Godfather

FEW got on the wrong side of drug lord Pablo Escobar and lived to tell the tale – let alone survived him putting out a contract on their life.

But Godfather actor Gianni Russo, 82, is no ordinary bloke. He was employed by some of America’s most notorious Mafia kingpins and sensationally claimed Marilyn Monroe took his virginity. Now, he reveals the astonishing story of how he went from mob notoriety to Hollywood fame – and how he escaped death in the process.

The New Yorker’s blockbuster life began dramatically when he nearly died aged six from polio, only surviving thanks to an experimental vaccine trial that cured him but led to the deaths of half of the patients on the hospital ward.

After a lengthy five-year recovery, Russo started out selling ballpoint pens on the streets of New York aged 13.

It was here that he first crossed paths with Frank Costello, a mob boss from the Luciano crime family, who offered him work. 

This induction into the mob world would lead to him becoming pally with the likes of Frank Sinatra, Monroe and Al Pacino, as well as bagging acting roles including in the first two Godfather films, Rush Hour 2 and Red Dragon. 

And it was his portrayal of Carlo Rizzi, the abusive husband of Connie Corleone, in the first Godfather movie that would save his life in the unlikeliest fashion.

Surviving “King of Cocaine” Escobar’s wrath – after surrendering himself to the Colombian drug lord and being interrogated in a prison cell three floors underneath his mansion – was among Russo’s biggest feats.

Escobar had put a hit out on the actor after he shot dead Lorenzo Morales, a hitman from his Medellin Cartel, in a 1988 Las Vegas nightclub.

The fatal altercation came after Morales stabbed a woman he had taken to dinner at Russo’s venue and then slashed the Godfather star’s face with a broken champagne bottle.

Russo tells The Sun: “He spins around and goes for my throat. Fortunately I react, I was agile enough, but he cuts me on my jawline, which required 81 stitches, and I’m bleeding.

“I said, ‘Look what you did to my shirt.’ He cut me but I’m worried about my shirt. I just wanted to get my hand on my gun and as soon as I did, I put the gun at his forehead.

“I told him, ‘Now go out the door’. He said, ‘F*** you’. I shot him… The cops came and took me to the hospital.”

Russo wasn’t charged with the killing due to it being ruled a justifiable homicide by the Nevada District Attorney’s Office.

But he knew he was a wanted man when Morales was revealed to be part of the Medellin Cartel.

Despite knowing he was unlikely to return, Russo travelled to a church in Colombia to meet face-to-face with the drug lord – a meeting arranged by mobster John Gotti, head of New York’s Gambino crime family. 

Russo adds: “Understand one thing, Escobar believed in killing your pets, your children, your family, and you last. I wasn’t going to let that happen.” 

Seconds after greeting Escobar, he was hit from behind and woke up in the cartel lord’s famous “mansion prison”, which he had built to avoid extradition to the US for drug charges.

“I was strapped to a chair, the stench was unbelievable,” Russo says. 

“I thought I was hallucinating. [Escobar] had a book in his hands. The book was ‘Making Of The Godfather’. He said to me, ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were Carlo in The Godfather? I loved that movie.’”

In a Hollywood-style twist, Escobar instructed his associate to clean-up Russo, treat his injuries and take him to his dining room, where the Colombian would later probe: ‘Why did you come here?’

Russo replied: ‘What would you have done if someone was going to kill your daughter? I had to come here. Kill me now and leave my family alone.’

He continues: “He walks towards me, I don’t know if he was going to cut off my head or what, but he kissed me. He said, ‘They don’t make men like us anymore. Go home, I’ll handle this’. 

“So, we sat down, had dinner, we talked, it was amazing. But he was a frightening man.”

Russo bagged his role in The Godfather after serving as a liaison between Paramount Studios and the Colombo crime family, who had threatened to stop the film’s production through their vice-like control over the unions.

He recalls petitioning crime boss Joe Colombo, who objected to the movie because it “basically identified every Italian as a gangster”, by telling him: “Listen, we can make a lot of money from this.” 

