‘Fredo’ may be an insult. It’s not a slur.
In an age of “covfefe” and the like — where rules and regard for language appear to matter less with each tweet — I don’t know why an altercation over the nickname “Fredo” caused me to write something, especially because abuse of language by people in power troubles me immensely as somebody who tries, and fails, to get better at it.
But here we are. Or here I am, reading about CNN’s Chris Cuomo getting stirred into a froth when a heckler referred to him as “Fredo.”
Cuomo, presumably a professional, did some version of scollare. He came undone.
“I’ll (expletive) ruin your (expletive),” Cuomo responded to his verbal assailant. “I’ll (expletive) throw you down these stairs like a (expletive) punk.”
All that fuss. Over “Fredo.” Admittedly, the name is loaded. But its nasty weight is fascinating because it doesn’t derive from any period where Italian immigrants were treated like garbage by whatever pre-existing Americans were here upon their arrival. And, truth be told, Italian immigrants were treated like garbage by this country, which typically focuses its distaste on the migration patterns of the day.
But “Fredo” isn’t a slur with tenure. It didn’t become a heckler’s dart until after Francis
Ford Coppola made “The Godfather” and “The Godfather II,” which included a second son who was neither as strong and impulsively volatile as his older brother nor as calmly capable as his younger brother. “Sonny” and “Michael” on their own mean nothing — just common names. But stick “Fredo” between the two, and you have an emotional mountain range of peaks and valleys, with drama between them.
In a biosphere of consiglieres and caporegimes, Fredo was, well, Fredo. A gentle soul not cut out for the family business. I’m not entirely sure how this is an insult beyond a gross romanticizing of organized crime.
But from a cinematic perspective, our Fredo had opportunity to rise to the violent occasion and failed. He had opportunity to fill a power vacuum. And he didn’t. He might’ve cried. So our late-20th and 21st century readings of Fredo are lower than pejorative. They suggest inaction in the face of threat.
I always go back to something Kinky Friedman said to me once: “You don’t really know who’s a hero until the ship really starts sinking. You don’t know who’s going to get people out and who’s going to be in the life boat until the (expletive) goes down.”
Many of us may be Fredos, which might be why we try to label others Fredos. It’s a defense mechanism
It’s not the N-word
That said, “Fredo” does carry weight in New York. I recall working on an election in New York where a candidate had a well-meaning brother who, when he wasn’t in the room, was referred to as “Fredo.” For what it’s worth, he was Dominican.
“Fredo” has needlessly grown bigger than The Boot.
But let’s be clear: “The Godfather” and “The Godfather II” are about the same age I am. And a few years younger than Cuomo.
“Fredo” didn’t have any racerelated poison until we filled the dart with it, and by “we” I meant Cuomo. Cuomo said to his heckler, “It’s an insult to your (expletive) people. It’s like the N-word for us.”
No, it literally isn’t. It doesn’t speak to years of enslavement or oppression. It doesn’t speak to any institutionalized wrongdoing. If you think it does, you’re adding gravity to the word in a superficial way.
But also, in an age of opaque “us,” let’s break down this statement. “Us” is divisive at go, and it’s among the most horrifying thing among the ill-advised lines Cuomo uttered. Cuomo’s parents were both born in New
York City. So he has to go back to grandparents to get to the old world. Which makes him not that much different than me. My mother’s father was from Trieste. My mother’s mother was born in Astoria to Sicilian parents.
She routinely used the phrase “weak sister” to describe people she might have otherwise called “Fredo” if she were more informed in her homophobia and more experienced as a consumer of cinema. Her slight was always directed at men, and thus always dappled by homophobia.
Here’s the thing, though: Fredos are everywhere.
Don Jr. isn’t quite a classic Fredo — there’s a little Sonny there. White House Fredos typically are siblings: Roger Clinton, Billy Carter. Anywhere a prominent person exists, Fredos will naturally spring, either as siblings or offsprings or hangerson.
Don’t sleep on John Cazale
Maybe we’d do better to focus on the reason Fredo triggers such a visceral reaction. Fredo is a piece of relatable art conjured by an author, translated by a filmmaker and presented with devastating empathy and tragedy by an actor of such great gifts, I’d urge anyone bothered by “Fredo” to consider his art instead of any perceived slight.
John Cazale was an American classic, and one of the great actors of the 20th century. Not a star . . . he didn’t get his name at the top of posters, drawing people with his looks. Cazale was a guy born in Massachusetts in 1935 to Irish-American and an Italian-American parents. He studied drama and drove a cab while doing theater. Admittedly, compared with blue-collar work done by the child of immigrants, it was soft. But if you can’t reinvent yourself here, this country has no purpose.
Cazale was 37 when he appeared in “The Godfather,” and he was a marvel of a presence. He bled into his films more than anything as alien as “acting” in them. There was an effortless quality to his work. I’d like to call it natural, but that doesn’t do justice to a craft he studied and perfected.
Cazale only appeared in five full-length feature films before lung cancer claimed him at 42 in 1978.
That said, find me another actor who made only five films, all five of them arguably classics: “The Godfather,” “The Conversation,” “The Godfather II,” “Dog Day Afternoon” and “The Deer Hunter.” In each he moved and emoted and spoke like a person in a room, not an actor on screen.
His was a naturalistic manner I haven’t observed much since his death 40-plus years ago.
That brilliant actor is worthy of celebration every day because he was a defining figure of American cinema during a golden era. Yet the strength of his work is the reason Fredo has become some weird pejorative that prompts thin-skinned people to claim it’s a slur.
Perhaps energy is better spent worrying about those genuinely on the brunt end of dangerous slurs such as “invaders.” And to think more about the verbal slings that cause offense, where they came from and why they’re so problematic.