be short-lived. In making sure nothing interrupted filming of The Godfather, producers had made a very public—and very costly—pact with the mob.

When prodded by reporters, the outspoken Colombo would deny there was any such thing as a mafia. “Mafia, what's a mafia?” he was once quoted as saying. “There is not a mafia. Am I head of a family? Yes. My wife and four sons and a daughter. That's my family.”

A cursory investigation of Colombo’s past would reveal otherwise. After commandeering the Profaci crime family in the mid-1960s, and capitalizing on the void left by incarcerated boss "Crazy" Joe Gallo, Colombo quickly rose through the ranks of New York’s notorious Five Families. He had been indicted for tax evasion and accused by the FBI of running a widespread gambling and extortion ring.

Most suspected criminals would keep a low profile. Instead, Colombo decided to go big. Co-creating the Italian-American Civil Rights League, Colombo decried sensational media stories regarding Italian-Americans in general. He found support in members of his ethnicity—nearly 45,000 members—who were tired of the stereotypes. An Alka-Seltzer commercial with the catchphrase “That’s-a-some-a-spicy meatball” was an early target, and the League had success getting it removed from the airwaves. He also lobbied to have the word “mafia” taken out of scripts for television’s The FBI.

In rallying law-abiding Italians and depicting himself as the aggrieved party, Colombo was successful in helping to stifle reference to the terms "mafia" or "la cosa nostra" in popular culture. As soon as Paramount announced plans to produce The Godfather, he had acquired his biggest target to date.

The film version of the Puzo novel had been brought to the studio by producer Robert Evans, who had acquired Puzo’s treatment in 1968. Puzo, heavily in debt due to a gambling habit, was eager to have the book and film rights erase his ledger. He openly admitted his research into organized crime was limited to asking questions of dealers and players during card games in casinos.

The Godfather sold 750,000 copies in hardcover and would go on to sell millions more in paperback. Because of the book’s success, the adaptation was heavily publicized before a single frame had been shot. When Colombo got wind of it, he made it known that the production would not be welcome in New York locations if it insisted on embracing stereotypes—a clever misdirection that helped take some attention off his own criminal doings.

Although Colombo never took credit for it, the film’s producer, Al Ruddy, began experiencing a series of unsettling events that seemed connected to the League’s public protests. His car windows were shot out; threatening phone calls came into his office. Strange cars followed him on the road. At Gulf & Western, Paramount’s parent corporation, phoned-in bomb threats evacuated the building twice.

Ruddy grew concerned, not only for his own welfare but for that of the picture. If Colombo wanted to disrupt the production by ordering Teamsters to sit idle or to arrange for scenery—or even actors—to come up missing, it would be disastrous.

Ruddy decided to capitulate. In early 1971, he arranged for a meeting with Joe Colombo and his son, Anthony, to discuss the picture. Ruddy handed them the 155-page script and insisted the film wouldn’t embrace the stereotypes the League was opposing.

Colombo was there to deal. He told Ruddy that if the filmmakers struck any mention of “mafia” or “la cosa nostra” from the script and donated proceeds from the movie’s premiere to the League, he wouldn’t obstruct the filming. Sensing he didn’t have much choice, Ruddy agreed: A public pronouncement was made in March 1971 that indicated The Godfather had the blessing of the League.

When executives at Gulf & Western learned Ruddy had essentially made a handshake deal with the mob, they were furious. Stock prices plummeted; Ruddy was called to the carpet and fired from the film, only to be rehired at Coppola's insistence.

If Colombo felt like a winner, it wouldn’t last long. His strategy of an aggressive defense may have won him small victories in the general public’s knowledge of the mafia, but it would cause a fatal reaction among those in organized crime who didn’t like Colombo’s profile.

By NBC - RMY Auctions, Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

Months into shooting, Coppola had turned his attention from quieter scenes featuring family patriarch Don Corleone (Marlon Brando) to the bloodshed resulting from his assassination. On June 28 and 29, 1971, the director shot grisly scenes of mob hits featuring machine guns and squibs.

Four blocks away from the film’s location, Colombo had assembled a rally for an Italian-American Unity Day. As he moved to the podium, a photographer with a press pass named Jerome Johnson cut through the crowd and toward the stage. Before Colombo realized what was happening, Johnson had raised a gun and fired three shots, hitting Colombo in the head. More guns were drawn, and Johnson was shot dead on the spot.

Colombo was rushed to the hospital, but his injuries were severe. He spent the next seven years in a coma before passing away in 1978.

Although the murder was never officially solved, it was believed that a returning and vengeful Gallo, tired of Colombo’s grandstanding, ordered his rival’s demise. In what was thought to be a retaliatory attack, he was killed just one year later while eating at a restaurant for his birthday.

