Is The Godfather: Part III The Worst Movie Ever Made?

There are probably worse movies, but in terms of being a hackneyed, clichéd, poorly directed disappointment, it is certainly up there. Did I mention poorly acted? It was. Did it have horrible casting? Why yes, yes it did. Was the script good? Yep - good for wrapping fish. Speaking of fish, this movie should have slept with them.

I could go on, but I think you understand where I am coming from. I hadn't seen that movie since I saw it in a theater when it was released, then I watched it last night. It didn't magically improve when I wasn't looking. In fact, scenes like the shootout at the street festival were so poorly done that I was embarrassed for whoever directed that - hold it - what's this? It was Frankie Ford Coppola! I thought he knew how to direct those kind of things. This one was so clunky, so poorly blocked, so badly shot (I KNOW!) that he should go to his room and think about what he has done.

But that's not what I am here to talk about. What this post is about is much more topical. I read a lot about Russians and Civil War and other boogie men (no, not Dr. John) and this morning I saw a movie that mashes those themes into one neat package. But before we get there, because poetry is so beloved around here, first a poem by Ogden Nash:

To Barbara Frietchie

I bet she scratched

When she was itchy.

That is the proper setup for the following:

Because I mentioned the real Boogie Man!