대부2

• daviddain

  쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기

• 10-15
• 268 회
• 10 건

1. • 김전일

     쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기
     25-10-16

   이 영화 제대로 이해하는데 꽤 오래 걸렸습니다. TV 더빙판으로 볼때 대머리 콧수염 영감님 갑자기 왜 급발진인가 그것도 이해가 안갔지요. 러닝타임도 길고, 이야기는 섞여 있고...비토의 젊은 시절은 쏙쏙 들어오던데, ---갑자기 마이클에게 너무 큰 짐을 어깨에 얹어준 느낌? 알 파치노 연기가 대단했어요. 가끔 뭐 약 먹고 그러던데 정신정 압박감을 보여주는 소품인가?  

   <p>이 영화 제대로 이해하는데 꽤 오래 걸렸습니다. TV 더빙판으로 볼때 대머리 콧수염 영감님 갑자기 왜 급발진인가 그것도 이해가 안갔지요. 러닝타임도 길고, 이야기는 섞여 있고...비토의 젊은 시절은 쏙쏙 들어오던데, ---갑자기 마이클에게 너무 큰 짐을 어깨에 얹어준 느낌? 알 파치노 연기가 대단했어요. 가끔 뭐 약 먹고 그러던데 정신정 압박감을 보여주는 소품인가?  </p>
1. • daviddain

     쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기
     25-10-16

   마지막 장면에 다 큰 자식들이 모여서 아버지 생일 파티 기다리는 거 보면 비토는 가족은 지켰지만 마이클은 그 반대로 타락. 1의 마지막 장면의 마이클 옆모습에서 시작해 혼자 있는 마이클 옆모습으로 끝나는데, 그것도 몇 년 시간이 흐른 후의 모습이란 말이 있습니다. 아메리칸 드림의 변질로 봤어요. 국회의원이 니네 암만 비싼 옷 입고 거들먹거려도 니네 하는 짓 못 가린다고 한 말 그대로였습니다
   
   
   Much of the material about Don Vito’s early life which appears in Part II was in the Mario Puzo book and was left out of the first movie, but the real fecundity of Puzo’s mind shows in the way this new film can take his characters further along and can expand (and, in a few cases, alter) the implications of the book. Puzo didn’t write the novel he probably could have written, but there was a Promethean spark in his trash, and Coppola has written the novel it might have been. However, this second film (the script is again by Coppola and Puzo) doesn’t appear to derive from the book as much as from what Coppola learned while he was making the first. In Part II, he has had the opportunity to do what he was prevented from doing before, and he’s been able to develop what he didn’t know about his characters and themes until after he’d made the first picture. He has also been able to balance the material. Many people who saw The Godfather developed a romantic identification with the Corleones; they longed for the feeling of protection that Don Vito conferred on his loving family. Now that the full story has been told, you’d have to have an insensitivity bordering on moral idiocy to think that the Corleones live a wonderful life, which you’d like to be part of.
   
   
   The violence in this film never doesn’t bother us —it’s never just a kick. For a movie director, Coppola has an unusual interest in ideas and in the texture of feeling and thought. This wasn’t always apparent in the first film, because the melodramatic suspense was so strong that one’s motor responses demanded the resolution of tension (as in the restaurant scene, when one’s heart almost stopped in the few seconds before Michael pulled out the gun and fired). But this time Coppola controls our emotional responses so that the horror seeps through everything and no action provides a melodramatic release. Within a scene Coppola is controlled and unhurried, yet he has a gift for igniting narrative, and the exploding effects keep accumulating. About midway, I began to feel that the film was expanding in my head like a soft bullet.
   