Eventually, Russo talked him around and was given the role of Carlo in the iconic 1972 movie “as my reward”.

Not everyone was happy he got the part, including Marlon Brando. The legendary star, who played Don Vito Corleone, was desperate to succeed in his “comeback film” and wanted everything to be perfect.

“When he found out that I wasn’t even an actor, he tried to get me fired,” Russo said. “I worked that out with him and we became friends.”

Similarly, Russo says co-star James Caan, who played Sonny Corleone, “hated me from day one” because of his corrupt connections. 

Caan also believed he lost out on the role of Michael Corleone to Al Pacino because of Russo and his mobster allies.

John Gotti rival

By the time Russo starred in The Godfather, he had already made a fortune from criminal activities.

He was sitting on an estimated £1.5million fortune, having worked as a ‘messenger’ for mafia families and run multiple crooked businesses including casinos.

Russo was taken under mobster Frank Costello’s wing out of respect for his Sicilian uncles, who had helped to send the Mafia crime families over to America and were hanged for their criminal activities.

He says being “given so much respect so early on” angered future Gambino crime boss Gotti, who was then a “hijacker, earning big money” and desperate to become a ‘made’ man.

Was I upset? No. I’d just had sex with America’s hottest movie star and sex symbol.

Gianni Russo

Russo’s biggest money-spinner was laundering “hundreds of millions of dollars” skimmed from casinos and other illegal businesses through the Vatican Bank with the help of a corrupt bishop in the 1970s.

Then came his big screen debut in The Godfather, which changed his life forever and was a film that “the mob loved”. 

Russo says: “The Godfather was my first film. I was young, I was making big money and with my ego, I wanted to become an actor.

“The movie premiere was like a dream come true for me because 10 years earlier I was selling ballpoint pens to people and now I was in the biggest movie ever in the world.”

‘Marilyn taught me everything’

Fame, coupled with Russo’s mob connections, led to a series of high-profile celebrity romances. He would go on to father 13 children with 10 different women.

He dated I Say A Little Prayer singer Dionne Warwick in the 1980s, the actress Zsa Zsa Gabor and Cabaret star Liza Minnelli.

“I really like Liza, I couldn’t say anything bad about her, she’s just fun, enjoys life,” Russo said through laughter.

But perhaps his most famous dalliance came earlier with Marilyn Monroe, then 33, who he sensationally alleged took his virginity when he was 15. 

Gianna was working at a hair salon in New York and says the Some Like It Hot star always requested him to wash her hair. 

He claims one day Marilyn’s advisors invited him to her suite in the Waldorf Hotel and they bonked for the entire weekend, leaving him struggling to walk after . 

Russo recalled her standing in her messy room, which he compared to “like the set of a disaster movie”.

She was holding a flute of champagne, wearing just a towel which she promptly dropped and invited him to join her in the bath. 

“My heart was pounding,” he said. “Like an idiot, I covered my eyes, which made her laugh.

“I began undressing, praying I wouldn’t trip over my pants and fall on my ass, and then entered the tub. I’ll be ­honest, I had no idea what to do, or what she expected.

“We wound up in bed for the entire weekend, climbing out only when needed. It was my first ­experience of room service, and it added to the fantastic experience.”

The one issue was that Russo was just 15 years old – but the actor had no regrets, even boasting “she taught me everything I know” and he felt like “the luckiest boy alive”.

He said: “If it had happened today, I think she’d be arrested and my parents would have tried to get some cash out of it… Was I upset? No. I’d just had sex with America’s hottest movie star and sex symbol.”

Russo has lived a life few could imagine – he’s hung out with everyone from Pope John Paul II to Donald Trump.

He dubs himself “the Hollywood Godfather” but despite the title and his murky past, he insists: “I was never in the mob but I was around it and was friends with some of the big names.

“They (police) tried to tie me to the mob but I never got a traffic ticket let alone association.”

