The Business of Crime: Vito Corleone vs. Frank Lucas and the Racial Politics of Power
Decolonizing Hollywood’s Crime Lords
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times- Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
(Bear with me I began this article a month ago) Today, on All Saints' Day—a time meant for honoring legacy, connecting with ancestors, and remembering history—I found myself, as one does, turning on Goodfellas. As the scenes unfolded, my thoughts wandered (as they do) to the way we construct legacies, the narratives we choose to uphold, and how even in fictional crime families, race shapes power and respect. Decolonization, it turns out, never stops—even in the mafia.
In that spirit, I started thinking about two infamous crime lords from the big screen: Vito Corleone of The Godfather and Frank Lucas of American Gangster. Both characters command criminal empires, both are formidable in their own right, but the way they are portrayed, and the ways we’re invited to sympathize—or not—speak volumes about how deep our cultural conditioning runs. Why do we find ourselves nodding along with the Corleone family's rules of "honor," yet wincing at Frank Lucas’s ambition?
So, as the popcorn dwindled, these thoughts kept simmering. What can we learn about race and legacy from two fictional characters on opposite sides of Hollywood’s racial divide? Let’s dig in, because apparently, decolonization even finds its way into movie night musings.
The Godfather vs. Frank Lucas: A Case for Racism, Even in Criminality
When we look at crime in pop culture, Vito Corleone, The Godfather, embodies the revered, almost mythic portrayal of the white mob boss—an antihero whom audiences view with admiration, even respect. In stark contrast, Frank Lucas, a Black kingpin in American Gangster, is presented with far more complexity and receives less empathy from both the fictional world he inhabits and, often, from audiences.
While both characters are criminals, they receive different treatment in their respective worlds, and this isn’t accidental. Corleone’s crime network is positioned as a family legacy with ties to loyalty, tradition, and power, almost allowing the viewer to view him as noble. Frank Lucas, however, is seen through a lens that’s often more violent, raw, and chaotic—attributes often assigned to Black characters and Black communities in media. This is a stark reminder of how the criminality associated with Blackness differs dramatically from that associated with whiteness, showing how systemic racism not only criminalizes Black identity but also constructs narratives that dehumanize Black people even when they occupy similar roles.
Crime and Consequence: Vito Corleone vs. Frank Lucas and the Racial Politics of Power
Today, as I sat down to have lunch and flipped through Netflix, I decided to rewatch American Gangster. Something about revisiting Frank Lucas’s story on 12/12—so close to All Saints’ Day, which initially sparked this article—felt serendipitous. Back on 11/1, I had been reflecting on legacy, history, and ancestral connection, and now, revisiting Lucas’s story, my thoughts on race, power, and perception deepened.
Watching this time, I couldn’t ignore the relentless pursuit of Lucas by the so-called “honest” cop, Richie Roberts. Here’s a man who famously turned in $1 million in unmarked bills, earning him a reputation for integrity, yet cozied up to mobsters so intimately that one became the godfather of his child. If Roberts was so against crime and violence, shouldn’t he have started within his own circle? Instead, he was determined to make his name by taking down the Big Bad Black Man, Frank Lucas.
Now, don’t get me wrong—I see the ethical issues with Lucas. Exploiting his own community for profit cannot be ignored. But if we strip the drugs from the story and examine it purely as a business model, Lucas was navigating the very system that was designed to keep him out. This is capitalism at its core—unforgiving, exploitative, and shrewd. Isn’t this how it all began? Feudal England decided who was noble, who was a knight, and who would remain a serf. The structure of wealth was built on exploitation, and Lucas simply mastered a system that had already weaponized his existence against him.
Breaking Down Bias: The Racial Politics of Power
Frank Lucas: The Businessman Behind the Myth
At its core, Frank Lucas’s story is one of ingenuity. A country boy born into systemic oppression, he wasn’t supposed to succeed. The system saw him as the capital, not the capitalist. Yet Lucas found a way to navigate this reality. He eliminated the middleman, sourced products directly from overseas, paid his suppliers more than they asked, and sold his product cheaper than his competitors—all while creating opportunities for his family and his community.
This isn’t to glorify his choices; exploiting his community through the heroin trade caused undeniable harm. But isn’t this how capitalism works? Stripped of its product, Lucas’s empire resembles the classic entrepreneurial narrative: he identified a market gap, built a supply chain, and turned a profit. He even played into the stereotypes weaponized against him, flipping them to his advantage. If Lucas had sold anything other than drugs, his story might be hailed as a triumph of business acumen.
Yet, instead of being seen as an ambitious businessman, Lucas is framed as a dangerous, chaotic figure—a product of the very system that created him. Watching American Gangster, I couldn’t ignore the relentless pursuit of Lucas by Richie Roberts, the “honest” cop who famously turned in $1 million in unmarked bills. Roberts, who cozied up to mobsters so closely that one was the godfather of his child, seemed far more interested in taking down the Big Bad Black Man than addressing the criminality in his own circle. It’s a stark reminder of how law enforcement often prioritizes the destruction of Black figures while turning a blind eye to white criminality.
Vito Corleone: Survival and Assimilation
Vito Corleone’s story in The Godfather offers a parallel journey but through a different lens. Italian immigrants, once labeled as “WOPs” (without papers), faced poverty and systemic marginalization upon arriving in the United States. Out of this forced poverty, the mafia was born—a response to survival in a world that left little room for their success.