   
   The casting is so close to flawless that we can feel the family connections, and there are times when one could swear that Michael’s brother Fredo (John Cazale), as he ages, is beginning to look like a weak version of his father, because we see Marlon Brando in the wide forehead and receding hair. Brando is not on the screen this time, but he persists in his sons, Fredo and Michael, and Brando’s character is extended by our seeing how it was formed. As Vito, Robert De Niro amply convinces one that he has it in him to become the old man that Brando was. It’s not that he looks exactly like Brando but that he has Brando’s wary soul, and so we can easily imagine the body changing with the years. It is much like seeing a photograph of one’s own dead father when he was a strapping young man; the burning spirit we see in his face spooks us, because of our knowledge of what he was at the end. In De Niro’s case, the young man’s face is fired by a secret pride. His gesture as he refuses the gift of a box of groceries is beautifully expressive and has the added wonder of suggesting Brando, and not from the outside but from the inside. Even the soft, cracked Brando-like voice seems to come from the inside. When De Niro closes his eyes to blot out something insupportable, the reflex is like a presentiment of the old man’s reflexes. There is such a continuity of soul between the child on the ship, De Niro’s slight, ironic smile as a cowardly landlord tries to appease him, and Brando, the old man who died happy in the sun, that although Vito is a subsidiary character in terms of actual time on the screen, this second film, like the first, is imbued with his presence.
   
   
   De Niro is right to be playing the young Brando because he has the physical audacity, the grace, and the instinct to become a great actor — perhaps as great as Brando. In Mean Streets, he was a wild, reckless kid who flaunted his being out of control; here he’s a man who holds himself in — and he’s just as transfixing. Vito came to America to survive. He brought nothing with him but a background of violence, and when he believes the only choice is between knuckling under to the gangsters who terrorize the poor in Little Italy—just as gangsters terrorized his family in Sicily — and using a gun, he chooses the gun. In his terms, it’s a simple matter of self-preservation, and he achieves his manhood when he becomes a killer. Vito has a feudal code of honor. To the Italians who treat him with respect he’s a folk hero — a Robin Hood you can come to in times of trouble. No matter what he does, he believes he’s a man of principle, and he’s wrapped in dignity. The child’s silence is carried forward in the adult. De Niro’s performance is so subtle that when he speaks in the Sicilian dialect he learned for the role he speaks easily, but he is cautious in English and speaks very clearly and precisely. For a man of Vito’s character who doesn’t know the language well, precision is important — sloppy talk would be unthinkable. Like Brando’s Vito, De Niro’s has a reserve that can never be breached. Vito is so secure in the knowledge of how dangerous he is that his courtliness is no more or less than noblesse oblige.
   
   
   The physical contrasts between De Niro’s characterization and Pacino’s give an almost tactile dimension to the theme. Driving through the streets of Batista’s Havana, which he’s buying into — buying a piece of the government — Michael sees the children begging, and he knows what he is: he’s a predator on human weakness. And that’s exactly what he looks like. He wears silvery-gray nubby-silk suits over a soft, amorphous body; he’s hidden under the price tag. The burden of power sits on him like a sickness; his expression is sullen and withdrawn. He didn’t have to be what he is: he knew there were other possibilities, and he chose to become a killer out of family loyalty. Here in Part II he is a disconsolate man, whose only attachment is to his children; he can never go back to the time before that moment in the restaurant when he shot his father’s enemies. In the first film, we saw Don Vito weep when he learned that it was Michael who had done the killing; Michael’s act, which preserved the family’s power, destroyed his own life. Don Vito had recoiled from the sordid drug traffic, but since crime is the most competitive business of all (the quality of what you’re peddling not being a conspicuous factor), Michael, the modernist, recoils from nothing; the empire that he runs from Nevada has few links with his young father’s Robin Hood days. It’s only inside himself that Michael recoils. His tense, flaccid face hovers over the movie; he’s the man in power, trying to control the lives around him and feeling empty and betrayed. He’s like a depressed Brando.
   
   
   There are times when Pacino’s moodiness isn’t particularly eloquent, and when Michael asks his mother (Morgana King) how his father felt deep down in his heart the question doesn’t have enough urgency. However, Pacino does something very difficult: he gives an almost immobile performance. Michael’s attempt to be the man his father was has aged him, and he can’t conceal the ugliness of the calculations that his father’s ceremonial manner masked. His father had a domestic life that was a sanctuary, but Michael has no sanctuary. He cannot maintain the traditional division of home and business, and so the light and dark contrasts are not as sharp as in the first picture. His wife knows he lied to her, just as he lies to a Senate investigating committee, and the darkness of his business dealings has invaded his home. Part II has the same mythic and operatic visual scheme as the first; once again the cinematographer is Gordon Willis. Visually the film is, however, far more complexly beautiful than the first, just as it’s thematically richer, more shadowed, more full. Willis’s workmanship has developed, like Coppola’s; even the sequences in the sunlight have deep tones — elegiac yet lyrical, as in The Conformist, and always serving the narrative, as the Nino Rota score also does.
   