Russo has released multiple books and is currently touring the UK and Ireland as part of a one-man theatre show, which reveals all about his colourful life and how his film debut was a seismic moment for him. 

He adds: “The Godfather changed my life. I don’t know what my life would be without The Godfather. It’s still changing my life now.”

Russo Russo’s new book Mafia Secrets Untold Tales From The Hollywood Godfather is out now.  

Ulysses Jenkins, the pioneering Los Angeles-born video artist whose avant-garde compositions embodied Black experimentalism, has died. He was 79.

Jenkins’ death was confirmed by his alma mater Otis College, where he studied under renowned painter and printmaker Charles White in the late 1970s and returned as an instructor years later. The Los Angeles art and design school shared a statement from the Charles White Archive, which said, “Jenkins had a profound impact on contemporary art and media practices.”

“A trailblazing figure in Black experimental video, he was widely recognized for works that used image, sound, and cultural iconography to examine representation, race, gender, ritual, history, and power,” the statement said.

A self-proclaimed “griot,” Jenkins throughout his decades-spanning career maintained an art practice grounded in the tradition of those West African oral historians who came before him. Through archival documentaries like “The Nomadics” and surrealist murals like “1848: Bandaide,” he leveraged alternative media to challenge Eurocentric representations of Black Americans in popular culture.

He was both an artist and a storyteller who sought to “reassert the history and the culture,” he told The Times in 2022. That year, the Hammer Museum presented Jenkins’ first major retrospective, “Ulysses Jenkins: Without Your Interpretation.”

“Early video art was about the problems with the media that we are still having today: the notions of truth,” Jenkins said. “To that extent, early video art was a construct that was anti-media … a critical analysis of the media that we were viewing every night.”

Born in 1946 to Los Angeles transplants from the South, Jenkins was ambivalent about the city, which offered his parents some refuge from the blatant systemic racism they encountered in their hometowns, but housed an entertainment industry that had long perpetuated anti-Black sentiment.

“What Hollywood represents, especially in my work, is the classic plantation mentality,” Jenkins told The Times in 1986. “Although people aren’t necessarily enslaved by it, people enslave themselves to it because they’re told how fantastic it is to help manifest these illusions for a corporate sponsor.”

Jenkins, who participated in a group of artists committed to spontaneous action called Studio Z, was naturally drawn to video art over Hollywood filmmaking. “I can address any issue and I don’t have to wait for [the studios’] big OK. I thought this was a land of freedom, and video allows me that freedom and opportunity that I can create for myself and at least feel that part of being an American,” he said.

Jenkins went on to deconstruct Hollywood’s vision of the Black diaspora in experimental video compositions including “Mass of Images,” which incorporates clips from D.W. Griffith’s notoriously racist “The Birth of a Nation,” and “Two-Tone Transfer,” which depicts, in Jenkins’ words, a “dreamscape in which the dreamer awakens to a visitation of three minstrels who tell the story of the development of African American stereotypes in the American entertainment industry.”

Jenkins’ legacy is not only artistic but institutional, with the luminary having held teaching appointments at UCSD and UCI, where he co-founded the digital filmmaking minor with fellow Southern California-based artists Bruce Yonemoto and Bryan Jackson.

As artist and educator Suzanne Lacy penned in her social media tribute to Jenkins, which showed him speaking to students at REDCAT in L.A., “he has been an important part of our histories here in Southern California as video and performance artists evolved their practices.”

Paul Fischer showed “Jaws” to his daughter when she was 10. She wasn’t scared. In fact, she loved it so much that she dressed as Richard Dreyfuss’ Hooper for Halloween. To Fischer, who watched “Raiders of the Lost Ark” at age 4 (“I remember the melting heads but I don’t think I was traumatized”), it shows the staying power of some of the ’70s blockbusters.

“It’s the flip side of how these franchises became so massive and had such a long tail,” he said in a recent video call with The Times, discussing how each generation still finds “Star Wars,” “Raiders,” “E.T.,” “Jaws” and “The Godfather.” “They’ve created films that endured and that overshadow others.”