The murders were a surprise to Coppola, who had been concerned the violence depicted in the film might be outdated in what appeared to be a newer, more pacifistic organized crime landscape. When it opened in March 1972, The Godfather seemed more timely and prescient than ever.

Ruddy was unable to keep his promise to devote the premiere’s profits to the League, as Paramount refused to honor the deal. But he did host a private screening for the hundreds of limo-riding private citizens who expressed an interest in seeing the film in the New York area. They loved it and congratulated Ruddy on the accomplishment. Months prior, Ruddy had been forced to keep a .45 automatic gun in his desk drawer. It had been an uneasy, necessary alliance.

“Without the mafia’s help, it would’ve been impossible to make the picture,” Ruddy said.

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10 Hush-Hush Facts About L.A. Confidential
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On this day 20 years ago, a rising star director, a writer who thought he’d never get the gig, and a remarkable cast got together to make a film about the corrupt underbelly of 1950s Los Angeles, and the men and women who littered its landscape. This was L.A. Confidential, a film so complex that its creator (legendary crime writer James Ellroy) thought it was “unadaptable.” In the end, it was one of the most acclaimed movies of the 1990s, a film noir classic that made its leading actors into even bigger stars, and which remains an instantly watchable masterpiece to this day. Here are 10 facts about how it got made.

1. THE SCRIPTING PROCESS WAS TOUGH.

Writer-director Curtis Hanson had been a longtime James Ellroy fan when he finally read L.A. Confidential, and the characters in that particular Ellroy novel really spoke to him, so he began working on a script. Meanwhile, Brian Helgeland—originally contracted to write an unproduced Viking film for Warner Bros.—was also a huge Ellroy fan, and lobbied hard for the studio to give him the scripting job. When he learned that Hanson already had it, the two met, and bonded over their mutual admiration of Ellroy’s prose. Their passion for the material was clear, but it took two years to get the script done, with a number of obstacles.

"He would turn down other jobs; I would be doing drafts for free,” Helgeland said. “Whenever there was a day when I didn't want to get up anymore, Curtis tipped the bed and rolled me out on the floor."

2. IT WAS ORIGINALLY INTENDED AS A MINISERIES.

When executive producer David Wolper first read Ellroy’s novel, he saw the dense, complex story as the perfect fodder for a television miniseries, and was promptly turned down by all the major networks at the time.

3. JAMES ELLROY DIDN’T THINK THE BOOK COULD BE ADAPTED.

Though Wolper was intrigued by the idea of telling the story onscreen, Ellroy and his agent laughed at the thought. The author felt his massive book would never fit on any screen.

“It was big, it was bad, it was bereft of sympathetic characters,” Ellroy said. “It was unconstrainable, uncontainable, and unadaptable.”

4. CURTIS HANSON SOLD THE FILM WITH CLASSIC LOS ANGELES IMAGES.

To get the film made, Hanson had to convince New Regency Pictures head Arnon Milchan that it was worth producing. To do this, he essentially put together a collage of classic Los Angeles imagery, from memorable locations to movie stars, including the famous image of Robert Mitchum leaving jail after his arrest for using marijuana.

"Now you've seen the image of L.A. that was sold to get everybody to come here. Let's peel back the image and see where our characters live,” Hanson said.

Milchan was sold.

5. KEVIN SPACEY WAS ON HANSON’S WISH LIST FOR YEARS.

Though the other stars of the film were largely discoveries of the moment, Kevin Spacey was apparently someone Hanson wanted to work with for years. Spacey described Hanson as a director “who’d been trying for years and years and years to get me cast in films he made, and the studio always rejected me.” After Spacey won an Oscar for The Usual Suspects, Hanson called the actor and said, “I think I’ve got the role, and I think they’re not gonna say no this time.”

6. SPACEY’S CHARACTER IS BASED ON DEAN MARTIN.

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Though he cast relative unknowns in Russell Crowe and Guy Pearce, Hanson wanted an American movie star for the role of Jack Vincennes, and decided on Kevin Spacey. In an effort to convince Spacey to take the role, Hanson invited him to dine at L.A.’s famous Formosa Cafe (where scenes in the film are actually set). While at the cafe, Spacey asked a vital question:

“If it was really 1952, and you were really making this movie, who would you cast as Jack Vincennes?” Hanson said “Dean Martin.”

At that point, Spacey looked up at the gallery of movie star photos which line the cafe, and realized Martin’s photo was right above him.

“To this day, I don’t know whether he sat us in that booth on purpose, but there was Dino looking down at me,” Spacey said.

