The Godfather of Napa: Francis Ford Coppola and the Resurrection of Inglenook
By Larry Printz |. THE NAPA EVENT
It is a venue that is quintessentially Napa Valley, if not hallowed ground. It’s Inglenook Vineyard, the crown jewel of Napa. Think Versailles, but with more corkscrews.
In that gauzy, sepia-toned California of the 19th century, Inglenook got its first taste of fame from Gustave Niebaum, a Finnish sea captain who flees the frozen Baltic for the equally inhospitable climate of entrepreneurial capitalism, something he had also mastered. Having become one of the world's foremost fur traders, Niebaum sets out to prove that America could make wine that doesn’t taste like grape-flavored cough syrup.
Inglenook Vineyards, as seen on a 1940s postcard
He acquires the 1,100-acre Inglenook farm in 1879, which had been established nearly a decade earlier by William Watson, son-in-law of George Yount, for whom Yountville is named. It’s here where Niebaum builds a winery, a château and an Italianate mansion that takes several years to compete. And for a while, it works. Inglenook’s wines have stature, class, and — unlike most of its competitors — drinkability. Inglenook wins prizes at the 1889 World's Fair in Paris and is served by President Grover Cleveland. It’s the first Napa winery to produce wine that make the French nervous. And the French are never nervous unless there’s a German army on the march or a California wine on the table.
After Niebaum’s death, Inglenook maintains its equilibrium, thanks to his widow Suzanne and then, his great-nephew John Daniel Jr., whose vintages are revered – 1941 Inglenook Cabernet Sauvignon is considered one of California’s great wines. Fast forward a couple decades, and corporate America comes calling in the form of United Vintners, the largest wine producer in California. They buy Inglenook in 1964, promising to maintain its quality. Instead, the great sprawling estate that once oozed European refinement is chopped up like a Soviet tractor factory. Even the Inglenook name is sold off, becoming the kind of grocery store plonk you drink if the only alternative is windshield wiper fluid. A label that once meant “yes please, another case for the cellar” becomes “three bucks and it gets the bowling team plastered.”
And then a decade later, in 1975, Francis Ford Coppola enters, stage left.
Flush with success, “The Godfather” has turned Hollywood on its ear. Coppola follows it with “The Godfather II”, which earns him two Oscars. Now the patron saint of 1970s cinema, Coppola could have bought a villa in Tuscany or a penthouse in Manhattan. But Coppola wants a vineyard in what is, at the time, a winemaking backwater: Napa Valley. It’s not hard to understand his wish. Wine was served at dinner when Coppola was growing up. He knew about Napa from his grandfather who, along with his friends, bought grapes from Robert Mondavi's father in California to make wine.
But Coppola didn’t want just any Napa vineyard. He wants Inglenook. After all, the movie business is cruel. Studios collapse, critics turn, audiences decide they prefer watching Vin Diesel drive off cliffs. Coppola knew that if you want permanence, you plant vines, not box-office returns.
So he buys the front part of the original Inglenook estate, including the Niebaum mansion along with its remaining acreage. He moves in. He plants vines. He calls it the Niebaum-Coppola Estate Winery, even as he makes more movies – “Apocalypse Now,” "The Outsiders," "Rumble Fish," "The Cotton Club," "Peggy Sue Got Married," "Tucker: The Man and His Dream," "New York Stories," and "The Godfather Part III.” Maybe you’ve seen one of them.
At the same time, Coppola is looking to restore Inglenook to its original greatness, as if he were restoring a 1961 Ferrari 250 GT California Spider. Imagine Coppola as the Don Corleone of viticulture. He wants Inglenook. All of it. He wheels, he deals, he buys back parcels. He taps Philippe Bascaules, a Bordeaux master from Château Margaux, to run the cellar. It’s a vision that takes decades to realize. Yet as good as he is, one thing eludes him: the Inglenook name. By 2011, he gets his chance, spending millions to buy the Inglenook trademark from the faceless beverage conglomerate that had been slapping it on jug wine. It’s the final reel in a very long film.
Once again, the estate is Inglenook.
To his credit, Coppola didn’t want to make good California wine. He wanted to make THE California wine. Inglenook’s flagship Rubicon has become a love letter to Napa Valley, to Niebaum, to history. It’s much like a Brando performance: massive, subtle, unforgettable. After four decades of labor, love, and enough debt service to pave over Sicily, Coppola did more than restore Inglenook. He made it better. It certainly wasn’t a business move. Rather, it was a Coppola movie come to life: sprawling, financially ruinous, redeemed by vision and starring one very stubborn director.
So pass the decanter and pour a glass, as we say, “Salude, Francis Ford Coppola.”