For most of Martin Scorsese’s latest film, The Irishman, I was sitting in the theater thinking, “well, this is really good, but I don’t see what makes this particularly special.” It really isn’t until the last 45 minutes or so where the film truly reveals itself, and when that happened, I was completely taken aback by what I was experiencing. It hit me in a way that I did not expect, and it really brought everything the film was building up to together in a transcendent way. Granted, saying the last 45 minutes is what makes a three-and-a-half hour film come together is not necessarily the best way to sell it, but it is still an otherwise exemplary piece of filmmaking by one of its finest masters.
Working off Steve Zaillian’s screen adaptation of the 2004 Charles Brandt (dubious at best) nonfiction book, I Heard You Paint Houses – which also serves as the film’s secondary title because sure, why not – The Irishman follows Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro). We open with him in a retirement home as he begins recounting memories from his strange and violent life as a hitman for the mafia, which manages to connect with various significant events in American history. But more specifically, the story follows his friendship with mob boss, Russell Bufalino (Joe Pesci) and the work he did alongside the infamous labor union leader, Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino).
In a lot of ways, The Irishman feels like the ultimate Scorsese film as it indulges in practically all his thematic fascinations and vast stylistic tendencies that he’s explored over a long and diverse career. It’s a crime epic, it explores the dynamic between organized crime and government, it touches on faith, it’s simultaneously propulsive and methodically paced, it features his knack for combining humor and pathos in grisly situations and characters, it has everything that you can point to and say that is classic Scorsese, and yet, it still feels incredibly fresh, bold, and vital.
Of course, if you go in expecting something like Goodfellas or The Wolf Of Wall Street, that isn’t what The Irishman is. It isn’t the frantic, rock ‘n’ roll gangster flick you would usually expect. Instead, the film starts off on a slower, more somber note, and it keeps that feeling throughout the film. What it’s ultimately about is how one – or rather, a criminal like Frank – can come to terms with his own death and legacy.
Not to give too much away, though it’s not like anything in the plot is meant to be a surprise, but the whole film builds up with so many characters and events and killings, and when it comes time to ask what it’s all adding up to – the answer is nothing. And that’s what those last 45 minutes really hit home on. For all Frank has been through in his life, he ultimately doesn’t have anything to show for it, and he has no one by his side. He is all alone, in a retirement home, and no one is there by his side to remember him and his story.
The film is beautifully made, as you’d expect. Rodrigo Prieto returns as a cinematographer for Scorsese following The Wolf Of Wall Street and Silence, and I was incredibly impressed with how he captures the film. Despite the epic scope, most of the film takes place in dim interiors, covering conversations between a bunch of guys, and yet the camera work is still energetic and elegantly composed. Thelma Schoonmaker’s editing is as punchy as ever. The film is mostly flashback, and sometimes there are flashbacks within flashbacks, but you are never lost or confused by any of it. It has a very beautiful flow to it that keeps you engaged. The deaging effect that has gotten a lot of coverage mostly works. It’s a little jarring when you first see it, but you just get used to it fast, assuming you can look past the fact that the young versions of certain characters still move like senior citizens on occasion.
The performances are strong across the board. De Niro brings a sense of strength and confidence that is slowly wailing into doubt and regret as the inevitable conclusions begin hitting. One particular moment where he is on the phone with a grieving woman, he is barely able to form a complete sentence as he tries to calm her, and it’s stunning work. Pacino gives the kind of brash performance you’d expect, but that doesn’t make it any less of a joy to see, especially when his hubris continues to get the best of him. It’s also an endless delight to see Joe Pesci grace the silver screen again, and he excels at being the understated leader who is calm and collected even in the most stressful circumstances. The supporting cast, filled with the likes of Ray Romano, Stephen Graham, Jesse Plemons, Bobby Cannavale, Harvey Keitel, Jack Huston, each make the most out of their limited screentime, with a particular standout being Anna Paquin, who has to convey a lot of complex feelings without any lines of dialogue save for two lines. It’s essential thematically for her to have a strong presence that makes an impression despite not saying anything, and she makes it work incredibly well.
The Irishman is an all around extraordinary motion picture, and it was incredibly satisfying to see on the big screen. While that option is sadly not widely available, I think its somewhat episodic structure and leisurely pacing makes it almost ideal for viewing at home, as I’m sure Netflix is counting on. It’s easily one of the finest films I’ve seen this year, and whichever way you experience it, the film is a haunting, contemplative, yet effortlessly entertaining piece of filmmaking that shows Martin Scorsese still has much to say and offer. The Irishman seems like Scorsese commenting on everything he’s done before, particularly in the gangster genre, and it seems like the biggest lesson he’s learned is that no matter how big we make ourselves, we don’t necessarily get the luxury of going out in a blaze of glory. In fact, the real luxury is having loved ones around you who will remember you as you slowly fade away.