   
   Talia Shire had a very sure touch in her wedding scenes in the first film; her Connie was like a Pier Angeli with a less fragile, bolder nature — a spoiled princess. Now, tight with anger, dependent on her brother Michael, who killed her husband, Connie behaves self-destructively. She once had a dream wedding; now she hooks up with gigolo playboys. (Troy Donahue is her newest husband.) Talia Shire has such beauty and strength that she commands attention. It’s possible that she didn’t impose herself more strongly in the first film because Coppola, through a kind of reverse nepotism (Miss Shire is his sister), deemphasized her role and didn’t give her many closeups, but this time — pinched, strident, whory — she comes through as a stunningly controlled actress. Kay (Diane Keaton), Michael’s New England-born wife, balks at becoming the acquiescent woman he requires, so he shows her what his protection means. It’s dependent on absolute fealty. Any challenge or betrayal and you’re dead — for men, that is. Women are so subservient they’re not considered dangerous enough to kill — that’s about the extent of Mafioso chivalry. The male-female relationships are worked out with a Jacobean splendor that goes far beyond one’s expectations.
   
   
   There must be more brilliant strokes of casting here (including the use of a batch of Hollywood notables — Phil Feldman, Roger Corman, and William Bowers — as United States senators), and more first-rate acting in small parts, than in any other American movie. An important new character, Hyman Roth, a Meyer Lansky-like businessman-gangster, as full of cant and fake wisdom as a fund-raising rabbi, is played with smooth conviction by the near-legendary Lee Strasberg. Even his breath control is impeccable: when Roth talks too much and gets more excited than he should, his talk ends with a sound of exertion from his chest. As another new major character, Frankie Pentangeli, an old-timer in the rackets who wants things to be as they were when Don Vito was in his heyday, Michael V. Gazzo (the playwright-actor) gives an intensely likable performance that adds flavor to the picture. His Pentangeli has the capacity for enjoying life, unlike Michael and the anonymous-looking high-echelon hoods who surround him. As the bland, despicably loyal Tom Hagen, more square-faced and sturdy now, Robert Duvall, a powerful recessive actor, is practically a genius at keeping himself in the background; and Richard Bright as Al Neri, one of Michael’s henchmen, runs him a dose second.
   
   
   Coppola’s approach is openhanded: he doesn’t force the situations. He puts the material up there, and we read the screen for ourselves. But in a few places, such as in the double-crossing maneuvers of Michael Corleone and Hyman Roth, his partner in the Cuban venture, it hasn’t been made readable enough. There’s a slight confusion for the audience in the sequences dealing with Roth’s bogus attempt on the life of Pentangeli, and the staging is a little flatfooted in the scenes in which the Corleone assassin first eliminates Roth’s bodyguard and then goes to kill Roth. Also, it’s a disadvantage that the frame-up of Senator Geary (which is very poorly staged, with more gory views of a murdered girl than are necessary) comes so long after the provocation for it. Everywhere else, the contrapuntal cutting is beautifully right, but the pieces of the Senator Geary story seem too slackly spaced apart. (The casting of G. D. Spradlin in the role is a juicy bit of satire; he looks and acts like a synthesis of several of our worst senators.) These small flaws are not failures of intelligence; they’re faults in the storytelling, and there are a few abrupt transitions, indicating unplanned last-minute cuts. There may be too many scenes of plotting heads, and at times one wishes the sequences to be more fully developed. One never wants less of the characters; one always wants more — particularly of Vito in the 1917 period, which is recreated in a way that makes movies once again seem a miraculous medium.
   
