You know that thing of when you're talking to an elderly person and they're telling you a story of how life used to be when they were young and it starts off good to fine, capturing your engagement, but the more they talk the more the story devolves into embellishment and self praise with a lack of any subtlety and you slowly begin to just nod along and politely smile, furrowing your brow to show intense interest, and by the time you get a chance to check your watch they've already started heading down their seventh tangent that will remain unfinished much like its predecessors and it slowly becomes clear that they are barely attuned to your presence but despite all that you start thinking about how insane it must be for them to have lived through what they lived through and suddenly, when you're convinced the story can only be half finished, it comes to an enigmatic end and you smile as largely as you can and hug them goodbye and thank them for imparting their deceptively dense anecdote on you and walk away with a deeper, more complex respect for your elderly friend but a fervent relief that you were able to escape the clutches of the never ending tale that somehow did manage to come to an end? Now imagine that person also made The Godfather (1972).