Martin Scorsese’s highly anticipated mob saga The Irishman, starring Robert De Niro as the late mob assassin Frank “The Irishman” Sheeran (1920-2003) is a dream team collaboration for the ages. Legendary contemporaries Al Pacino (James “Jimmy” Hoffa) and Joe Pesci (Russell Bufalino) could put their collective acting talents on autopilot, and still enthrall audiences.
Unfortunately, uneven CGI applications used to de-age the three stars, a less than best leading performance from De Niro, and decidedly overlong running time, all amount up to a film aspiring for, but not quite reaching icon status. Al Pacino, however, delivers an outstanding performance that should be drawing strong attention from Oscar and BAFTA voters.
The opening scene reveals an aged, ailing Frank Sheeran, seated in a retirement home living room reminiscing about his yesteryears, and also serves as the film’s narrator. Veteran Hollywood multi hyphenates Scorsese and Steven Zaillian – the latter whose screenwriting credits are as diverse as Awakenings (1990), Schindler’s List (1993), and Moneyball (2011) – condense the inner workings of a close-knit criminal network of the latter half of the twentieth century into a 3.5 hour running time.
One would think that time in the theatre (or at home via Netflix streaming) would fly by. Not so with the script utilized here. Zaillan’s masterful Oscar and BAFTA award-winning adaptation of Thomas Kenneally’s 1982 novel Schindler’s Ark demonstrated a strong sensitivity to the atrocities of war and genocide in Schindler’s List. However, this film’s adapted source, Charles Brandt’s 2004 nonfiction book I Heard You Paint Houses (a title which is strangely prominently displayed at the film’s beginning and end) quite possibly did not evoke the same emotional connection and resulting landmark screenwriting that Zaillian had before in 1993.
Robert De Niro’s Frank Sheeran, whose late father was of Irish and Italian extractions, unfortunately blends all too well into the film’s plethora of Italian American representation. Which is a noticeable weakness, him being the titular Irishman. Enhanced ocean-blue eyes does not an Irishman make. This lack of authenticity in portraying characters of other ethnicities, notably as Jewish mobsters Noodles in Once Upon a Time in America (1984) and Sam “Ace” Rothstein in Casino (1995), detracts from his monumental strength of delivering timeless, evocative performances. It is hard to comprehend why it is that De Niro does not delve deeper into his imagination to further enliven characters outside of the Italian identity.
Al Pacino, who like De Niro carries an illustrious legacy of cinematic contributions, also includes multi-ethnic portrayals such as Cuban Tony Montana in Scarface (1983) and Puerto Rican Carlito in Carlito’s Way (1993). Pacino’s Hoffa is a committed embodiment of another persona. The magic of Pacino’s range of nuanced emotions, from brooding to enraged, penetrates the tapestry of this slow-burn of a film so much. This thespian born of Italian American immigrants creates the optic illusion that, while in Hoffa mode, he is a German Irishman of the Northeast.
Joe Pesci’s Russell Bufalino, a real-life mafia don, is effectively portrayed with a balance of grit and sophisticated dominance. Mr. Pesci purportedly had to be persuaded at length to accept the role out of retirement. For this reason alone should anyone view The Irishman. From psychosis-personified in roles such as Tommy DeVito (Goodfellas) and Nicky Santoro (Casino), to classic comedic performances in the forms of petty con Harry Lyme (Home Alone; Home Alone 2) and newbie lawyer Vincent Gambini (My Cousin Vinny), Joe Pesci is perhaps the most dynamic actor among the film’s golden trio.
Two other important forces in Scorsese’s The Irishman are Lucy Gallina and Anna Paquin. Who wonderfully represent the child, teen and adult years of Frank Sheeran’s daughter, Peggy Sheeran. In a film that attempts to elicit empathy for a serial killer, the character of Peggy is a figure that is given more than words to speak, but unswerving eyes to both see and condemn the moral betrayals of her father.
There is ample criticism directed at Scorcese for the lack of dialogue for all female roles in a new era quite foreign to the times of decades past. I am not here to judge the validity of said criticism. For those who understand film, a key character who is demonstrative by action rather than words is a harder role to take on. Talent must be blended with psychological understanding to pull this off so well.
Though interesting to see attempted with great actors in their golden years, the CGI at times could be quite jarring. This is especially evident when Sheeran and Bufalino first meet at a gas station. Their faces are almost cartoonishly exaggerated, with overly orange color treatment. Often, in scenes depicting many years prior, De Niro’s face is too smoothed out, thereby removing his natural facial contour from way back when.
I close this review, not with a meditation on the last act meditativeness of serial killer Frank Sheeran’s last years of life on screen, but with a question and a wish. If I could talk to Martin Scorsese, who is one of America’s finest film directors, and is also very proud of his Italian American heritage: Why do you often use the cinematic canon to remember the worst of Italian American humanity over those of the best examples within your ethnicity?
Because for all that The Irishman is, good and bad, this film could have very well have been about fellow Italian American Joseph DeAngelo, known as the Golden State Killer. It is my wish that in the last years that Scorcese has, that he will choose to make films that upholds the good of his native country and positively inspires the spectator. Rather than make one feel as though the glamorized presentation of the worst of American history is where it’s at.
