"I'm a little bit concerned..."
As a movie fan, I've spent a long time kneeling at the altar of Goodfellas. The dynamic energy and visual punch of that film is nothing short of iconic. So no shocker that I've been among the legion of Martin Scorsese fans chomping at the bit to get a look at his return to the mob genre.
Produced by Netflix, The Irishman debuts on that platform on the 27th, but I'm lucky enough to live in a town where it was booked in an actual theater, because it just feels wrong to see a Scorsese picture on TV for the first time. So cue the sound of squealing tires, there was no way I was missing this!
I'm delighted to say, the experience did not disappoint. It's a massively long film. At 3 hours and 29 minutes, it's longer than either of the Godfather films, longer than The Return of the King, longer than Titanic. It's a Scorsese opera, a multi-decade saga focusing on one man's journey into the America of organized crime.
Based on the memoir I Heard You Paint Houses, by Charles Brandt, The Irishman is the confessional of Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro), a World War II veteran who returns home from combat where he's learned to kill when ordered, meeting Pennsylvania crime boss Russell Bufalino (Joe Pesci), who quickly puts his marketable skills to work.
I don't want to get into too many details or spoil the rich tapestry of surprises that The Irishman has in store, but know that this is vintage Scorsese - a filmmaking legend at the height of his powers, teamed-up with his veteran crew of choice. This is Scorsese and De Niro's ninth collaboration together, along with legendary editor Thelma Schoonmaker, and cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto (Brokeback Mountain, Argo, The Wolf of Wall Street). The screenplay by Steve Zaillian (Schindler's List, Gangs of New York, Moneyball) is a rich, novelesque feast of dialogue, leaning heavily into David Mamet territory.
The story spans a twenty-year stretch from the fifties to the seventies, with a deft wraparound structure featuring Sheeran looking back on what he's been left with - or without. As Frank changes, so does America, with events from the Kennedy and Nixon eras looming large behind them. With the passage of time and the sequence of choices, comes regret: "You don't know how fast time goes by 'til you get there." In every sense of the word, The Irishman is about mortality.
A mob story from Scorsese is bound to be violent, but Scorsese and Schoonmaker know when to get graphic, and when to suddenly look away, to create an even more jarring impact. The violence is matter-of-fact and never glamorized.
Eventually, Frank's orbit intersects with Jimmy Hoffa - Al Pacino, his first time working with Scorsese. Ever since Scent of a Woman, we've seen many a loud, grandiose performance from Pacino, but that's only a starting point for him here. The braggadocio and ego of Hoffa is a perfect fit for Pacino’s Hoffa, who reveals the layers of paranoia and need for control that drive him. I think it's a tremendous performance, that can't help but remind one of the current occupant of the oval office.
As a movie fan, I've spent a long time kneeling at the altar of Goodfellas. The dynamic energy and visual punch of that film is nothing short of iconic. So no shocker that I've been among the legion of Martin Scorsese fans chomping at the bit to get a look at his return to the mob genre.
Produced by Netflix, The Irishman debuts on that platform on the 27th, but I'm lucky enough to live in a town where it was booked in an actual theater, because it just feels wrong to see a Scorsese picture on TV for the first time. So cue the sound of squealing tires, there was no way I was missing this!
I'm delighted to say, the experience did not disappoint. It's a massively long film. At 3 hours and 29 minutes, it's longer than either of the Godfather films, longer than The Return of the King, longer than Titanic. It's a Scorsese opera, a multi-decade saga focusing on one man's journey into the America of organized crime.
Based on the memoir I Heard You Paint Houses, by Charles Brandt, The Irishman is the confessional of Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro), a World War II veteran who returns home from combat where he's learned to kill when ordered, meeting Pennsylvania crime boss Russell Bufalino (Joe Pesci), who quickly puts his marketable skills to work.
I don't want to get into too many details or spoil the rich tapestry of surprises that The Irishman has in store, but know that this is vintage Scorsese - a filmmaking legend at the height of his powers, teamed-up with his veteran crew of choice. This is Scorsese and De Niro's ninth collaboration together, along with legendary editor Thelma Schoonmaker, and cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto (Brokeback Mountain, Argo, The Wolf of Wall Street). The screenplay by Steve Zaillian (Schindler's List, Gangs of New York, Moneyball) is a rich, novelesque feast of dialogue, leaning heavily into David Mamet territory.
The story spans a twenty-year stretch from the fifties to the seventies, with a deft wraparound structure featuring Sheeran looking back on what he's been left with - or without. As Frank changes, so does America, with events from the Kennedy and Nixon eras looming large behind them. With the passage of time and the sequence of choices, comes regret: "You don't know how fast time goes by 'til you get there." In every sense of the word, The Irishman is about mortality.
A mob story from Scorsese is bound to be violent, but Scorsese and Schoonmaker know when to get graphic, and when to suddenly look away, to create an even more jarring impact. The violence is matter-of-fact and never glamorized.
Eventually, Frank's orbit intersects with Jimmy Hoffa - Al Pacino, his first time working with Scorsese. Ever since Scent of a Woman, we've seen many a loud, grandiose performance from Pacino, but that's only a starting point for him here. The braggadocio and ego of Hoffa is a perfect fit for Pacino’s Hoffa, who reveals the layers of paranoia and need for control that drive him. I think it's a tremendous performance, that can't help but remind one of the current occupant of the oval office.
A huge part of what makes The Irishman tick is the digital "youthification" of the actors, letting us see a younger De Niro, Pacino and Pesci earlier in the story. It works incredibly well, and was never distracting, allowing the filmmakers to tell a truly long-form narrative with the same cast, who uniformly turn in some of their best work. I was particularly taken with Pesci, whose Russel Bufalino is a remarkably controlled and elegant piece of work. He's terrifying, without ever resorting to oversized theatrics. It's a terrific performance.
The Irishman may be one of De Niro's greatest roles. Coming right on the heels of Joker, this is an actor who shows no signs of mellowing, who's only delving deeper and delivering even more remarkable work.
My only disappointment is at how small Harvey Keitel's role is, as Angelo Bruno. He has incredible presence, which makes you want to see that much more of him. Also, there's a lack of substantial female roles in the film, with no equivalent of Goodfellas' Lorraine Bracco, or Sharon Stone in Casino. Bobby Cannavale, Ray Romano, and the ubiquitous Jesse Plemons all shine in supporting roles - and keep a sharp eye out for Jerry Vale!
The Irishman is a story told from the mature perspective of both a character and a director with long miles of seasoning and life experience - like Kurosawa's Ran. It's the kind of epic we don't see much these days, but it's gripping, poignant, and often quite hilarious. Netflix is tempting, but if you're fortunate enough to live somewhere that's showing The Irishman on the big screen, do yourself a favor and run.
Yes, it's long. The Irishman takes its time. But Scorsese and his story earn it. To quote Goodfellas, "Paulie may have moved slow, but it was only because Paulie didn't have to move for anybody."
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