Only 3 Movies Have Better Screenplays Than 'The Godfather'

13 hours ago 2

Robert De Niro as a younger Vito Corleone in The Godfather Part II (1974)

Published Apr 13, 2026, 6:15 PM EDT

Jeremy has more than 2400 published articles on Collider to his name, and has been writing for the site since February 2022. He's an omnivore when it comes to his movie-watching diet, so will gladly watch and write about almost anything, from old Godzilla films to gangster flicks to samurai movies to classic musicals to the French New Wave to the MCU... well, maybe not the Disney+ shows.
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Much has been written about the importance of writing, but also, it can be summarized pretty succinctly. If you want a movie to have a good story, interesting things happening, a sound structure, and good dialogue for the actors (which, in turn, should lead to better performances), then you need a good screenplay. A good screenplay is more than just good dialogue, too, even if dialogue is a big part of it, and the most obvious part of a screenplay that can be appreciated if you just watch the movie, and don’t sit down to read the actual script itself. As for quintessential screenplays, The Godfather (1972) is a contender for greatest of all time status (The GOATfather?), as it’s got everything you could want from a screenplay if you're aiming to make an all-time great movie. The Godfather is also phenomenal in all the other ways a movie can be phenomenal, but its writing is being highlighted here (adapted from the novel by Mario Puzo, and credited to both Puzo and Francis Ford Coppola, the latter also being the film’s director).

Looking for movies with screenplays that are superior to The Godfather’s, though, gets a bit tricky. The easiest one to single out would be The Godfather Part II, since it deservedly has a reputation for being just as good as – or maybe even a little better than – the first movie. There was certainly more that needed to be written there, given it was a longer film, and much of it was original material, as there was only a little by way of scenes in Puzo’s original novel that hadn’t been adapted in The Godfather (1972) (mostly the stuff with Vito’s early life). So, The Godfather Part II isn't going to be included here. It was too easy. These three movies, though, belong to different genres than The Godfather, which keeps things interesting, and none really came out around the same time as The Godfather; they don’t belong to the New Hollywood movement, at least. They're a few from different points in history, and each of them was written for/within a different genre. Most importantly, the three screenplays below are absolutely perfect, and the kind you get a lot out of revisiting and maybe even studying. The Godfather had a perfect screenplay, and so too do these. If some of the following are somehow “more perfect” (if that’s even possible) than The Godfather’s screenplay, then so be it. Also, this isn't necessarily the same thing as saying these movies are outright better than The Godfather, so don’t freak out too aggressively, capeesh?

3 'Casablanca' (1942)

Casablanca was written about World War II while World War II was being fought, but then again, it’s also about more than just the war. It’s the kind of thing you’ve either seen or know from pop culture at this point, but basically, it’s about a romance that ended when the war broke out. The man, Rick, becomes despondent and cynical, and owns a nightclub where he just drinks and says sometimes witty things while being generally bitter. The nightclub is in the titular city, and the war has crept into both Casablanca and the club, which Rick tries to ignore, until his past love, Ilsa, re-emerges, and she has a new partner who’s a war hero on the run. To cut things a little short, Rick has the chance to help Ilsa and her new partner, which could help the war effort against Nazi Germany, but that would also mean staying apart from Ilsa for good, and that’s the central moral dilemma that causes much of Casablanca’s drama.

There’s also a lot more, and a surprisingly large number of characters who are balanced – and each given moments to shine – across a fairly slim runtime, all things considered. Casablanca is jam-packed, since it’s only 102 minutes long, and other than the dialogue, the efficiency of the Oscar-winning screenplay as a whole (credited to Julius J. Epstein, Philip G. Epstein, and Howard Koch) is probably its most admirable quality. Everything’s snappy and each new shot adds something to the overall movie (or, more often than not, a few things). Casablanca is paced in a way that makes it very easy to watch, appreciate, and be genuinely entertained by, even now, more than 80 years on from its release. Also, the screenplay of Casablanca contains what’s easily one of the best endings in cinema history, where everything that’s been set up is paid off naturally, and you're hit with one iconic line after another. Further, there’s a real assortment of emotions inspired by the quality of the writing here, since Casablanca is romantic, tense, bittersweet, sometimes dramatic, and even quite funny at times, too, all without ever running the risk of feeling scattershot.