After his meeting with Hanson, Spacey watched Martin’s performances in Some Came Running (1958) and Rio Bravo (1959), and realized that both films featured characters who mask vulnerability with a layer of cool. That was the genesis of Jack Vincennes.

7. HANSON CHOSE MUCH OF THE MUSIC BEFORE FILMING.

To help set the tone for his period drama, Hanson began selecting music of the early 1950s even before filming began, so he could play it on set as the actors went to work. Among his most interesting choices: When Jack Vincennes sits in a bar, staring at the money he’s just been bribed with, Dean Martin’s “Powder Your Face With Sunshine (Smile! Smile! Smile!)” plays, a reference to both the character’s melancholy, and to Spacey and Hanson’s decision to base the character on Martin.

8. THE CINEMATOGRAPHY WAS INSPIRED BY ROBERT FRANK PHOTOGRAPHS.

To emphasize realism and period accuracy, cinematographer Dante Spinotti thought less about the moving image, and more about still photographs. In particular, he used photographer Robert Frank’s 1958 collection "The Americans" as a tool, and relied less on artificial light and more on environmental light sources like desk lamps.

"I tried to compose shots as if I were using a still camera,” Spinotti said. “I was constantly asking myself, 'Where would I be if I were holding a Leica?' This is one reason I suggested shooting in the Super 35 widescreen format; I wanted to use spherical lenses, which for me have a look and feel similar to still-photo work.”

9. THE FINAL STORY TWIST IS NOT IN THE BOOK.

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[SPOILER ALERT] In the film, Jack Vincennes, Ed Exley, and Bud White are all chasing a mysterious crime lord known as “Rollo Tomasi,” who turns out to be their own LAPD colleague, Dudley Smith (James Cromwell). Though Vincennes, Exley, and White are all native to Ellroy’s novel, the Tomasi name is entirely an invention of the film.

10. ELLROY APPROVED OF THE MOVIE.

To adapt L.A. Confidential for the screen, Hanson and Helgeland condensed Ellroy’s original novel, boiling the story down to a three-person narrative and ditching other subplots so they could get to the heart of the three cops at the center of the movie. Ellroy, in the end, was pleased with their choices.

“They preserved the basic integrity of the book and its main theme, which is that everything in Los Angeles during this era of boosterism and yahooism was two-sided and two-faced and put out for cosmetic purposes,” Ellroy said. “The script is very much about the [characters'] evolution as men and their lives of duress. Brian and Curtis took a work of fiction that had eight plotlines, reduced those to three, and retained the dramatic force of three men working out their destiny. I've long held that hard-boiled crime fiction is the history of bad white men doing bad things in the name of authority. They stated that case plain.”

Additional Sources:
Inside the Actors Studio: Kevin Spacey (2000)

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The Time a Wrestling Fan Tried to Shoot Bobby Heenan in the Ring
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For a man who didn't wrestle much, Bobby “The Brain” Heenan wound up becoming more famous than a lot of the men flexing in the squared circle. The onscreen manager of several notable grapplers, including André the Giant and “Ravishing” Rick Rude, Heenan died on Sunday at the age of 73. His passing has led to several tributes recalling his memorable moments, from dressing up in a weasel suit to hosting a short-lived talk show on TNT.

While Heenan’s “heel” persona was considered great entertainment, there was a night back in 1975 when he did his job a little too well. As a result, an irate fan tried to assassinate him in the ring.

According to the Chicago Tribune, Heenan was appearing at the International Amphitheater in Chicago as part of the now-defunct AWA wrestling promotion when his performance began to grate on the nerves of an unnamed attendee seated on the floor. Eyewitnesses described the man as friendly up until wrestlers Verne Gagne and Nick Bockwinkel started their bout with Heenan at ringside in Bockwinkel’s corner.

“Get Heenan out of there,” the fan screamed, possibly concerned his character would interfere in a fair contest. Heenan, known as “Pretty Boy” at the time, began to distract the referee, awarding an advantage to his wrestler. When the official began waving his arms to signal Heenan to stop interrupting, the fan apparently took it as the match being over and awarded in Bockwinkel’s favor. He drew a gun and began firing.

The man got off two shots, hitting three bystanders with one bullet and two more with the other before running out of the arena. (No fatalities were reported.) Security swarmed the scene, getting medical attention for the injured and escorting both Heenan and the wrestlers to the back.

According to Heenan, the shooter was never identified by anyone, and he was brazen enough to continue attending wrestling cards at the arena. ("Chicago really took that 'no snitching' thing to heart back then," according to Uproxx.)

Heenan went on to spend another 30 years in the business getting yelled at and hit with chairs, but was never again forced to dodge a bullet.

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