The Irishman
- Fueled by stellar performances by the entire cast, Martin Scorsese’s return to the gangster genre is a subtle, yet triumphant installment in the legendary director’s prolific filmography.
Full Disclosure: Nobody does gangster flicks like Martin Scorsese. He’s the be-all and end-all when it comes to the genre. He’s constantly imitated, but never duplicated. Nearly everyone who makes a gangster movie sets out to make the next Goodfellas, and fails miserably. I was definitely intrigued by the notion of Scorsese returning to the genre, reuniting with Robert De Niro, dragging the elusive Joe Pesci out of retirement, and directing Al Pacino for the first time. I was nonetheless a bit trepidatious when booting up my PS4 to catch this latest piece of Netflix fare. I was nervous about the digital de-aging of the septuagenarian main cast, as well as both De Niro and Pacino being well beyond their primes and mostly phoning in for the last two decades.
Review
Fuck. There is so much to unpack in this three and a half hour gangster epic that spans fifty years. For the sake of brevity, I’ll do my damndest to stick to the major highs and lows without descending into a deep, dark hole of film criticism from which there is no escape. To break The Irishman down scene by scene, performance by performance would surely result in carpel tunnel syndrome for me and a pair of bloodshot eyes and heavy lids for you. So, with that preamble out of the way, let’s get rolling.
This might as well be the Mount Rushmore of the gangster movie genre. It’s taken far too long for these four guys to finally work together on the same project.
On the surface, The Irishman may seem like just another run of the mill mob flick. A working class city kid wants a taste of the good life, takes the easy route by resorting to a life of crime, gets involved with the Italian mob, starts at the bottom, and works his way up the ladder until he either gets whacked or arrested. That’s Goodfellas. That’s Casino. That’s the countless lesser imitations of those films. We’ve seen it over and over again. Sometimes the Mafia is substituted for drug cartels or corrupt corporations, but it’s all the same tale.
The Irishman is an enigma in that it both is and isn’t the aforementioned story. It has the crime, the violence, the Mafia, the corruption, etc. What makes The Irishman unique is that this is a deeply personal character piece, rather than an overblown glorification of the gangster lifestyle. It’s a reflection of where Martin Scorsese is at this point in his life and career. While his trademark quick cutaways, whip-pans, and manic insert shots keep the pace going, The Irishman is a slow burn. It’s more mature than Scorsese’s previous entries into the genre.
The Irishman follows the story of Frank Sheeran (De Niro), a hitman who works for mobster Russell Bufalino (Pesci), and Sheeran’s close friendship with the notorious Teamster Jimmy Hoffa (Pacino). It covers a period from the 1950’s to the 1970’s, with flash-forwards to the 1990’s. It’s ostensibly a “true” story, but it’s based on interviews that Sheeran gave late in his life. When they actually open up to interviews, wise guys famously have a penchant for bending the truth to fit the narrative in order to enhance their own mystique, so the whole story has to be taken with a grain or two of salt. This isn’t a documentary though. It’s a film, and the primary goal of a film is to entertain its audience, which The Irishman certainly does.
With Pacino, Scorsese, and De Niro working together for the very first time in their storied careers, how can they not make magic?
For the most part, Scorsese has been telling the same story in one form or another for half a century. He loves a tragic story of rising high and falling hard. Raging Bull, Goodfellas, Casino, The Wolf of Wall Street, the list goes on and on. The Irishman is different. It’s a tale of brotherhood and betrayal, rather than the cost of reckless ambition and the allure of easy money.
This film all but completely strips away the glitz and glamor that usually accompanies the gangster life in film. There’s no womanizing, excessive partying, or drug use. These staples of “the life” have been instilled in our brains by movies and TV for so long that it’s shocking to see a mob movie devoid of that particular lifestyle. We usually watch our main character descend into the depths of depravity, indulging in every sinful temptation that comes their way. They’re modern-day pirate kings, living a life of danger and pleasure we mortals can only fantasize about. Mobsters are supposed to live a short life and a merry one. They aren’t supposed to grow into feeble old men with hypertension and incontinence. That’s what sets The Irishman apart. Crime pays. In fact, it pays very well; but it always comes back to bite you in the ass.
An aging gangster is a sad sight, to be sure.
