There’s been a lot of stupid discourse surrounding Martin
Scorsese lately because so many people are upset or delighted that he’s not too
keen on Marvel movies, and it’s all so tiresome and unimportant. He hasn’t done
much to discourage this obnoxious debate of course, but its’ even more annoying
seeing industry professionals, big name actors and directors criticizing the
guy (none worse than the Russo Brothers) for daring to voice an unpopular
opinion on the most popular movies on the planet. And it’s distracting from why
we should be talking about Scorsese right now –his new movie that is one of his
most ambitious in a career not wanting for risky endeavours. A gangster epic
that reteams him with Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci for the first time in twenty-four
years and reaffirms why he’s one of our most revered filmmakers.
Of course The Irishman,
based on the book I Heard You Paint
Houses by Charles Brandt, has actually been a passion project of De Niro’s
for about fifteen years, who brought Scorsese onboard before the film was
consigned to development hell for over a decade. It was the confirmed casting
of Al Pacino (who in four decades had never worked with Scorsese before) and
Pesci (coming out of retirement for one last project with Scorsese and De Niro)
that finally gained the film traction, and though no major studio was willing
to foot the bill for the long and expensive crime drama, Netflix bought the
rights, meaning that after a brief theatrical run (which I was lucky enough to
catch) it’ll be arriving on the platform available for widespread consumption
–not ideal for Scorsese, but at least with his vision intact.
In it, De Niro plays mob hitman Frank Sheeran, and the
decades-spanning film follows his rise in the employ of Russell Bufalino (Pesci)
and subsequent work for and friendship with Jimmy Hoffa (Pacino) at the height
of his popularity as head of the Teamsters Union. Making liberal use of CGI
de-aging visual effects to resurrect its’ lead stars in their prime, the film
is a contemplative slow burn (at three and a half hours total runtime) that
chooses not to focus on the action and violence typical of gangster films –and
especially this movies’ most obvious cousin, Scorsese’s 1990 mafia classic Goodfellas –but instead hones in on such
a lifestyle and what it does to a person. De Niro’s Sheeran is an ambitious and
effective enforcer, clever and loyal if lacking in social graces, but a man
with a compromised conscience, an almost apathetic inability to see the
long-term consequences of just being associated with figures like Hoffa and
Bufalino, and a complacent distance from any meaningful connection to his
family. He only lives for the life of crime, yet never seems to enjoy it the
way Goodfellas’ Henry Hill did.
However, he does manage to forge a real friendship with
Hoffa, standing by him from the Kennedy election through Hoffa’s imprisonment
and up to his famous disappearance –on which the movie poses a potential
theory. Regardless, as the film presents the tumult of the 60’s and 70’s as they
concerned Hoffa, we see this relationship grow, the chemistry between De Niro
and Pacino well-established and completely apparent here. Indeed, one of the
films’ small delights is in seeing these legends (Pesci included of course)
merely interacting in otherwise monotonous conversations or negotiations or
strategizing, tinged with instances of well-timed humour (the movie is actually
fairly funny, employing some of the same narration and metatextual techniques
Scorsese incorporated into The Wolf of
Wall Street). At times, it’s just enough to see such figures sharing the
screen in 2019 and delivering exemplary dialogue from Steven Zaillian’s sharp
yet heavily humanist script; especially when you factor in an appearance from
Harvey Keitel and realize all of Scorsese’s regular players of the 70’s and
80’s are together again.
And I don’t think it’s an accident. The Irishman is a very self-reflective film that intentionally
hearkens back to Scorsese’s earlier career. Much like Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, this
movie really feels like a filmmaker coming to terms with his legacy,
thoughtfully considering how far he’s come, expressing some regrets, and
attempting to reconcile his place in a changing world. Of course, Scorsese is a
much more accomplished and versatile director than Tarantino, but he seems to
be drawing in some part from a like source. In the way The Irishman pensively examines and challenges themes of friendship
and trust and the price of violence and greed over a long period of time,
there’s something of Sergio Leone’s crime odyssey Once Upon a Time in America to the film. Certainly, Scorsese at
least equals Leone in the sad, melancholy place he ends his story.
The last half-hour brutally emphasizes
these themes, and better than nearly any other mafia movie de-glamorizes
organized crime by showing exactly where it will lead a life. Though you never
quite sympathize with Sheeran due to the choices he makes, the film ultimately
conveys him as a pitiful old figure with some of the gut-punchiest commentary
on aging, remorse, and loss that I’ve seen on film in some time. And the final
shot, evocative of another famous final shot, is especially poignant.
The movies’ biggest obstacle is foreseeably enough some of
the de-aging effects. The further back the story is set the more plastic De
Niro’s face looks (particularly one brief flashback to the war). He and Pesci
especially don’t quite look real in many of the scenes set in the 50’s and
early 60’s, and the way their characters move is sometimes odd, clearly the
result of actors in their seventies physically acting out characters in their
forties. It’s considerably better in the later decades though where any digital
touch-ups to De Niro and Pacino are barely noticeable and the actors are
compelling enough to overpower the occasional weak spot.
But on a movie like this a technical imperfection in the
make-up is far from a deal-breaker when virtually everything else is done so
well. De Niro delivers possibly his best performance of the decade, Pacino is
as dedicated and bombastic as ever, and years of retirement haven’t hindered
Pesci’s ability to own every scene he’s in. Outside of these major New Hollywood
stars, Scorsese fills his supporting cast with veterans of the HBO shows he
produced: Ray Romano of Vinyl, Stephen Graham of Boardwalk Empire, Bobby Canavale of both (Boardwalk Empire’s Aleksa Palladino and Jack Huston appear in minor
roles as well), alongside a large ensemble that also includes Jesse Plemmons
and a tremendously icy Anna Paquin. Additionally, Scorsese
has his long-time collaborators Robbie Robertson delivering an excellent score,
and Thelma Schoonmaker (a legend in her own right) editing with a precision and
sharpness that rivals any of her younger colleagues. And the director himself
divests an unbelievable amount of effort and stamina to the film, likely in the
knowledge it’s his last gangster picture, determined to leave audiences with a
monument of a movie and some meaningful final words.
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