   
   This film wouldn’t have been made if the first hadn’t been a hit — and the first was made because the Paramount executives expected it to be an ordinary gangster shoot-’em-up. When you see this new picture, you wonder how Coppola won the fights. Maybe the answer is that they knew they couldn’t make it without him. After you see it, you feel they can’t make any picture without him. He directs with supreme confidence. Coppola is the inheritor of the traditions of the novel, the theater, and — especially — opera and movies. The sensibility at work in this film is that of a major artist. We’re not used to it: how many screen artists get the chance to work in the epic form, and who has been able to seize the power to compose a modern American epic? And who else, when he got the chance and the power, would have proceeded with the absolute conviction that he’d make the film the way it should be made? In movies, that’s the inner voice of the authentic hero.
   
   -볼린 카엘

   마지막 장면에 다 큰 자식들이 모여서 아버지 생일 파티 기다리는 거 보면 비토는 가족은 지켰지만 마이클은 그 반대로 타락. 1의 마지막 장면의 마이클 옆모습에서 시작해 혼자 있는 마이클 옆모습으로 끝나는데, 그것도 몇 년 시간이 흐른 후의 모습이란 말이 있습니다. 아메리칸 드림의 변질로 봤어요. 국회의원이 니네 암만 비싼 옷 입고 거들먹거려도 니네 하는 짓 못 가린다고 한 말 그대로였습니다<br /><br /> Much of the material about Don Vito’s early life which appears in Part II was in the Mario Puzo book and was left out of the first movie, but the real fecundity of Puzo’s mind shows in the way this new film can take his characters further along and can expand (and, in a few cases, alter) the implications of the book. Puzo didn’t write the novel he probably could have written, but there was a Promethean spark in his trash, and Coppola has written the novel it might have been. However, this second film (the script is again by Coppola and Puzo) doesn’t appear to derive from the book as much as from what Coppola learned while he was making the first. In Part II, he has had the opportunity to do what he was prevented from doing before, and he’s been able to develop what he didn’t know about his characters and themes until after he’d made the first picture. He has also been able to balance the material. Many people who saw The Godfather developed a romantic identification with the Corleones; they longed for the feeling of protection that Don Vito conferred on his loving family. Now that the full story has been told, you’d have to have an insensitivity bordering on moral idiocy to think that the Corleones live a wonderful life, which you’d like to be part of.<br /><br /> The violence in this film never doesn’t bother us —it’s never just a kick. For a movie director, Coppola has an unusual interest in ideas and in the texture of feeling and thought. This wasn’t always apparent in the first film, because the melodramatic suspense was so strong that one’s motor responses demanded the resolution of tension (as in the restaurant scene, when one’s heart almost stopped in the few seconds before Michael pulled out the gun and fired). But this time Coppola controls our emotional responses so that the horror seeps through everything and no action provides a melodramatic release. Within a scene Coppola is controlled and unhurried, yet he has a gift for igniting narrative, and the exploding effects keep accumulating. About midway, I began to feel that the film was expanding in my head like a soft bullet.<br /><br /> The casting is so close to flawless that we can feel the family connections, and there are times when one could swear that Michael’s brother Fredo (John Cazale), as he ages, is beginning to look like a weak version of his father, because we see Marlon Brando in the wide forehead and receding hair. Brando is not on the screen this time, but he persists in his sons, Fredo and Michael, and Brando’s character is extended by our seeing how it was formed. As Vito, Robert De Niro amply convinces one that he has it in him to become the old man that Brando was. It’s not that he looks exactly like Brando but that he has Brando’s wary soul, and so we can easily imagine the body changing with the years. It is much like seeing a photograph of one’s own dead father when he was a strapping young man; the burning spirit we see in his face spooks us, because of our knowledge of what he was at the end. In De Niro’s case, the young man’s face is fired by a secret pride. His gesture as he refuses the gift of a box of groceries is beautifully expressive and has the added wonder of suggesting Brando, and not from the outside but from the inside. Even the soft, cracked Brando-like voice seems to come from the inside. When De Niro closes his eyes to blot out something insupportable, the reflex is like a presentiment of the old man’s reflexes. There is such a continuity of soul between the child on the ship, De Niro’s slight, ironic smile as a cowardly landlord tries to appease him, and Brando, the old man who died happy in the sun, that although Vito is a subsidiary character in terms of actual time on the screen, this second film, like the first, is imbued with his presence.