There’s been some backlash over the rise of movies being released on streaming services, especially among some of the old guard in Hollywood spearheaded by the likes of Steven Spielberg. They believe that the traditional theater experience is the only way to truly experience the art of cinema. I call bullshit on that. Streaming is the future. Why pay fifty bucks for a ticket, popcorn, and soda when you can chill at home and pay twelve bucks a month for a Netflix subscription? Without the boom in streaming material over the last few years, Disney would have a monopoly on the film industry.
The Irishman certainly doesn’t suffer by not having a wide theatrical release. Going to the movies is becoming more and more of a special occasion to go see the big spectacle movies; the ones where the bright colors and loud explosions are worth the money to go out and see. Sure, there are explosions and beautiful sets in The Irishman, but this is an intimate character study, not a Marvel movie. Plus, three and a half hours is a long ass time to sit in a movie theater without an intermission. I sure as hell didn’t watch it in one uninterrupted sitting. People have pisses to take, dogs to walk, and sandwiches to make.
Streaming services are slowly but surely taking over the industry; both in the quantity of shows and movies on offer as well as their steadily increasing quality. Netflix and Amazon were once looked at as novelties, but with each awards show that passes, they bring home more and more silverware than their more traditional counterparts. The Irishman is a perfect example of this revolution. A three and a half hour gangster epic period piece with an all-star cast and a $150 million budget being released on Netflix was unthinkable only a few years ago, yet here we are. I don’t know many people who go to the movies more than a few times a year, yet I know not a single person that doesn’t at least have access to a Netflix account. That should be a real wake-up call to every movie studio that’s not safely tucked away beneath the massive Disney umbrella.
These guys are here to stay.
Digital de-aging of actors seems to be all the rage these days. It’s a slippery slope, and one I’m not particularly comfortable with. It’s not as egregious as digitally installing deceased actors into new films like the Star Wars franchise did, (and don’t even get me started on bringing James Dean back from the dead for a bit part in the upcoming movie Finding Jack) but it’s unsettling nonetheless. It looked weird when Sam Jackson was de-aged 20 years to star in Captain Marvel. It was even worse when Princess Leia made a cameo in Rogue One.
With The Irishman, you can tell that the technology is advancing rapidly. The de-aging of De Niro, Pesci, and Pacino isn’t as jarring as one might think. While it manages to avoid the pitfalls of the uncanny valley, the fact is that no amount of CGI can mask the fact that Robert De Niro is a 76 year old man who simply can’t move like a man in his thirties. His “action” scenes in this film would be laughable if it weren’t so sad to see an actor in his seventies try to emulate the movements of a thirty year old. He runs, kicks, and punches like you’d expect a man pushing eighty to run, kick, and punch. That’s no fault of De Niro’s, but it’s a cold hard fact of life. I just hope that as this technology evolves, filmmakers use it responsibly. No one wants to see a 90 year old Al Pacino de-aged 70 years for a Scarface prequel.
The digital de-aging of the central cast wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t nearly as off-putting as I feared it might’ve been.
The Irishman will almost assuredly be nominated for the Academy Award for Best Picture. I’d be shocked if it wasn’t accompanied by a slew of other nominations, including Best Director for Scorsese, Best Actor for De Niro, Best Visual Effects, Best Makeup, and maybe even a pair of Best Supporting Actor noms for Pesci and Pacino. Pacino outshines Pesci here, but Pesci may be nominated simply for the fact that he came out of retirement for this and award voters eat that kind of shit up.
The one big criticism that’s sure to arise (especially among social justice warriors) is that, as per usual with Scorsese films, there is a noticeable lack of diversity. It’s chock-full of macho Italian-American actors, and no female perspective. Granted, the cast is incredible and consists of some of the greatest actors of all time, but it’s still worth mentioning. The wives are relegated to arm candy, easily distracted by fur coats and shiny things. Anna Paquin does stand out in a small but crucial role as De Niro’s estranged daughter. I haven’t seen her in anything for years, so that was nice. I’ve always been a fan. Other than that, I think we just need to accept that Scorsese is who he is. He has his modus operandi, he sticks with it, and it’s always worked.
Spoilers Ahead
Pacino and De Niro have always had electric chemistry on camera, and The Irishman proves that the old guys still have it.
The Irishman is structured beautifully. The frame story of an old, decrepit Sheeran telling his life’s story from a nursing home is far more effective than just your typical voiceover. It lets us know right off the bat that this man survived the gangster life, but he didn’t thrive. He’s not in one of those lavish “retirement communities”. It’s clear that he has very little to show for the life we’re about to see him live. It prepares you for the tragedy of this man’s wasted life without telegraphing how or why it happens. It’s also cool that we never see who he’s talking to, because he’s talking to us, the audience. Since he can’t confess to a priest, the camera acts as a confessional booth. The intermittent transitions through the various timelines were smooth, organic, and easy to follow. That’s not an easy feat when telling such a long, complex, and nonlinear story.
