"The Irishman" (2019) Review
Both of my maternal grandparents (Oma and Opa) lived with us before they passed away. They had to move in as various illnesses, some physical, some mental, crept into their lives. Opa pretty suddenly got worse and passed away while recovering in a convalescent center while I was still in high school, but my Oma spent her final months in a beautiful hospice and passed away last year. Her memories had faded quite a bit by then, but I found myself wondering if that was something like a blessing for the person, in some strange way.
If The Irishman is anything to go by, it seems like sitting in a nursing home with your memory intact can be its own form of Hell on Earth. You can see the totality of everything you did, how you got there, what you did right (and terribly wrong) along the way. You get to more or less know you’re own life’s story in enough detail that you realize the things that aren’t present. The absence of those memories are a message in of itself.
The ability to see your own life’s total length especially seems like a Hellish curse if you’ve lived the life of Frank Sheeran (Robert DeNiro), a former hitman for the Italian mob. He got to be a “former” hitman simply through the act of survival. He’s one of the only ones left, something the movie immediately makes clear.
In Frank’s prime, he went from being a low-level truck driver stealing beef sides to one of the most trusted associates of crime lord Russell Buffalino (Joe Pesci). He served as Frank Hoffa’s (Al Pacino) bodyguard and close family friend until Hoffa’s “disappearance.” He witnesses the apex and the nadir of the Italian mafia in the U.S., so up close and personal that you know this story can’t possibly end that well, even if you know he’s made it to the relative comfort and isolation of a nursing home.
The acting of the film’s main trio, Robert DeNiro, Joe Pesci, and Al Pacino, is just stunning across the board for completely different reasons. It’s kind of incredible to watch some of DeNiro’s youngest scenes and see how jittery and nervous he is, and he maintains that nervous energy throughout. This isn’t Jimmy Conway from Goodfellas, a confident mentor who seems to know exactly what to do. Frank’s a workmanlike soldier, floating through life looking for orders to follow.
Pesci has a way of delivering those orders to DeNiro. A ton has already been said about how surreal it is to watch Pesci play a subdued character, but there’s no denying that it works. Any time the calm demeanor of his character cracks a little, whether it’s the tempo of his words increasing or his death glare, it’s absolutely nerve-wracking. Anytime his emotions seem to peak, someone isn’t going to survive the night.
Then there’s Pacino as Hoffa. It’s really fantastic to watch a performer as over-the-top as Pacino slide into a character that perfectly fits those sensibilities like this. Part perfect politician, crime lord, and arrogant brat, Hoffa is the perfect part for Pacino, and he’s a total blast. He’s essentially one of the major emotional anchors in the movie.
We’ve made it this far without mentioning the two big items that always pop up when you talk about The Irishman:
Does this three and a half hour movie have pacing problems due to its extreme length?
How convincing are the “de-aging” digital effects?
Naturally, I’ll answer the second question first.
The de-aging is mostly convincing. I’d give it a solid 89%, a B+. Not quite an A-grade near-perfect digital effect, but the closest I’ve seen this stuff to working in a huge capacity since the tech was introduced. It’s amazing how many scenes aren’t shot around the limitations of the tech. Some shadows help here and there, except that multiple light sources will frame the face instead of just one. The youngest de-aged parts look admittedly rough, but the longer the movie goes on, the more convincing it is.
Except for one key thing: Movement. This is by far the thing that’s all over the place. Sometimes, these men move like 30-year-old, 40-year-old, 50-year-old men. Other times, it’s painfully clear that you’re looking at a digital head on a nearly 80-year-old man’s body. There’s a scene where DeNiro has to stomp, and it’s rough (though, admittedly, it’s still a very effective scene).
Seriously though, I do want to use this as a jumping off point for The Irishman is such a strange beast of a movie that I dearly love. It’s one of the only movies of its kind, a period piece drama set across multiple timeframes, directed by one of the greatest American directors of all time, with a top of the line cast (plus every character actor associated with mob movies still alive in the supporting roles), with a $150 million+ budget due to bleeding edge digital effects.