<br /><br /> De Niro is right to be playing the young Brando because he has the physical audacity, the grace, and the instinct to become a great actor — perhaps as great as Brando. In Mean Streets, he was a wild, reckless kid who flaunted his being out of control; here he’s a man who holds himself in — and he’s just as transfixing. Vito came to America to survive. He brought nothing with him but a background of violence, and when he believes the only choice is between knuckling under to the gangsters who terrorize the poor in Little Italy—just as gangsters terrorized his family in Sicily — and using a gun, he chooses the gun. In his terms, it’s a simple matter of self-preservation, and he achieves his manhood when he becomes a killer. Vito has a feudal code of honor. To the Italians who treat him with respect he’s a folk hero — a Robin Hood you can come to in times of trouble. No matter what he does, he believes he’s a man of principle, and he’s wrapped in dignity. The child’s silence is carried forward in the adult. De Niro’s performance is so subtle that when he speaks in the Sicilian dialect he learned for the role he speaks easily, but he is cautious in English and speaks very clearly and precisely. For a man of Vito’s character who doesn’t know the language well, precision is important — sloppy talk would be unthinkable. Like Brando’s Vito, De Niro’s has a reserve that can never be breached. Vito is so secure in the knowledge of how dangerous he is that his courtliness is no more or less than noblesse oblige.<br /><br /> The physical contrasts between De Niro’s characterization and Pacino’s give an almost tactile dimension to the theme. Driving through the streets of Batista’s Havana, which he’s buying into — buying a piece of the government — Michael sees the children begging, and he knows what he is: he’s a predator on human weakness. And that’s exactly what he looks like. He wears silvery-gray nubby-silk suits over a soft, amorphous body; he’s hidden under the price tag. The burden of power sits on him like a sickness; his expression is sullen and withdrawn. He didn’t have to be what he is: he knew there were other possibilities, and he chose to become a killer out of family loyalty. Here in Part II he is a disconsolate man, whose only attachment is to his children; he can never go back to the time before that moment in the restaurant when he shot his father’s enemies. In the first film, we saw Don Vito weep when he learned that it was Michael who had done the killing; Michael’s act, which preserved the family’s power, destroyed his own life. Don Vito had recoiled from the sordid drug traffic, but since crime is the most competitive business of all (the quality of what you’re peddling not being a conspicuous factor), Michael, the modernist, recoils from nothing; the empire that he runs from Nevada has few links with his young father’s Robin Hood days. It’s only inside himself that Michael recoils. His tense, flaccid face hovers over the movie; he’s the man in power, trying to control the lives around him and feeling empty and betrayed. He’s like a depressed Brando.<br /><br /> There are times when Pacino’s moodiness isn’t particularly eloquent, and when Michael asks his mother (Morgana King) how his father felt deep down in his heart the question doesn’t have enough urgency. However, Pacino does something very difficult: he gives an almost immobile performance. Michael’s attempt to be the man his father was has aged him, and he can’t conceal the ugliness of the calculations that his father’s ceremonial manner masked. His father had a domestic life that was a sanctuary, but Michael has no sanctuary. He cannot maintain the traditional division of home and business, and so the light and dark contrasts are not as sharp as in the first picture. His wife knows he lied to her, just as he lies to a Senate investigating committee, and the darkness of his business dealings has invaded his home. Part II has the same mythic and operatic visual scheme as the first; once again the cinematographer is Gordon Willis. Visually the film is, however, far more complexly beautiful than the first, just as it’s thematically richer, more shadowed, more full. Willis’s workmanship has developed, like Coppola’s; even the sequences in the sunlight have deep tones — elegiac yet lyrical, as in The Conformist, and always serving the narrative, as the Nino Rota score also does.