Brando_ Songs My Mother Taught Me - Marlon Brando [152]
From the start, the real Mafia took a strong interest in our depiction of the fictional one, much of which was filmed on its turf in Little Italy in New York City. It sent a delegation to Bluhdorn and, I was told after the picture was finished, he agreed to meet certain conditions to obtain its cooperation, including a promise not to mention the word “Mafia” in the picture. I’m sure they let him know that it wouldn’t be difficult for their friends in the New York labor unions to tie up shooting, and as partial payment I suspect that Paramount promised them some jobs on the picture. Several members of the crew were in the Mafia and four or five mafiosi had minor parts. When we were shooting on Mott Street in Little Italy, Joe Bufalino arrived on the set and sent two envoys to my trailer to say that he wanted to meet me. One was a rat-faced man with impeccably groomed hair and a camel’s-hair coat, the other a less elegantly dressed man who was the size of an elephant and nearly tipped over the trailer when he stepped in and said, “Hi, Mario, you’re a great actor.”
When Bufalino arrived, the first thing I noticed about him was that one of his eyes looked to the left and the other to the right. I didn’t know which one to look at, so, trying not to offend him, I alternated between them. As soon as he sat down, he started complaining about how badly the U.S. government was treating him. Wrapping himself in the American flag, he said he was a good American and a good family man, but the government was trying to deport him. Throwing up his arms, he said, “What do I do?”
I didn’t have an answer, so I didn’t say anything. Then he changed the subject and in a raspy whisper said, “The word’s out you like calamari …”
This startled me. Somehow he’d learned that I often ordered a calamari lunch from one of the Italian restaurants on Mott Street.
Then, as if the two of us were involved in a conspiracy, he said, “You know, Mario, I’d love to have you come over and meet the wife. One night the three of us could all go out for dinner. I’d like you to meet my family.”
“Mr. Bufalino—”
He waved his hand and said, “Call me Joe.”
“Well, Joe, see this script?” I showed it to him, riffling through the pages we were going to film that day. “Joe, this is just today; these are only the lines I have to learn for today, and it’s really hard. I’m not running around chasing girls. I just sit in this trailer learning lines.”
Bufalino seemed disappointed. “Well,” he said, “maybe we can make it for lunch sometime.”
I didn’t know what to do next, so I said, “Have you ever seen a movie set?”
“No, I’ve never been on one before.”
“Well, allow me,” I said. “Let’s go upstairs and I’ll show you around.”
I led him upstairs through a tangle of cables to the set of the office of the olive-oil company used in the picture. Standing close to me, he looked around and said, “I don’t know how you keep from goin’ nuts, with all these people and all these wires and everything …”
“I agree, Joe. The whole thing is really cockeyed, isn’t it?” Then I looked into his cocked eyes and realized what I’d said. I spun around, trying to divert his attention to something on the set and to get a glimpse of his reaction peripherally. For a moment he blinked and I thought I saw a hurt look flash across his face, but the moment passed, and I babbled a mouthful of mush to fill the air with words, not knowing what in the world I was saying.
At last Joe smiled, thanked me for the tour and left me to get ready for the next shot. “See you, Mario,” he said. “Don’t forget the wife and I would still like you to have dinner with us.”
There were some terrific actors on The Godfather, especially Robert Duvall and Al Pacino. Bobby Duvall is one of those actors who never stop taking dares, which very few actors do. They work so hard at becoming successful that when they reach the top they become cautious and try to do the same thing over and over again because they’re frightened