But Italians had a pathway out: assimilation. By shedding their language, culture, and ethnic names, they could become white. This proximity to whiteness allowed them to escape the violence and oppression that defined their early immigrant experience. For Black Americans, this escape was never an option. Supremacy is inescapable for those marked by their Blackness.
Corleone’s story is painted with grace and nobility. His violence is framed as strategic, his empire as a family legacy rooted in loyalty and tradition. He is, above all, humanized. Lucas’s world, by contrast, is rawer, grittier, and framed through a lens of danger and chaos. These differences aren’t just storytelling choices—they reflect societal biases that extend empathy to whiteness while criminalizing Blackness.
Bias, Anti-Blackness, and the Cool Factor
Here’s where the comparison between Vito Corleone and Frank Lucas becomes deeply telling. Both men exploited their own communities for personal gain, yet both also gave back in meaningful ways. So why do we, as a society, view them so differently? Why is the mobster archetype so glorified that even Black kids wanted to emulate John Gotti, the Teflon Don? Why does hip-hop brim with references to the Italian mafia, while someone like Frank Lucas remains an uneasy figure, respected but rarely celebrated?
This is bias. This is anti-Blackness. And this is multiple truths coexisting.
Vito Corleone’s world is painted with grace and nobility, his violence sanitized as strategic, his empire framed as a family legacy. Frank Lucas’s world is grittier, rawer, and framed through a lens of chaos and danger. Hollywood’s narratives—and by extension, society’s—extend empathy to white criminality, even glorifying it, while condemning Black criminality as a fundamental flaw.
Breaking Down the Power Structures: White vs. Black Crime Narratives
Respectability and Legacy: Corleone is almost a patriarchal hero, shown with grace and shrewd intelligence, often framed as a noble figure rather than merely a criminal. Meanwhile, Frank Lucas’s narrative is more about individual ambition, depicting him as cunning and resilient but often labeled as "too ruthless"—underscoring how Black leaders, even in crime, are denied the “respectability” that white counterparts are given.
Violence as a Racialized Tool: Corleone’s violence is strategic and calculated, serving a higher purpose, while Frank Lucas’s actions are portrayed as gritty and rooted in survival. This difference highlights the implicit bias that sees white crime as “organized” and Black crime as “chaotic,” feeding into stereotypes that stigmatize Black people even in fictional worlds.
Law Enforcement’s Perspective: Another layer worth exploring is how law enforcement within these stories treats these characters. The police and FBI often target Frank Lucas with unrelenting force, seeing him as an outsider who must be eliminated, while Corleone is tolerated as an integral, if corrupt, part of society. The system’s aggression toward Lucas and its quiet acquiescence toward Corleone symbolize the racialized way power responds to Black versus white power.
Audience Empathy: Corleone’s character often receives a level of empathy and understanding from the audience that Frank Lucas does not, despite both men being violent criminals. This empathy is a byproduct of a racial hierarchy that imbues white narratives with a nuanced, humanizing touch, which in turn demonizes or limits Black characters.
The Verdict: Racism as the Underlying Narrative, Even in Crime
Watching American Gangster again reminded me how deeply these biases run. Vito Corleone famously declares, “I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse,” a line steeped in power and respect. It’s an assertion of control, delivered with calm assurance, that defines the reverence his character commands.
Frank Lucas, on the other hand, asserts, “That’s a brand name. Like Pepsi. That’s a brand name; I stand behind it. I guarantee it.” His line is equally powerful, a testament to the empire he built and the legitimacy he fought for, but it’s often met with skepticism rather than respect.
Both men’s stories reveal how race shapes not only the opportunities available to us but also how we’re remembered. Lucas’s story, like Corleone’s, is a tale of survival and ingenuity within systems designed to exploit. Yet the narratives around them are starkly different, shaped by the same biases that dictate power in the real world.
So as we reexamine these stories, let’s ask ourselves: who gets to be a hero, even in criminality? And how does the lens of race warp our perceptions of power, legacy, and morality?
Conclusion:
In the end, the legacy of both Vito Corleone and Frank Lucas leaves us questioning not just the nature of power but also how deeply ingrained our biases are when it comes to who gets to wield that power—and how we react to it.
Vito, with his calculated moves and quiet strength, famously warns, “I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse,” asserting his control in ways that are as much about preserving respect as they are about instilling fear. It’s this same respect that Hollywood’s narratives often reserve for white characters, framing them as complex antiheroes worthy of admiration—even when they’re built on a criminal foundation.
Frank Lucas, on the other hand, struggles to gain that same respect, echoing his frustration in the powerful line: “That’s a brand name. Like Pepsi. That’s a brand name; I stand behind it. I guarantee it.” But even with a brand, a reputation he’s worked to build, society’s lens refuses to see him the same way. For Frank, no matter the empire he’s built, he’s still marked by a narrative that is reluctant to acknowledge his power.
Both men’s legacies may live on, but through Vito and Frank, we see a vivid example of how race and identity shape not only our real-world dynamics but also the worlds we create and consume on screen. Decolonization, it turns out, isn’t just for the textbooks—it’s even for movie night musings,—because in the world of Hollywood, even crime isn’t free from the bias that divides us.
In solidarity and liberation,
Desireé B Stephens
Educator | Counselor | Community Builder
Founder, Make Shi(f)t Happen