The Irishman

The Irishman follows the rise and fall of real-life mobster turned teamster Frank Sheeran (De Niro). The story picks up just as he is getting his foot in the door with the mafia by becoming a hit-man. It continues throughout the rest of Sheeran's life. This includes a stretch of time where he gets close to some of the mob's top bosses, in particular Russell Buffalino (Pesci). This association eventually places Frank near the top of the Teamster and right next to none other than Jimmy Hoffa (Pacino). And, well, let's just say all of this happens before Giant Stadium was built.

The latest in a long line of New York City based crime dramas from the legendary director Martin Scorcese stretches itself just a hair under three and a half hours long. This is both a gift and a curse. The most obvious blessing is that we get to spend a great of time with three acting giants and a bunch of other big time talent, all giving wonderful performances. De Niro, a legend in his own right, is in the lead. He is great again, here, but comes up just a bit short for reasons we'll discuss a bit later. Now, it's time to praise Al Pacino and the temporarily-out-of-retirement Joe Pesci. Pacino does what Pacino does and makes Hoffa a larger-than-life presence, bombastic - filled with passion and verve. This is the star at is full wattage. Pesci takes the opposite path. Unlike his most well-known characters, he makes Buffalino the picture of subtle authority. There are no grand gestures, obscenity-laced rants, or violent overreactions, just a quiet gravitas that let us know that he is not a man to be trifled with. Both he and Pacino often leave De Niro fighting to carve out a little bit of screen to call his own. This is an impressive feat given we're not talking about some line-reader coasting along on a pretty headshot. I mean, we're talking Bobby D!


I have to stress again, that De Niro is not bad in the lead. In fact, he's quite good. Unfortunately, the writing, and possibly even Scorsese, fail him. Scorsese is well known for making New York's grimiest era spill from the screen into our laps. However, his real magic is that the protagonists of these littered concrete lined microcosms of the American dream gone astray are people we come to root for even though we know we shouldn't. Something about them compels us to look beyond their troubling actions and embrace them. Travis Bickle (Taxi Driver) has issues, but we know he wants to make the world a better place. Henry Hill (GoodFellas) is hopelessly loyal until he realizes his allegiance is misplaced. Jordan Belfort (The Wolf of Wall Street) is endlessly charismatic. If Scorsese couldn't make us love his main character, he made us hate them. No one sits through Raging Bull and comes away liking Jake La Motta. We may pity him, but whatever feelings the director engenders in us, they're strong. Sheeran never quite has this effect on us. We know he's a bad guy, but we don't hate him. There isn't enough on the positive side to make us get behind him, either. He feels like a pawn in the midst of kings, his actions dictated by others. Therefore, after three hours the climax of the movie has already happened and Frank has gotten older, but hasn't grown. The movie then goes on for another half hour trying to make us feel sorry for him, but it doesn't really work. The problem is we're on the side of a person who barely has a line in the movie, Sheeran's daughter Peggy (Paquin as an adult, Gallina as a teenager). He laments the fact that she knows he's a monster, but that's the extent of it. One of his other daughters reads him the riot act and we shrug our shoulders and nod in agreement. We never get to the point where we want anything good for him. We're only interested in whether or not the story he's telling us is true because of the legends we've heard about Hoffa's possible whereabouts. If you're not familiar with Hoffa coming in, it all may fall even flatter.

Even with its shortcomings, The Irishman is still a captivating watch. We can't tear our eyes from the screen. Watching men who run the world from the shadows is inherently intriguing. In Scorsese's hands, it's downright hypnotic. Much of the movie involves these guys plotting their next move. It's high stakes chess between masters played over many dinners, bottles of wine, and family gatherings. The action of the murders we often get to see is usually not as exciting as the planning of them. However, when we get them, the non-stylized violence makes it more brutal, gives us jolt at the realization of a life ended. Seeing some action hero mow down dozens of faceless bad guys with blood sprayed everywhere is good fun. Seeing some guy who looks like he might have been standing on line behind you at Walmart walk up to someone on the street and blast them in the face and run away is much more disconcerting, even if we don't like the person being killed. This movie has a lot of those moments.

From a technical standpoint, the film shines in that Scorsese way. We get the signature tracking shots, the immaculate framing, and the telling reaction shots unsullied by dialogue. The thing that ensures the movie isn't a complete joke, however, is the de-aging fx that Marvel has made all the rage. Our three main stars are all at least 76 years of age and play their characters over a stretch of 40 or so years. They're convincing enough through it all. It's fine. Occasionally, De Niro is betrayed by his body because during some of the physical scenes, a septuagenarian just doesn't move like a man in his thirties or forties, try as he might. Still, this is a small complaint since it's far better than what Ang Lee gave us in Gemini Man. The storytelling gets us through the film even if the story it's telling isn't quite up to snuff. It's also a deliberately paced film. With 200-plus minutes to kill, there's no rush. This might be a problem for some viewers because it doesn't grab us the same way so many of Scorsese's classics have done over the years. The Irishman is by no means a bad movie, just not one that sits among the pantheon of the director's greats.