2 'The Princess Bride' (1987)

The Princess Bride (1987) - Cary Elwes stands proudly in his pirate disguise

If there’s going to be a little pushback against this much love being shown toward the screenplay of The Princess Bride, then so be it. Push away. The Princess Bride is phenomenally well written, as you might expect from William Goldman operating at the height of his powers. He wrote the novel upon which the movie was based, the full title (owing to it being a work of metafiction) being The Princess Bride: S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure, The "Good Parts" Version, with Goldman “credited” with “abridging” the novel. So, the source material is already layered, and then The Princess Bride (1987) keeps that energy going, with the novel appearing in the film and being read by an old man to his grandson, so, more layers. Like an onion. Or an ogre. Speaking of, Shrek (2001) feels like it owes a lot to The Princess Bride. But to stick with The Princess Bride, it was adapted by Goldman himself, and one gets the sense no one else could’ve done so quite as effectively.

There’s a balancing act here, in terms of making fun of some fantasy and fairy tale conventions, but not getting too mean or cynical with it.

The screenplay is comparable to Casablanca’s in the sense that it tackles a lot tonally, and does so quite fast, since The Princess Bride is also far from long runtime-wise (at 98 minutes). It goes further in the sense that The Princess Bride tackles more genres, and it’s also done in a way where you can laugh at it while still finding it heartfelt and even romantic at times. There’s a balancing act here, in terms of making fun of some fantasy and fairy tale conventions, but not getting too mean or cynical with it, and it’s easiest to credit the screenplay with making all that possible, somehow. If there are problems with other aspects of this fantasy movie, then they're minimal for sure, but what’s not in doubt is the notion that this film’s screenplay is absolutely perfect. The Princess Bride shows how much you can do, as a writer, in under two hours, should you be blessed with a knack for the craft to the extent that Goldman had. And hey, that’s not many people. But if you strove for – and succeeded in – writing something even a fraction as great as The Princess Bride’s screenplay, then you'd probably have something pretty darn good in your hands.

1 'Seven Samurai' (1954)

What was achieved within a single screenplay, in the instance of Seven Samurai, is kind of mind-blowing, when you step back and try to process it all. The film’s director, Akira Kurosawa, was one of three co-writers, and most people know his name because of all the legendary films he made, but if we’re talking screenplays, the other writers – Shinobu Hashimoto and Hideo Oguni – shouldn’t be overlooked. Maybe three writers were needed to script what was almost three movies in one. Seven Samurai is big enough to feel almost like an entire trilogy, with one part of the story involving the building of a team, the second part involving preparations for battle, and the third part being the battle (plus a little time spent on the aftermath). The team is made up of warriors, and they're hired by desperate townspeople who fear an incoming bandit attack, thinking their only hope of not losing everything lies in fighting back, with the assistance of seven samurai (well, six samurai, and then a guy who kind of tags along but knows his stuff, so he might as well be the seventh).

There are many more things to Seven Samurai beyond how it’s structured and written that play a part in making it an all-time great epic, but movies start with the screenplay, and the screenplay was great enough here to make so many other elements start to fall into place. For its time, the story felt like something a bit different, because while other movies before 1954 had action scenes (not as often as you might expect), and the epic genre had certainly existed before then, there hadn’t really been something that so successfully combined action/excitement and the sort of grand drama you'd expect in an epic. If you're a fan of action movies made on an epic scale (and some of the best of all time have indeed had runtimes that go over the 2.5-hour mark), then Seven Samurai can, to some extent, probably be thanked for them. Its influence is undeniable, even beyond the times it’s been officially remade, and it is one of the best screenplays to break down/study/analyze if you want to gain an understanding of how best to write an action and/or epic movie.