We’re not getting a movie like this out of Hollywood for another decade at the earliest, and I fear much longer than that at the latest.
Needless to say, the first question about pacing doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I’m not going to say that the three and a half hour runtime isn’t long as hell, but I think it justifies its length. Plus, the editing from timeframe to timeframe, from scene to scene, and shot to shot is simply top of the line. Thelma Schoonmaker continues to be one of the best editors that ever lived.
This movie literally cuts between what is essentially one static timeline, and two constantly moving forward timelines simultaneously, and never loses track of where you’re at in the story. The movie technically is a story being told by an old man about being in his mid-50s, and in the story of the man in his mid-50s, he sees things that remind him of his early 30s. When you write it out like that, it’s batshit (especially because the man in his 30s storyline features a flashback to his 20s), but the structure is so smartly crafted that it feels effortless.
And man, I’ve seen this movie SEVERAL times now, and without getting into spoilers, I have found this to be a very rewarding film to re-watch. The film heavily foreshadows throughout, and certain strange character quirks instantly snap into focus on the second viewing. Scenes that felt like strange asides are there to establish how every rule in the mob world works so that when the time comes, the movie can sit back, and drown you in agonizing silence as you realize the unspoken horror of what acts are about to committed in the back half of the movie.
The silence in that sequence stands out because this film has a boatload of period-appropriate needle drops. None of them are poorly placed, and the way the songs can influence the editing of certain sequences is pretty damn effective. A song with slow guitar strums is set to a slow-motion murder, an uptempo harpsichord piece is used to emphasize the constant movement in a mafia front shop.
I do wish the movie had more original score, since there’s literally only one theme for the entire movie by Robbie Robertson, and it’s a great bit of score when it’s used. It sort of builds in a minor way throughout, but I wish there was more of it.
That being said, there’s not much I didn’t like about this movie. The supporting cast is absolutely incredible, with standouts including Bobby Cannavale, Ray Romano, Stephen Graham, Jesse Plemons, Harvey Keitel (holy shit, he’s in this movie for roughly a handful of minutes, but sweet Jesus does he make those count), and Anna Paquin, whose role in the movie is a source of debate about this movie.
Paquin does not have many lines in the movie. In fact her character, Peggy, (played by herself and one other actress, Lucy Gallina, for when she’s between the ages of 9-12, Paquin plays older teenage through adult) is practically silent. However, I think it works in the movie’s favor in something of a creative gamble. We wish we could see and hear more from Peggy. Or from her mother. Or Frank’s second wife. Or his other three daughters.
But this is Frank’s memory of his life. The act of reflection reveals one of Frank’s greatest sins, that he not only became a murderer for the mob but that he wasn’t there for his family. We don’t see more of them not because they’re meaningless, but because he is realizing far too late that he doesn’t even have true memories of being there for them to even see.
There’s a bleakness to The Irishman that feels like something far beyond Scorsese’s other crime/mob movies to date. It’s the complete condemnation of the criminal life that movies like this usually criticized for not having. Crime films are often misinterpreted as glorifications. It feels like it would be impossible to walk away from The Irishman thinking that the life Frank Sheeran led was worth it in even the slightest.
Due to that bleakness is a much more subdued filmmaking style. You get the occasional long-take scene here, a few rapid crane shots there, and some other notable flourishes, but it’s mostly simple color schemes that bask in the film’s gorgeous period production design. There are some really memorable shots throughout, even with the subdued style in play.
All in all, Netflix has released what has to be its best movie to date, and if not the best, certainly one of the most singular films they’ve ever made. It’s one of my favorite movies of the year, and I think it’s worth giving a shot (especially since you can pause it at home, I saw this in theaters multiple times and only got up in one of those showings, I think y’all can make it through at home if I can manage that).