While I’m pretty sure that De Niro and Pesci have more scenes together, the real focal relationship is between De Niro’s Sheeran and Pacino’s Hoffa. The relationship between Pesci and De Niro is more employer/employee than anything, while De Niro and Pacino’s characters share a deep-seated friendship. They’re as close as brothers. This makes Sheeran’s ultimate betrayal of Hoffa truly gut-wrenching, even though in hindsight it was the inevitable conclusion to their doomed friendship.
The lead-up to Hoffa’s assassination is painful to watch. You know what’s about to happen, yet all the characters in the car do is talk about how much the car reeks of fish. (Jesse Plemons gets his most screen time here, and I loved it. He’s such a good actor and I hope he gets larger roles in the near future.) We’ve been heading for this moment for nearly three hours. We know Hoffa is going to get whacked by the only man he really trusts, and the tension in this scene is at its highest.
I loved how cold and sudden the assassination of Jimmy Hoffa was. There was no big speech, no major standoff, no pleading for his life, just an ice cold double tap to the head, then complete silence. No dramatic music cue, no camera movement, nothing. Sheeran isn’t even looking him in the eye when he blows Hoffa’s brains out. It has none of the tropes of the climactic final showdown that we’re used to seeing. It plays in perfectly with the overall theme of the movie. Everything these guys did was pointless in the end. Whether they die in the street or die in the clink, none of it really mattered.
Sheeran’s stammering phone call to Hoffa’s widow will almost assuredly clinch an Oscar nomination for De Niro. It’s the moment where Sheeran’s conscience finally catches up with him, and De Niro plays it absolutely magnificently. He’s so emotionless throughout most of the film, and while he doesn’t quite break, it’s as close as we ever see him come to feeling any real sense of remorse for all the fucked up things he’s done in his life.
The anticlimax regarding the whereabouts of Jimmy Hoffa’s corpse was handled excellently. Simply incinerating the corpse and disposing of the ashes is a lot less interesting than being buried under the old Giants Stadium, but it’s a hell of a lot more practical and realistic. Of course the Mafia would use the simplest and most effective method of body disposal. It’s what they do best.
While some may feel like the final forty minutes or so is superfluous to the story, I completely disagree. That’s where the theme of the film really comes together. This isn’t a movie about the assassination of Jimmy Hoffa. It’s about a sad old man with absolutely nothing to show for the life he’s led. He has no friends, no family, just the nursing home priest. He is utterly, hopelessly alone.
Considering how bleak the ending is, this may be Scorsese’s most tragic work yet. That’s saying quite a bit, considering he’s been doing tragedies since the early 70’s. The protagonist doesn’t go down in a hail of gunfire. In contrast, he’s the last man standing. It’s Scorsese addressing mortality in a way he’s never done before. If there’s one takeaway from the last hour of the movie, it’s that gangsters aren’t meant to make old bones.
5 Quick Hits
It wouldn’t be a Scorsese gangster film without extensive use of doo-wop music in the soundtrack, and The Irishman is no different. I’m only surprised he didn’t find a way to shoehorn a Stones track into the closing credits.
The car bomb fake out where it looked as if the wife was about to be assassinated was brilliantly done. We’ve seen so many car bombs in so many gangster flicks that we’ve come to expect that whenever a potential assassination target turns the keys, the car goes kablooey. When the keys turn, and there’s nothing but silence, then a long sigh of relief, that was a great bit of tension.
I loved the device of having little mini bios pop up whenever an ancillary character is introduced, telling us how this guy or that guy ultimately met his demise. It goes along with the theme that no matter how carefully you play it, when you get involved with the mob, you’re a marked man.
The scene where Sheeran is choosing his perfect assassination gun by process of elimination, all the while explaining his thought process in the voiceover, was really well done and unlike anything I’ve seen. It was really cinematic.
In case you missed it, be sure to check out the accompanying half-hour roundtable chat between Scorsese, De Niro, Pacino, and Pesci. It’s called The Irishman: In Conversation. It plays automatically on Netflix after the credits for the film end, but I know some of y’all hit the “back” button as soon as the film faded to black.
