In art, there is nothing more vile or regrettable than dispassion. We can fuel the fires of both love and hate as easily as Harry Powell can brand them on his fingers but notice there is no third hand. We can neither throttle or caress the middle ground because it escapes us. It taunts us: Every movie ever made has adoring fans, vehement critics and those who are simply indifferent about it, longing to find a natural avenue into either camp. I’ve seen The Godfather Part I & II three times now; this most recent one yesterday on the big screen in its original 35mm print; in the hopes of finally reversing my distaste for director Francis Ford Coppola’s endlessly acclaimed works. The result…?