That is part of the impetus behind his new book, “The Last Kings of Hollywood: Coppola, Lucas, Spielberg—and the Battle for the Soul of American Cinema.” The book, Fischer’s third about film history, starts before the trio were “big mythical names” and instead were just a bunch of guys setting out to fulfill their dreams.

The narrative then follows their journeys from the late ’60s through the early ’80s, filling in the “ecosystem” the trio came up in and how they wanted to change the system to gain creative autonomy. Spielberg worked within the system, Coppola spent lavishly and even ostentatiously to build his own studio and Lucas found his independence through a quieter, more conservative and technology-driven route.

(Martin Scorsese, who was friends with the three and “the most interesting human being of that generation of filmmakers,” gets plenty of ink but was not a titular character, Fischer said, because he remained an outsider who just wanted to make movies, not change the system.)

“I’m not going to pretend I can tell you what was going on in their heads but I tried to make people feel like they were there when it happened,” Fischer said.

While none of the three men would be interviewed, Fischer had decades of quotes and conducted his own interviews with hundreds of people in the filmmakers’ orbits to get a fuller and more honest story. (He added that their representatives were uniformly helpful with fact-checking and providing photos. “There was never a door closed on me,” he said in an accidental reference to the final scene of “The Godfather.”)

Coppola, “who changed quite a bit, was the hardest one for me to pin down,” Fischer said. “There are layers of complexity to him and his willingness to treat the creative life as if it’s an experiment.” Blending that with his self-indulgent philandering and spending of money, he added, “you can change your mind about that guy every five minutes.”

During that era at least, Fischer said Lucas and Coppola seemed ”completely devoid of any self-awareness.” He chronicles how Coppola pressured Lucas to accept changes to his first feature, “THX 1138,” so the studio would release it while Lucas viewed that as Coppola pushing him to sell out. Meanwhile, Lucas was pushing Coppola to do a studio film for hire to keep his fledgling Zoetrope Studio afloat, making Coppola feel pressured to sell out. (That movie was “The Godfather,” so it worked out OK for Coppola.)

“They keep giving each other advice about how to do things and then betray that same advice when it applies themselves,” he said, although he added that he doesn’t “whip them for 300 pages for having giant egos,” and said it’s part of the recipe to be a visionary filmmaker, especially in the Hollywood studio system.

Ultimately, the book depicts Lucas as more of a sellout, acting like the studio suits he once detested as he pressures “The Empire Strikes Back” director Irvin Kershner to make changes, often based on budget and then focusing more on profitability as he conjured up characters like the Ewoks for “Return of the Jedi.” Fischer doesn’t believe Lucas would recognize that version of himself in the book. “He’s someone who lost his BS detector and has drunk his own Kool-Aid.”

In Fischer’s telling, the creative and business sides are interwoven and inseparable from each other and from the personal relationships — their friendships and rivalries with each other but also their relationships with those who worked for them or loved them.

“They were all able to do what they did because of wives or partners or friends or college classmates, who did a lot of the work without being household names,” he said. To fully tell the story, he devotes plenty of narrative space to Coppola’s wife Eleanor, and his most prominent mistress, Melissa Mathison, who later wrote “E.T.,” producer Kathleen Kennedy, who co-founded Amblin Entertainment with Spielberg, and Lucas’ wife, Marcia, who edited the first “Star Wars” trilogy (and Scorsese’s “Taxi Driver”).

“How did these guys break through? Well, they were middle-class white dudes and these women looked after some of this stuff they couldn’t,” Fischer said. “Those aren’t the only reasons these guys became who they did but without that, they probably [wouldn’t have].”

Fischer celebrates the three men’s vision and talents — he calls “The Godfather” “a perfect film” and says Spielberg “speaks the language of a camera better than anybody else”— but the book makes clear how often they got lucky or were saved from themselves.

