If a great piece of existing music is used to accentuate a brilliant sequence in one film and then, much later, employed as the background for another superb scene, is the music’s impact—as well as its context—diluted?

This question has troubled me for a long time, as it concerns the nature and purpose of art with respect to individual works, along with the discipline’s overall impact. And the problem is perhaps most distinctly reflected in two very different cinematic efforts: Martin Scorsese’s Raging Bull (1980) and Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather: Part III (1990).

To go into specifics, both movies feature the same critical musical segment in critical moments. That segment is none other than Pietro Mascagni’s “Intermezzo” from the tragic one-act opera Cavalleria Rusticana—a gorgeous, melancholy interlude that foreshadows the violence resulting from doomed love pervading the story, which in part concerns the affairs of the protagonist Turiddu and the conflicts he engenders. In Raging Bull, Scorsese uses the this theme as a counterpoint to the opening credits as the main character, boxer Jake La Motta, bounces and spars in slow motion while remaining alone in the ring. It’s in black-and-white, and it’s sumptuous: Even though La Motta in the picture is portrayed as being a brutal, abusive villain who hurts practically everyone around him both physically and psychologically, there is a bizarre grace to his movements that is highlighted by the serene music. He is, in this regard, performing a ballet, and Mascagni’s melodies are perfect for the sequence.

They’re also perfect for the portion of The Godfather: Part III in which they appear, and this presents a big problem. Al Pacino’s Michael Corleone, after witnessing his daughter’s murder, reminisces about all the women he has lost during his life: His two wives, Kay and Apollonia, and his daughter Mary. We see them dancing with him at different points of his existence, and then we see him, aged, alone, sitting in a chair, wracked with guilt and remorse. The music swells, and he collapses ignominiously, falling out of his chair. He is dead, after all these years, and the only living thing to see his demise is a small dog, who runs around without any conception of the immense irony surrounding Corleone’s pathetic exit. One of the most powerful mobsters in celluloid history is nothing more than a heap on the ground.

All right: So what do we make of this? In both cases, the “Intermezzo” works, calling attention to beauty where one generally might not find any in Raging Bull, and loneliness caused by a ruined life in The Godfather: Part III. The question is, however, is one association essentially cribbing from another? Coppola obviously was familiar with Raging Bull, which came out 10 years earlier than The Godfather: Part III. The precedent for the use of the “Intermezzo” was set. As such, was its reuse in a different context copacetic? Was Coppola riding the coattails not only of Scorsese, but also of Mascagni, in utilizing the piece in the way he did?

It’s a perturbing question that brings up concerns relating to the employment of well-known (and otherwise) musical masterpieces in film and whether they can still be used again if they are found to work properly in a high-profile instance. But there are a couple of issues encompassing this question. One pertains to whether the “Intermezzo” is so firmly associated with Raging Bull, a la Richard Strauss’s Also Sprach Zarathustra in 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) that applying it again to a different flick would be tantamount to stealing. Surely, few would deign to use the latter work in any setting other than parody, as it’s so solidly linked to the latter movie. Is that, however, a prerequisite to employing such tunes in the world of cinema? In other words, should music be free of any connection, mental or physical, to another stretch of celluloid before being hitched to a reel? Further, does the music lose its original effect and meaning when utilized thusly?

It’s certainly true that few, if any, individuals would suggest the use of the second movement of Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony at the climactic moment in The King’s Speech (2010) drew its inspiration from its peculiar manifestation in John Boorman’s sloppy, incoherent 1974 sci-fi fiasco Zardoz, which features the menacing, pulsating score toward the end while showing the aging of the protagonists. Nor might many folks connect the presence of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, used so dexterously in Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange (1971), with its appearance in the Coen Brothers’ Raising Arizona (1987), in which its “Ode to Joy” theme is applied to some banjo strumming that initially derived from Pete Seeger’s Goofing-Off Suite. See, context is everything. Elements that are disparate enough don’t warrant further scrutiny in this regard.

Yet Raging Bull and The Godfather: Part III do. Both showcase characters who have wronged their brothers. Both highlight protagonists who have abused women. And both are directed by expert filmmakers who were contemporaries and utilized many of the same actors in their pictures, including Robert De Niro, who plays La Motta in Raging Bull and the young Vito Corleone in Coppola’s The Godfather: Part II (1974). That Cavalleria, like Raging Bull and all three Godfather films, ultimately is a tragedy would not have been lost on these directors, either. It’s just right for this cinematic duo.

I guess what I’m wrestling with is whether the fact that it’s right ensured the legitimization of its application in both pictures, especially as it was used so well in the preceding Scorsese flick. Of course, it wouldn’t have made sense to use Igor Stravinsky’s Le Sacre du Printemps in The Godfather: Part III instead … though it might have resulted in something of an interesting oddity. Maybe Coppola could’ve run with the mournful final scene from Giuseppe Verdi’s Otello. Or the ominous death knells expressed via Franz Schubert’s “Der Leiermann.” Heck, perhaps Herr Mozart’s “Lacrimosa” from his eternal Requiem would’ve done the trick as well.

Or perhaps not.

The problem is, we’re living in an age of precursors. Almost everything in art has been done before. What needs to be done is build something new from something old, and we’re continuously involved in that process. Both Scorsese and Coppola did just that. Did they do the original work justice, though? Is taking Mascagni’s “Intermezzo” out of context akin to former U.S. President Ronald Reagan using Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A” for his campaign advertising, even though the song is extremely critical of American attitudes? What becomes of Cavalleria, now? Is it just a footnote in cinematic history? Will people attend performances of it at opera houses around the world and think: “Gosh, I loved this part in Raging Bull/The Godfather: Part III”? There’s more to this piece than just the Intermezzo. It’s a pretty darn good work.

Filmmakers, I think, have to figure this puzzle out. The integrity of art is at stake here, and I’m not sure it’s being handled properly. Just because the shoe fits doesn’t mean it ought to be worn. On the other hand, one needn’t step into platforms when flats would serve the role just as well.

Has Mascagni’s “Intermezzo” been more like platforms than flats … or the other way around? Me, I’m thinking both. I worry, though, that the soles will wear out if overused. We’ve got to take care of our artistic footwear like we take care of those we love. Because once they run down, we don’t have anything left.

Like La Motta and Corleone. And maybe a little Turiddu, too.

We already have enough to lose as it is.

Raging Bull – Cavalleria

The Godfather: Part 3 – Cavalleria