I am something of a blockbuster loyalist, but even so, it frustrates me how commonplace that studio influence is, with even Joker having to depend on the DC brand name, since no one would pay attention to it otherwise. It's no wonder why the Academy Award winner, when bringing his long-gestating passion project The Irishman to the big screen, would be forced to turn to streaming giant Netflix, themselves a commonly blamed culprit for the downfall of cinema, just for it to see the light of day. The whole disparagement between art and commerce is a can of worms that's not worth getting into right now, lest it take away from the spectacular work that Scorsese's patience finally made possible. Simply put, The Irishman is one of the best films he has ever made.
What's most surprising about The Irishman is, oddly enough, how tame it feels for Scorsese. For a film from the man behind Goodfellas, Casino, and The Departed, The Irishman is much more subdued in its approach to the genre. It is unmistakably Scorsese's picture, but his usual sensibilities and stylistic ticks are dialed way back. And that's really for the best, given what a somber, bleak story this movie is tackling, especially from the point of view of its main character.
Our audience surrogate is one Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro), who we meet in a wheelchair in his twilight years, looking back on how his life came to be where it is, and what the ending to that journey ultimately cost him. In his youth, Frank was a WWII vet who lived a modest life, providing for his wife and four children as a union truck driver. But he was nothing if not an ambitious man, taking side deals to put extra meat on his family's table, which eventually landed him under the wing of Pennsylvanian crime boss Russell Bufalino (Joe Pesci). With the opportunities afforded to him, Frank's honesty would eventually render him morally bankrupt, and emotionally vacant, especially as the horrors of his actions would finally dawn on him late in life.
At one point, Frank recounts a significant moment during WWII, in which he ordered enemy soldiers to dig their own graves, doing so perhaps in the belief that if they obeyed, he'd be willing to spare their lives. The idea confounded him, and that becomes the first real linchpin in this movie's fascination with death. As Frank's actions pit him deeper into criminal activity, sometimes requiring him to pull out a gun and "paint houses," as it were, each lost life slowly becomes another lingering spirit to haunt him. In essence, Frank became something of a grim reaper after the war, watching the desperation and futile pleading before snuffing them out, and casually flicking the knife without so much as an expression of remorse at least on the surface. It's simultaneously a scary and heartbreaking turn from De Niro, as he slowly morphs from carrying tasks out without a second thought, to showing genuine regret for the things he did, even if he knows the bridges he burned are too far gone to be mended, none the least of which is the strained relationship with his youngest daughter Peggy (Anna Paquin).
But his early beginnings were only a stepping stone, as all roads were simply there to lead him to Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino), the Teamster union President with a hand in criminal activity, using it as a personal boon for his standing and success. From this point on is when the film really begins firing on all cylinders, especially when Frank grows in high esteem of Hoffa, as the two become unlikely friends and allies. Even as his descent into the criminal underbelly grows, Hoffa slowly comes to be the one link to the honest, modest man Frank once was, becoming the one surrogate figure he can comfortably confide and be himself around, and whose own temperament serves as a perfect offset to the other.
It's that dynamic chemistry which becomes the true secret weapon of The Irishman, in seeing the trio of De Niro, Pacino, and Pesci play off of each other, with sparks setting off like fireworks. Seeing Frank matched against, and in some cases caught between, the two most important relationships in his life, lends such compelling drama to the film, especially as brought to life by their respective performances. Pacino is the best he's been in a film in years, bringing his Hoffa to life with an ever-charismatic, high energy swagger, even as his stubborn nature won't let him back down, perhaps vindictively so. Hoffa himself comes to be a figure of envy from the eyes of Bufalino, with Pesci playing heavily against type, playing the character with a soft-spoken, but no less intimidating and eerily persuasive command and unease.
Of course, while Steven Zaillian's script is a masterstroke of structuring and theme, it's Scorsese's touch that unsurprisingly becomes the real star of the show. While less flashy and subdued compared to his other output, the direction and craftsmanship of The Irishman is nevertheless a virtuoso accomplishment, where the man is operating at the peak of his powers, fine-tuning every detail to near-perfection. This includes the almost seamless CGI de-aging, as the three main actors age through the decade-spanning saga, which is often so subtle and brilliant, it was easy for me to buy into the illusion. Outside of one unfortunate gaffe where De Niro clearly doesn't move like a man in his 40's, I couldn't even register I was looking at an effect a lot of the time.
But like any Scorsese movie, he's nothing without the also impressive skills of his longtime editor Thelma Schoonmaker. As usual, the two bring out the best in the other, and Schoonmaker's usually tight and laser-focused cutting skills, effortless pacing balance, and marvelous character pieces ensure that nary a second in the film, no matter how extended, never feels wasted or gratuitous, especially as we reach the concluding chapters in the movie's final hour, which is some of the most bravura filmmaking Scorsese has ever captured. Yes, three and a half hours does sound daunting on paper, but in execution, I swear it's not the slog it sounds like. Having watched the film twice in two days, I could hardly even register the length, which just goes to show how engaging this movie really is.
There's a lot more I could say about the film; it's dark sense of humor, the stellar supporting cast, and just the general technical aesthetic. But it wouldn't really be doing it justice. Only by watching the film, absorbing the full weight of its story and character arcs, and possibly sinking more time into repeated viewings, do I feel like the film's power can accurately be captured and translated. For as long as it took The Irishman to be a reality, and I myself was a staunch skeptic intent on downplaying my hype, it all came together to form a spectacular package, and in some ways a somber culmination of Marty's career up to this point. Rare as it is to find nowadays, The Irishman is proof that cinema is alive and well... provided chain theatres will actually *SCREEN THEM!*
***** / *****
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