The Funeral 1996

The film opens with the somber funeral for Johnny, one of the three Tempio brothers who carved a brutal empire in their corner of the city. The mood is heavy with loss, and the two surviving siblings, Chez Tempio and Ray Tempio, drift between grief and the hard-edged calculus that has always governed their lives. Flashbacks slice through the funeral like sharp memories: Johnny comes across as the most sensitive and conflicted of the brothers, his softer side peeking through the violence that defined him. The story hints at a man who once listened to revolutionary conversations, exposed to communist meetings as a spy, a detail that helps explain the complexity of loyalty and betrayal that threads through the Tempio clan. Into this already dangerous web steps the chief suspect in Johnny’s murder, the rival gangster Gaspare Spoglia, whose name immediately crystallizes the threat and sets the gears of vengeance grinding.

From that moment, the film tightens into a portrait of two brothers bound by blood and bent on retribution. Ray, the colder and more calculating of the two, makes a deliberate choice to pursue a brutal avengeance, while Chez—driven by a hotter temper—balances the plan with his own volatile impulses. Clara Tempio, Chez Tempio’s wife, becomes a counterweight in the story, struggling to understand and manage the obsessive path her husband has chosen. The other side of the family dynamic appears in softer, more cautious terms through Ray’s wife, Jeanette, whose quiet resistance to the cycle of violence underscores the emotional cost of their blood-soaked world. The tension between justice and vengeance is expertly laid out: who deserves mercy, who deserves punishment, and what happens when retaliation becomes a family motto.

The plot accelerates as Ray abducts Gaspare for questioning and they confront the corpse of Johnny to gauge the truth. Gaspare maintains his innocence with a chilling calm, offering a chilling argument grounded in the superstition of gangsters—namely, that wounds on a corpse bleed only if the killer dares approach the victim. This strange superstition is meant to test loyalty and preempt panic, and Ray seems prepared to bend logic to his purpose. He eventually releases Gaspare, but not before giving orders that his men should finish the job later. The interrogation scene serves as a grim litmus test for whether truth and vengeance can coexist in a world where fear and power drive every decision.

As the investigation unfolds, the killer who actually took Johnny’s life is finally unmasked: a man who claims that Johnny had wronged his girlfriend, inflaming him with a desire for revenge. Under pressure from Ray, the killer breaks and confesses that Johnny had beaten him and his friends in the past, providing a motive steeped in personal humiliation and anger. In a cold, methodical moment, Ray ends the man’s life, sealing Johnny’s fate and cementing the path of violence that the Tempios have chosen to walk. The burial of the killer’s body becomes a grim reminder of how vengeance can blur into ritual—an ongoing cycle that the brothers will feed with their own actions.

Back at the house, Chez’s introspection deepens. He reflects on the trajectories of his brothers and the lives they led before the tragedy fractured everything they cared about. The film then presses forward to its devastating climax: Chez returns to Ray’s house and, in a final, deadly confrontation, shoots Ray Tempio and his two bodyguards. The violence does not end there; Chez then trains the gun on Johnny, who lies in his casket, and fires one last time before placing the weapon in his own mouth and taking his own life. The air is heavy with the wail of the women who have lived with fear and loss—the family’s grief echoing through the room as the last life in the Tempio line slips away.

In the end, the film offers no neat closure or satisfaction. It presents a bleak meditation on loyalty, power, and the cost of living inside a code that equates family with violence. The Tempio brothers are dead not simply because of outside enemies, but because their world eroded the boundaries between love and hate, honor and brutality. The funeral hush that follows is not just for Johnny or Ray or Chez; it’s a eulogy for a way of life that rewarded bravado but demanded the ultimate price: the erasure of any ordinary future. The women in the story—Clara and the others left to mourn—stand as a quiet counterweight to the brutality, grounding the tale in human consequence even as the cycle of vengeance closes its grim arc. The film leaves viewers with a stark truth: sometimes the strongest bonds can drive people to the most irreversible acts, and the line between protector and predator can fatally blur when the creed is revenge.