<br /><br /> Talia Shire had a very sure touch in her wedding scenes in the first film; her Connie was like a Pier Angeli with a less fragile, bolder nature — a spoiled princess. Now, tight with anger, dependent on her brother Michael, who killed her husband, Connie behaves self-destructively. She once had a dream wedding; now she hooks up with gigolo playboys. (Troy Donahue is her newest husband.) Talia Shire has such beauty and strength that she commands attention. It’s possible that she didn’t impose herself more strongly in the first film because Coppola, through a kind of reverse nepotism (Miss Shire is his sister), deemphasized her role and didn’t give her many closeups, but this time — pinched, strident, whory — she comes through as a stunningly controlled actress. Kay (Diane Keaton), Michael’s New England-born wife, balks at becoming the acquiescent woman he requires, so he shows her what his protection means. It’s dependent on absolute fealty. Any challenge or betrayal and you’re dead — for men, that is. Women are so subservient they’re not considered dangerous enough to kill — that’s about the extent of Mafioso chivalry. The male-female relationships are worked out with a Jacobean splendor that goes far beyond one’s expectations.<br /><br /> There must be more brilliant strokes of casting here (including the use of a batch of Hollywood notables — Phil Feldman, Roger Corman, and William Bowers — as United States senators), and more first-rate acting in small parts, than in any other American movie. An important new character, Hyman Roth, a Meyer Lansky-like businessman-gangster, as full of cant and fake wisdom as a fund-raising rabbi, is played with smooth conviction by the near-legendary Lee Strasberg. Even his breath control is impeccable: when Roth talks too much and gets more excited than he should, his talk ends with a sound of exertion from his chest. As another new major character, Frankie Pentangeli, an old-timer in the rackets who wants things to be as they were when Don Vito was in his heyday, Michael V. Gazzo (the playwright-actor) gives an intensely likable performance that adds flavor to the picture. His Pentangeli has the capacity for enjoying life, unlike Michael and the anonymous-looking high-echelon hoods who surround him. As the bland, despicably loyal Tom Hagen, more square-faced and sturdy now, Robert Duvall, a powerful recessive actor, is practically a genius at keeping himself in the background; and Richard Bright as Al Neri, one of Michael’s henchmen, runs him a dose second.<br /><br /> Coppola’s approach is openhanded: he doesn’t force the situations. He puts the material up there, and we read the screen for ourselves. But in a few places, such as in the double-crossing maneuvers of Michael Corleone and Hyman Roth, his partner in the Cuban venture, it hasn’t been made readable enough. There’s a slight confusion for the audience in the sequences dealing with Roth’s bogus attempt on the life of Pentangeli, and the staging is a little flatfooted in the scenes in which the Corleone assassin first eliminates Roth’s bodyguard and then goes to kill Roth. Also, it’s a disadvantage that the frame-up of Senator Geary (which is very poorly staged, with more gory views of a murdered girl than are necessary) comes so long after the provocation for it. Everywhere else, the contrapuntal cutting is beautifully right, but the pieces of the Senator Geary story seem too slackly spaced apart. (The casting of G. D. Spradlin in the role is a juicy bit of satire; he looks and acts like a synthesis of several of our worst senators.) These small flaws are not failures of intelligence; they’re faults in the storytelling, and there are a few abrupt transitions, indicating unplanned last-minute cuts. There may be too many scenes of plotting heads, and at times one wishes the sequences to be more fully developed. One never wants less of the characters; one always wants more — particularly of Vito in the 1917 period, which is recreated in a way that makes movies once again seem a miraculous medium.<br /><br /> This film wouldn’t have been made if the first hadn’t been a hit — and the first was made because the Paramount executives expected it to be an ordinary gangster shoot-’em-up. When you see this new picture, you wonder how Coppola won the fights. Maybe the answer is that they knew they couldn’t make it without him. After you see it, you feel they can’t make any picture without him. He directs with supreme confidence. Coppola is the inheritor of the traditions of the novel, the theater, and — especially — opera and movies. The sensibility at work in this film is that of a major artist. We’re not used to it: how many screen artists get the chance to work in the epic form, and who has been able to seize the power to compose a modern American epic? And who else, when he got the chance and the power, would have proceeded with the absolute conviction that he’d make the film the way it should be made? In movies, that’s the inner voice of the authentic hero. -볼린 카엘
1. • 김전일

     쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기
     25-10-16

   어쨋든...범인/소인은 잘 이해를 못하겠습니다 ㅎ 뉴욕 패거리들을 다 때려 죽인 건 알겠는데....그렇게 돈이 많으면 조용히 살면 되지 않을까요. 2부에서는 상원 의원보고 너도 나도 다 더럽지 인상쓰고 3부에서도 아마 바티칸 가서 아 더러운 놈들 신경질을 내던데, 뭔가...마이클이 자꾸 세상이 나를 억까한다..그렇게 말하는 듯// 언터쳐블 Tv 드라마에 꽃집하는 아일랜드 두목이 돈 받고 사업 다 넘기겠음 그러니까 알 카포네가 긴가민가하다가 웃으며 악수하길래, 하 저런 방법도 있나 그랬는데 결국 아일랜드 패거리가 통수치고, 다시 카포네가 복수하고 그러더군요. 그냥 지들이 좋아서 총질하고 그러는 거를 자꾸 남탓 하는 느낌

   <p>어쨋든...범인/소인은 잘 이해를 못하겠습니다 ㅎ 뉴욕 패거리들을 다 때려 죽인 건 알겠는데....그렇게 돈이 많으면 조용히 살면 되지 않을까요. 2부에서는 상원 의원보고 너도 나도 다 더럽지 인상쓰고 3부에서도 아마 바티칸 가서 아 더러운 놈들 신경질을 내던데, 뭔가...마이클이 자꾸 세상이 나를 억까한다..그렇게 말하는 듯// 언터쳐블 Tv 드라마에 꽃집하는 아일랜드 두목이 돈 받고 사업 다 넘기겠음 그러니까 알 카포네가 긴가민가하다가 웃으며 악수하길래, 하 저런 방법도 있나 그랬는데 결국 아일랜드 패거리가 통수치고, 다시 카포네가 복수하고 그러더군요. 그냥 지들이 좋아서 총질하고 그러는 거를 자꾸 남탓 하는 느낌</p>
1. • daviddain

     쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기
     25-10-16

   기강 잡아야 하니 작은 형도 죽이고 그런 거죠. 돈대는 건 다 손대는 거고 김건희가 마약까지 손대고 통일대통령돼서 북한 이권 사업까지 노린 것처럼. 아버지가 정치인 주무르고 정치인들이 굽신거리는 거 봤으니 마이클은 왜 나만 갖고 이러냐고 하는 것도 이해됨. 그냥 산티노가 살아 있었으면 모든 게 달라졌을 듯, 코니 남편이나 프레도 죽이지는 않았을 듯 합니다.
   
   아이리시맨에서 지미 호파가 이탈리아 갱 두목보고 당신같은 사람들 이랬다가 당장 몸싸움난 거 보고 이탈리아 사람들에 대한 인식이 저랬구나 싶었네요.

   기강 잡아야 하니 작은 형도 죽이고 그런 거죠. 돈대는 건 다 손대는 거고 김건희가 마약까지 손대고 통일대통령돼서 북한 이권 사업까지 노린 것처럼. 아버지가 정치인 주무르고 정치인들이 굽신거리는 거 봤으니 마이클은 왜 나만 갖고 이러냐고 하는 것도 이해됨. 그냥 산티노가 살아 있었으면 모든 게 달라졌을 듯, 코니 남편이나 프레도 죽이지는 않았을 듯 합니다.<br /> 아이리시맨에서 지미 호파가 이탈리아 갱 두목보고 당신같은 사람들 이랬다가 당장 몸싸움난 거 보고 이탈리아 사람들에 대한 인식이 저랬구나 싶었네요.
2. • daviddain

     쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기
     25-10-16

    

   
   

   
   

   
   

   
   

   
   

   
   
   이 영화의 미국은 거리에서 태어났다는 말을 영화 보며 떠올렸습니다

   <p><img src="https://danhairfield.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/tf-org-free-gangs-new-york-2308.jpg" editor_component="image_link" alt="tf-org-free-gangs-new-york-2308.jpg" /> </p> <p><br /></p> <p><br /></p> <p> 이 영화의 미국은 거리에서 태어났다는 말을 영화 보며 떠올렸습니다 </p>
3. • 죄송합니다.

     쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기
     25-10-17

   프레도가 마이클 형이니까 안소니에게는 큰 아버지가 아닐까요? 그렇게 이해했습니다. 물론 돌아가신 소니도 큰 아버지고...

   <p>프레도가 마이클 형이니까 안소니에게는 큰 아버지가 아닐까요? 그렇게 이해했습니다. 물론 돌아가신 소니도 큰 아버지고...</p>
1. • daviddain

     쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기
     25-10-17

   저는 소니가 큰 아버지 프레도가 작은 아버지로 생각

   
   

   
   

   <p>저는 소니가 큰 아버지 프레도가 작은 아버지로 생각</p> <p><br /></p>
4. • daviddain

     쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기
     25-10-17

   로마 시대하니 작년에 폭망한 메갈로폴리스도 로마 시대 관련

   로마 시대하니 작년에 폭망한 메갈로폴리스도 로마 시대 관련
1. • 김전일

     쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기
     25-10-17

   대강 그리스 비극에 로마 역사 섞으면 대성공 할거 같은데 그게 말처럼 쉽지 않음 ㅎㅎㅎㅎ

   <p>대강 그리스 비극에 로마 역사 섞으면 대성공 할거 같은데 그게 말처럼 쉽지 않음 ㅎㅎㅎㅎ</p>
1. • daviddain

     쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기
     25-10-17

   Men Think About Rome Almost Every Day. 라는 말이 있죠

   Men Think About Rome Almost Every Day. 라는 말이 있죠
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게시판 2012

번호	제목	글쓴이	조회	날짜
	[공지] 게시판 규칙, FAQ, 기타등등 DJUNA 쪽지보내기메일보내기홈페이지자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기 462,400 0 01-31	DJUNA 쪽지보내기메일보내기홈페이지자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기	462,400	01-31
	[공지] 게시판 관리 원칙. 엔시블 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기 147,937 0 12-31	엔시블 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기	147,937	12-31
	제 트위터 부계입니다. 3 DJUNA 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기 122,148 3 04-01	DJUNA 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기	122,148	04-01
130354	새해복 많이 받으세요 10 라인하르트012 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기 183 10 12-31	라인하르트012 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기	183	12-31
130353	아바타 3를 보고 유스포 2 라인하르트012 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기 188 2 12-31	라인하르트012 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기	188	12-31
130352	[핵바낭] 올해 잉여질 결산 잡담 14 로이배티 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기 328 14 12-31	로이배티 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기	328	12-31
130351	아바타: 불 과 재 보고 왔어요 짤막 소감 6 theforce 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기 225 6 12-31	theforce 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기	225	12-31
130350	[영화강추] '척의 일생' 8 LadyBird 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기 245 8 12-31	LadyBird 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기	245	12-31
130349	흑백요리사 2 8~10회, 싱어게인 4 탑 4 결정 6 쏘맥 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기 281 6 12-31	쏘맥 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기	281	12-31
130348	Lacombe Lucien(1974) 7 daviddai… 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기 125 7 12-31	daviddai… 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기	125	12-31
130347	[관리] 25년도 보고 및 신고 관련 정보. 15 엔시블 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기 320 15 12-31	엔시블 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기	320	12-31
130346	Isiah Whitlock Jr. 1954 - 2025 R.I.P. 2 조성용 쪽지보내기메일보내기홈페이지자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기 132 2 12-31	조성용 쪽지보내기메일보내기홈페이지자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기	132	12-31
130345	[왓챠바낭] 우편배달부 말고 '포스트맨은 벨을 두번 울린다' 잡담입니다 12 로이배티 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기 262 12 12-31	로이배티 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기	262	12-31
130344	[넷플] 말 많고 탈 많은 '대홍수' 드디어 봤습니다 14 LadyBird 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기 449 14 12-30	LadyBird 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기	449	12-30
130343	[반말주의] 다들 올해 고생 많았어!! 새해 모두 건강하고 복 터지길 바래!! 12 쏘맥 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기 181 12 12-30	쏘맥 쪽지보내기메일보내기자기소개아이디로 검색전체게시물차단하기	181	12-30

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