Road to Perdition was a good movie—-not great, not bad, just plain good. It is a movie about making difficult decisions. The decision to love a stranger more than you love your son, the decision to become a hired killer even when you know it is wrong, and the decision to turn your back on those you love. At times the movie seemed to be dragging and at others it seemed shallow, but the overall impression it gives at the end is that of a movie with the potential of a classic like the Godfather. It was a true saga of fathers, sons and the covenants they make and break.
As the movie progresses you can hear John Rooney’s voice (Paul Newman), the grumpy old Irish mob boss, growling: “Sons are put on the earth to trouble their fathers,” echoing throughout the scenes, the shootouts, the tears, and the blood.
Rooney’s eternal phrase was criticizing the trigger-happy behavior of his corrupt son, Connor, who in a fit of jealous rage impulsively murdered Michael Sullivan’s (Tom Hanks) wife and youngest son.
Now, when we come to Sullivan and his relationship with Rooney, there is a complexity that is very well conveyed. Rooney, who took Sullivan in when he was an orphan, knows that he is more of a son than Connor would ever be. Yet, blood seems to run deep.
Sullivan and his remaining older son hit the road, searching for revenge, closure, and a way to start with a clean slate. But Rooney, recognizing that Sullivan will not stop until Connor is dead, hires a hit man to eliminate Sullivan. A telling conversation between Rooney and Sullivan conveys Rooney’s love for his son: “And there is only one guarantee—none of us will see Heaven,” says Rooney. “Michael might,” replies Sullivan.
What is most ironic is that through this journey we realize that Rooney’s bitter observation about fathers and sons also works in reverse: fathers are complex mysteries put on the earth to trouble and test their sons as much as they teach them.
Michael Jr. must wrestle with questions of morality and ethics and whether sons are cursed by their fathers.