Collider Exclusive · Oscar Best Picture Quiz Which Oscar Best Picture
Is Your Perfect Movie? Parasite · Everything Everywhere · Oppenheimer · Birdman · No Country

Five Oscar Best Picture winners. Five completely different visions of what cinema can be — and what it can do to you. One of them is the film that was made for the way your mind works. Ten questions will figure out which one.

🪜Parasite

🌀Everything Everywhere

☢️Oppenheimer

🐦Birdman

🪙No Country for Old Men

FIND YOUR FILM →

What kind of film experience do you actually want? The best movies don't just entertain — they leave something behind.

ASomething that pulls the rug out — that makes me think I'm watching one kind of film and then reveals I'm watching another entirely. BSomething overwhelming — funny, sad, absurd, and genuinely moving, all at once. CSomething grand and weighty — a film that makes me feel the full scale of what I'm watching. DSomething formally daring — a film that pushes what cinema can even do. ESomething lean and relentless — pure tension with no wasted frame.

NEXT QUESTION →

Which idea grabs you most in a film? Great films are driven by a central obsession. What's yours?

AClass, inequality, and what people are willing to do when desperation meets opportunity. BIdentity, family, and the chaos of trying to hold your life together when everything is falling apart. CGenius, moral responsibility, and the catastrophic weight of a decision you can never take back. DEgo, legacy, and the terror of becoming irrelevant while you're still alive to watch it happen. EEvil, chance, and whether moral order actually exists or if we just tell ourselves it does.

NEXT QUESTION →

How do you like your story told? Form is content. The way a story is shaped changes what it means.

AGenre-twisting — I want it to start in one lane and migrate into something completely different. BMaximalist and genre-blending — comedy, action, drama, sci-fi, all in one ride. CEpic and non-linear — cutting between timelines, building a mosaic of cause and consequence. DA single unbroken flow — I want to feel like I'm living it in real time, no cuts to safety. ESpare and precise — every scene doing exactly what it needs to do and nothing more.

NEXT QUESTION →

What makes a truly great antagonist? The opposition defines the protagonist. What kind of opposition fascinates you?

AA system — invisible, structural, and almost impossible to fight because it has no single face. BThe self — the ways we sabotage, abandon, and fail the people we love most. CHistory — the unstoppable momentum of events that no single person can stop or redirect. DThe industry — the machinery of culture that chews up talent and spits out irrelevance. EPure, implacable evil — a force so certain of itself it becomes almost philosophical.

NEXT QUESTION →

What do you want from a film's ending? The final note is the one that lingers. What do you want it to sound like?

AShock and inevitability — a conclusion that recontextualises everything that came before it. BEarned emotion — I want to cry, laugh, and feel genuinely hopeful, even if the world is a mess. CDevastation and grandeur — an ending that makes me sit in silence for a few minutes after. DAmbiguity — something that leaves enough open that I'm still thinking about it days later. EBleakness — an honest refusal to pretend the world is tidier than it actually is.

NEXT QUESTION →

Which setting pulls you in most? Where a film takes place shapes everything — mood, stakes, what's even possible.

AA gleaming modern city with a hidden underside — beauty masking rot, wealth masking desperation. BA collapsing suburban life that opens onto something infinite — the multiverse of a single ordinary person. CThe corridors of power and science at a world-historical turning point — where decisions echo for decades. DThe grimy, alive chaos of New York and Hollywood — fame as both destination and trap. EVast, indifferent landscape — desert and highway where violence arrives without warning or reason.

NEXT QUESTION →

What cinematic craft impresses you most? Every great film has a signature — a technical or artistic element that makes it unmistakable.

AProduction design and mise-en-scène — every frame composed to carry meaning beneath the surface. BEditing and tonal control — the ability to move between registers without losing the audience. CScore and sound design — music that becomes inseparable from the dread and awe of what you're watching. DCinematography as performance — the camera not recording events but participating in them. ESilence and restraint — what's left unsaid and unshown doing more work than any dialogue could.

NEXT QUESTION →

What kind of main character do you root for? The protagonist is the lens. Who you choose to follow says something about you.

