The Irishman
Peggy Sheeran is one of the most important characters in Martin Scorsese’s “The Irishman.” As played by Anna Paquin as an adult, she only has one line, but every time her eyes look upon her father, Frank, or Jimmy Hoffa, they communicate everything we need to know about the character, and how she looks at the two most important men in her life. One thing to keep in mind is that any time we see Peggy, it is, essentially, via the flashbacks of the older Frank, in a retirement home, telling his story. We are witnessing Frank’s memory of his relationship with his daughter, which is defined by two moments- one as a child where she goes with Frank to a grocery store, one as an adult where Paquin delivers her one line of the movie. In those two moments, we understand what is behind her eyes, which is an understanding of whom her father is, and why she doesn’t have anything to say to him as an adult.
“The Irishman” is a thesis on the nature of a criminal life, and how, in the end, isolation is what awaits you before death. I’m glad that I revisited “Mean Streets” before watching Scorsese’s epic film for the first time, because it’s fascinating to see he and Robert DeNiro, who plays Frank, and how their approach to the world, has evolved. In the earlier film, both actor and director were younger, hungry to prove themselves, and more carefree in their approach to characters and cinema. Contrast that with “GoodFellas” (and, if I recall correctly, “Casino”), where the observations made by Scorsese are less personal, and more interested in studying the seduction a life of crime has on a person, and DeNiro is playing an elder statesmen in the life, one whom loves the thrill of the life, but has also learned to temper that energy more than his “Mean Streets” character, Johnny Boy, ever could. Now, in “The Irishman,” their first collaboration in almost 25 years, both actor and director have taken long, difficult, bumpy journeys back to one another. They are both looking to reflect on their lives, and ponder if their path in life was worth it, in the end. I completely get why the story of Frank Sheeran, as told in the book by Charles Brandt that is adapted so brilliantly into Steven Zallian’s screenplay, was one they needed to tell; the over 15 year journey to do so was worth it for both of them.
The film’s soundtrack is a collection of older songs for the most part, used by Scorsese to convey the emotions of each scene in a way he’s always stood apart from his peers in doing. There’s also underscore, as well, courtesy of Robbie Robertson from The Band. I’ve been listening to the one cue from that score since I watched the film. It’s got a rocker’s sensibility and orchestration, but thematically it’s haunting. That main theme is heard, first from a harmonica, and then a cello, and it’s a lively, emotional melody that conveys a long moral slope downward for the characters. This is not the story of a life we’re seduced in to, but one we’re shown remorse about, and Robertson’s score captures that as beautifully as any piece of film music I’ve heard.
Scorsese’s film is told from the perspective of Sheeran, as a near-dying man, in a retirement home, recounting his life. He does so through a series of flashbacks framed by a road trip Sheeran and Russell Bufalino (played by Joe Pesci in his first role since a brief cameo in DeNiro’s “The Good Shepard”) and their wives are taking to a wedding. That road trip is going to be a critical moment in Sheeran’s story, although at first it simply represents a jumping off point for his memories, whether it’s the first time he met Russell as a trucker on that same road; his family life; the time he was accused by his company of theft, and first met union lawyer Bill Bufalino (Ray Romano), Russell’s brother; and his introduction to the Scranton mafia, led by Russell and Angelo Bruno (Harvey Keitel, in his first Scorsese film since “The Last Temptation of Christ”), which eventually puts him in the vicinity of Jimmy Hoffa, the legendary Teamster who had dealings with the Bufalino’s as a way of pushing his influence. He and Sheeran hit it off almost immediately, and the two become close, with Frank becoming Hoffa’s right hand. Hoffa is played by Al Pacino, in his first film for Scorsese, and first collaboration with DeNiro since “Righteous Kill.” But Hoffa begins to feel pressure from an up-and-comer in Anthony “Tony Pro” Provenzano (Stephen Graham) to step aside, and his beef with the Kennedys after John was elected President in 1960 makes things difficult for him, as well.
“The Irishman,” which actually seems to go by the book’s title, I Heard You Paint Houses on-screen, is an epic narrative, but one of the most remarkable things Scorsese and Zallian do in telling this story is how personal it approaches a story that spans decades. Like “GoodFellas,” this film covers a lot of time- even more so here- but in a different way. With the earlier film, it was about putting us in Henry Hill’s point-of-view as a world opened up to him; here, Sheeran’s world almost becomes more closed off the deeper he gets in to the life. That’s because Sheeran is almost brought in to the life accidentally, whereas Henry actively pursued it. It’s a key difference, but Sheeran still takes to the life as wholeheartedly as Hill did. Opportunities open up for him the way they did for Henry, but his live moves at a slower pace, probably because his crimes- mainly, selling product from the backs of the trucks he hauls- are not as glamorous, but also because, he comes in to the life a bit older than Henry did, as well. We see glimpses of Frank in WWII, then as a family man, and his eventual rise up the ranks with Russell and Hoffa before the fateful trip with Russell, and then him in prison, and later, a retirement home. It’s critical for Scorsese that all of the main actors are playing the characters throughout the film, as the film shows how the life wears them down, and he accomplishes this task with some makeup work, but largely with the same de-aging technology Marvel has used in small doses in flashbacks in their films. Marty’s high-wire act is to sustain the illusion while giving the actors room to still perform, and define the characters, and it’s barely noticeable. Some of the seams still exist, as the way they de-age these titans into versions of their younger selves would be almost impossible through just makeup, but it avoids the uncanny valley the technology fell into in its infancy just a decade ago with “Tron: Legacy.”
This is one of those films where everyone just does phenomenal work. The ways that DeNiro, Pesci, Pacino and Keitel play off of one another are only possible by actors whom have known each other, and what they each bring to the table, for decades, even if they might not have worked together for a while, or even at all. Scorsese has a short-hand with three of them he’s cultivated over multiple collaborations that benefits them all here, while Pacino brings another type of energy to the table entirely. In a lot of ways, this is a typical recent Pacino performance, but Marty has him play Hoffa at times with the gusto of Tony Montana from “Scarface” with the quiet simmer of Michael Corleone, and it might be one of the best performances of his career (though of the main four, I think Pesci, such a 180 from his previous performances for Marty, gives the best one in the film). There’s a scene people have pointed to between Pacino and Graham as Tony Pro where Hoffa almost seals his fate that is as intense a scene Scorsese has ever filmed. This is an example of actors sizing each other up, and seeing if each character will break; it reminds me a bit of the “What do you mean I’m funny?” scene between Pesci and Ray Liotta in “GoodFellas,” but while that one is dark comedy between friends, this is about two rivals trying to get the other to break. Scenes like these are where the work of Scorsese’s longtime editor, Thelma Schoonmaker, deserves a mention, and this might be one of her very best efforts, as a whole. The film doesn’t have the headlong momentum of a “GoodFellas” or “Wolf of Wall Street,” but its 209-minute running time doesn’t feel padded or overlong, either; it moves very deliberately, never lingering unless there is an emotional reason to do so, and while the pacing does seem to slow down in the last 30 minutes of the film, it’s because the narrative is naturally dissipating, and we are left, alone, with Frank at the end of his journey. Like everyone else in the story, death is all that is waiting for him. One wonders if Marty feels like that, as well. His last two films have been about men who lived their life with certainty, whom life has held many doubts for. We know he has more to say- his latest with Leonardo DiCaprio and DeNiro has just been announced to begin filming in April- but will time let him say it? Or is he an old man, near the end, hoping a priest will leave the door to his room open?