If Coppola had spent his money more judiciously, he might not have done “The Godfather;” Lucas resisted hiring Harrison Ford to play Han Solo as well as Ford’s creative contributions; and if someone had bankrolled the first feature film Spielberg pitched before latching onto “Jaws” — “a sex comedy San Francisco Chinese laundry riff on Snow White” — it could have sunk his career.

Additionally, Lucas and Coppola’s friendship frayed when the latter snatched back the directing gig for a film he had long ago promised to his buddy. “But imagine George Lucas making some weird low-budget, ‘Battle of Algiers’ version of ‘Apocalypse Now’ in the back streets of Sacramento,” Fischer said. “That sounds pretty crappy. And we would have lost one of the great, novelistic experiential movies that we have.”

Lucas, meanwhile, dangled his idea for “Raiders of the Lost Ark” before Spielberg’s eyes, then told him that Philip Kaufman had dibs. “He’s a fine director but we would have lost something there too,” Fischer said. “There are these crossroads there but still there has got to be something special about these three or they couldn’t have had repeated successes like they did.”

Writing about their failures, foibles and frustrations did not lessen the hold that these three men and their movie magic have on Fischer. He recounts a story of his own connection to one film with undisguised delight and enthusiasm. After graduating film school at USC, he was producing a documentary (“Radioman”) in New York when he learned that “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” was doing some filming in Connecticut. “Obsessed,” he finagled his way onto the set and into a job. “All I did was turn off the air conditioning,” he said. “‘Roll camera,’ I flip it off. ‘Cut,’ I turn it on. I did that for four days. But when Harrison Ford walked by wearing that jacket, I was 5-years-old again. That was cool.”

Miller is a freelance writer in Brooklyn who frequently writes about movies.

The legendary US actor was nominated for seven Oscars and won for his role as a washed-up country singer in Tender Mercies.

Oscar-winning actor Robert Duvall, best known for his work in The Godfather and Apocalypse Now, has died aged 95, his wife has announced in a Facebook post.

“For each of his many roles, Bob gave everything to his characters and to the truth of the human spirit they represented,” Luciana Duvall said in a statement on Monday.

Duvall was best known for playing forceful roles such as his depiction of Tom Hagen, consigliere to the Corleone Mafia family in The Godfather.

He also played Lieutenant Colonel Bull Meechum in The Great Santini and the title character in Stalin, as well as broken-down and fallen characters in Tender Mercies and The Apostle.

Duvall, the son of a US Navy admiral and an amateur actress, grew up in Annapolis, Maryland in the United States. After graduating from Principia College in Illinois and serving in the US Army, he moved to New York City, where he roomed with Dustin Hoffman and befriended Gene Hackman when the three were struggling acting students.

After working on a variety of television shows, Duvall made a strong impression in his first forays onto the big screen, such as his first movie part as the mysterious recluse Boo Radley in To Kill a Mockingbird.

Duvall got the part at the suggestion of the film’s screenwriter, Horton Foote, who had liked Duvall’s work in one of his plays. Foote later wrote Tender Mercies, a 1983 film for which Duvall won the Academy Award for best actor as a washed-up country singer.

Duvall was nominated for another six Oscars, including for his work in Frances Ford Coppola’s 1979 Vietnam epic Apocalypse Now. Duvall played the off-kilter, surfing-obsessed Lieutenant Colonel Bill Kilgore.

The character’s famous line, “I love the smell of napalm in the morning”, became legendary.

In all, Duvall appeared in almost 100 movies. And when he grew weary of Hollywood, he made his own films. He wrote, directed and won an Oscar acting nomination for The Apostle, the story of a conflicted preacher.

Duvall did the same with Assassination Tango, a movie that allowed him to exhibit his passion for the tango and Argentina, where he met his fourth wife, Luciana Pedraza.

In later life, Duvall split his time between Los Angeles, Argentina and a farm in Virginia, where he converted the barn into a tango dance hall.