ASomeone smart and resourceful who makes increasingly dangerous decisions under pressure. BSomeone overwhelmed and ordinary who turns out to be capable of something extraordinary. CA brilliant, tortured figure whose gifts and flaws are inseparable from each other. DA self-destructive artist whose ego is both their superpower and their undoing. EA quiet, principled person trying to make sense of a world that has stopped making sense.

NEXT QUESTION →

How do you feel about a film that takes its time? Pace is a choice. Some films sprint; others let tension accumulate slowly, deliberately.

AI love a slow build when I know the payoff is going to be seismic — patience for a devastating reveal. BGive me relentless momentum — I want to feel breathless and emotionally spent by the end. CEpic runtime doesn't scare me — if the material demands three hours, give me three hours. DI want it to feel propulsive even when nothing is technically happening — restless energy throughout. EDeliberate and unhurried — I want dread to accumulate in the spaces between the action.

NEXT QUESTION →

What do you want to feel walking out of the cinema? The best films leave a mark. What kind of mark do you want?

AUnsettled — like I've just seen something I can't fully explain but can't stop thinking about. BMoved and energised — like the film reminded me what actually matters and gave me something to hold onto. CHumbled — like I've been in the presence of something genuinely important and overwhelming. DExhilarated — like I've just seen cinema doing something it's never quite done before. EHaunted — like a cold, quiet dread that stays with me for days.

REVEAL MY FILM →

The Academy Has Decided Your Perfect Film Is…

Your answers have pointed to one Oscar Best Picture winner above all others. This is the film that was made for the way your mind works.

Parasite

You are drawn to films that operate on multiple levels simultaneously — that begin in one genre and quietly, brilliantly migrate into another. Bong Joon-ho's Parasite is a film about class, desire, and the architecture of inequality that manages to be darkly funny, deeply suspenseful, and genuinely shocking across a single extraordinary running time. Your instinct is for cinema that hides its true intentions until the moment it's ready to reveal them. Parasite is exactly that — a film that rewards close attention and punishes assumptions, right up to its devastating final image.

Everything Everywhere All at Once

You want it all — and this film gives you all of it. The Daniels' Everything Everywhere All at Once is one of the most maximalist films ever made: action comedy, multiverse sci-fi, family drama, existential crisis, and a genuinely earned emotional core that sneaks up on you amid the chaos. You are someone who responds to ambition, who doesn't want cinema to choose between being entertaining and being meaningful. This film refuses that choice entirely. It is overwhelming by design, and its overwhelming nature is precisely the point — because the feeling of being crushed by infinite possibility is exactly what it's about.

Oppenheimer

You are drawn to cinema on a grand scale — films that understand history not as a backdrop but as a force, and that place their characters inside that force and watch what happens. Christopher Nolan's Oppenheimer is a film about the terrifying gap between what we can do and what we should do, told with the full weight of one of the most consequential moments in human history behind it. You want your films to feel important without feeling self-important — to earn their ambition through sheer craft and the gravity of their subject. Oppenheimer does exactly that. It is enormous, complicated, and refuses easy comfort.

Birdman

You are drawn to films that foreground their own construction — that make the how of the filmmaking part of the what it's about. Alejandro González Iñárritu's Birdman, shot to appear as a single continuous take, is cinema examining itself through the cracked mirror of a fading actor's ego. You respond to formal daring, to the feeling that a film is doing something that probably shouldn't be possible. Michael Keaton's performance and Emmanuel Lubezki's restless camera create something genuinely unlike anything else — a film that is simultaneously about creativity, relevance, self-destruction, and the impossibility of ever truly knowing if your work means anything at all.

No Country for Old Men

You are drawn to cinema that trusts silence, that refuses to explain itself, and that treats dread as a form of meaning. The Coen Brothers' No Country for Old Men is a film about the arrival of a new kind of evil — implacable, arbitrary, and utterly indifferent to the moral frameworks we use to make sense of the world. It is one of the most formally controlled films ever made, and its controlled restraint is what makes it so terrifying. You want your films to haunt you, not comfort you. You are not interested in resolution if resolution would be dishonest. No Country for Old Men is honest in a way that most cinema never dares to be.

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