Prequels. I bet that word alone has stirred a knee-jerk animosity in you. You’re sick and tired of them — and I bet you’re even more sick of people complaining about them. You know as well as I do that critics love to bemoan this era of sequels, prequels and remakes. You know that they’re right, and you also know that proclaiming it is as profound as saying that the sky is blue.
What if we ignore all that is universal and uniform, all the mindless schlock shoved down our throats by our increasingly greedy corporate overlords? What if we, as a thought exercise, separate the pasteurized art from its monocultural cash cow? What if we taste it without any pre-conception, as unfathomable as that may be? In other words, what if we explore the merits of a prequel?
A prequel is made after the original film, and the narrative takes place before the events of its predecessor. Think of the dismally unwanted “Mufasa: The Lion King,” serving as the prequel to the equally unwanted live-action remake of the 2-D animated classic “The Lion King.” Think of the unnecessary but amusing “Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga” or “Solo: A Star Wars Story” or any other “character name, colon, franchise” movie title. The purpose of a prequel is to provide more context about the story and its character, illuminating the unseen depths of people we once thought we knew. At least, that’s the pitch that the cash cows moo at you. In practice, prequels suffer from what film critic Matt Singer calls prequelitis: “a cinematic malady in which a film … feels an irresistible compulsion to explain every single aspect of its predecessor.” In doing so, prequels feel like a desperate ex: invading your perfectly reasonable life with sentimental callbacks as to why you should get together again.
For the last decade, sentimental callbacks have been the move — a peculiar, formulaic but also mildly successful one. Prequelitis has sustained itself through pure tyranny of will. But if it is a disease, then there ought to exist “normal” prequels (the platonic ideal of a prequel) — films that don’t suffer from such blatantly lazy capitalist malady. Intuitively, the platonic ideal of a prequel is simply a good movie, however you choose to define it. A good prequel works as a solo film, independent of what came before it. The film doesn’t try to serve anyone or anything but its narrative.
So, how does that work in practice?
Unfortunately, not too well. Most of the time, prequels seemingly exist for fan service. Whether that’s learning about how Rifiki got his cane or how Furiosa got her mechanical arm, prequels tend to fabricate stupid answers to questions that no one asked for. Even prequels that don’t directly develop the characters of the original film, like the Fantastic Beasts series, suffer from this terrible, terrible complex.
So, instead of looking at a bunch of prequels and quibbling about its quality and necessity, let’s just analyze one of the most beloved films of all time: Francis Ford Coppola’s (“Megalopolis”) “The Godfather Part II,” the sequel and prequel to the New Hollywood classic. “Mufasa: The Lion King” was apparently inspired by Coppola’s masterpiece, making it a fantastic case study. Surely, the legendary film — a deeply rich political and historical effort — represents all that is redeemable with prequels. After all, hyperbole doesn’t do it justice. “Part II” is a great film, a bona fide all-timer. Its grandeur is of titanic proportion, and its impact even more so.
The standout aspect of “Part II” is its parallel storylines. Taking place in both the past and present, Coppola follows the birth of the Corleone crime family (the past) and the family’s downfall under Michael Corleone’s rule (the present). It is incontestable that the storylines inform each other: Learning more about the life of Vito Corleone (Robert De Niro, “The Killers of the Flower Moon”) before he became the Godfather (Marlon Brando, “Superman”) adds a sobering amount of depth to Michael’s downward spiral. The prequel narrative is formally distinct, impeccably acted and thematically relevant.
But, is it necessary?
For me, the appeal of Vito Corleone, the mafia boss first seen hidden in the shadows, is the pervasive question of how a man so noble, calculated and calm exists in this ruthless business, one in which he finds his son massacred and, instead of exacting revenge, offers a truce. “Part II,” symptomatic of prequelitis though, explains far too much. His depiction as a family man and a working-class hero ends up destroying the appeal of Vito in the first film, leaving us deep in the nose hairs of a now less elusive figure, one that we know for sure is a righteous and all-around good man in a scummy world. Of course, this backstory doesn’t diminish the original film, nor does it hurt the quality of “Part II.” Rather, it just doesn’t do anything for the Don. Some critics, like Mike D’Angelo, have gone as far to argue that “Part II” doesn’t advance Michael’s character either.
To this humble critic, “Part II” is fantastic. Even if prequelitis has infected it, the film doesn’t feel like that desperate ex, constantly justifying their presence. The reason is obvious enough: The structure of “Part II” is its justification. Whatever disservice Coppola may have done to the silhouette of Vito Corleone, he more than makes up for it in his tragic portrait of a father and a son. Witnessing the generosity of Vito in his early years — in contrast with the ruthlessness of Michael — heightens the film’s commentary on generational divide, a lost way of co-existing. Where Vito would extend a hand to even his worst enemies, Michael would find a way to chop off his enemies’ hands before meeting with them. That divide, however present in the original, is tragically hammered home here.
And that is what makes “The Godfather Part II” a fantastic prequel: the realness and tangibleness of its narrative. What happens in the past only informs that specific contained narrative, only incidentally and occasionally foreshadowing the original film. This should be the new move. If a prequel doesn’t have its own unique themes, doesn’t advance the original’s or have more to offer than callbacks, it shouldn’t exist.
Looking at the criticisms of “The Godfather Part II,” it might be fair to suggest that prequelitis is a condition inherent in every prequel. But just because every prequel might suffer from prequelitis — to varying degrees, of course — that doesn’t mean that the film can’t be good. “Part II” shows that if you deliver a good enough product, no one will care about these pedantic terms and labels. Delivering the goods is a matter of effort and intentionality, two qualities that people in the big offices are lacking. They’re too busy hearing the cha-ching of that money register. But if studios ever open their windows and are bothered by critics and audiences bemoaning the blue sky, my solution for them is simple: Make something worth pointing at.
Film Beat Editor Ben Luu can be reached at benllv@umich.edu.
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