The Irishman (2019)
“I heard you paint houses, Frank?”
“Yes sir I do, and I do my own carpentry too.”
-
The Irishman (2019)
The tale of time and power, contract serial killer, mobster and a friend; Frank Sheeran’s rise and absolute demise are all visualised and narrated through the old man himself; engaging in the revelling story of friendship, loyalty and protection. Starting from its many metaphors serving as foreshadowing of the approaching end, return back to haunt him. The POWs digging their graves, on the face of death. The rotting smell of the fish being a smug nod to “something fishy” and the now tainted morality of Frank.
A story where Scorsese
chooses to showcase deaths being cold, quick and like clockwork, commenting on
the detached psyche and “Its time” acceptance of Frank, completely devoid of
honour and emotion. Only ignored for Jimmy Hoffa, his friend and Sally Bugs, a
bad hit. The editing choice to introduce side characters with their names
and how and when they die (mostly by violent means) highlighting the razor’s
edge these men walk on, and also how later on only to find out, being murdered
by their own mob.
“I only wanted to keep you safe” “I did it for the family”
pleads this man to his daughter, having lost everything; his wife, most
loved daughter, the mob and all he called his friends. From the communion of
bread and wine, where Frank and Russ become brothers and seal their fates in
the bloodshed in the form of the commander and the executer, the climax bringing
them together in another communion, seemingly and justifiably their last
suppers in jail. Frank no matter how many times going to the church himself,
cannot get himself to repent and ask for forgiveness, but Russ welcomes
it with a smile with nothing to hide. Forced to stick around to see everyone around him leave; left with only
the ring and the watch each given to him by the two closest friends, remaining
his only possessions. In the closing shot, Frank now leaves his door cracked open,
left alone, still vigilant and yet powerless deciding his own fate, like Hoffa who
fostered his own killer, his closest friend.
I was drawn into the film with its revolutionary claim of
de-aging the three main cast members. Soon I caught myself captivated by the
rich dialogue, storyline and the romantic times of the 1960s. 3 and a half
hours felt not so dragged out, jumping from different decades from the 60s to
the 2000s. Going in completely blind and clueless, allowed for an appreciation
for the craft of cinematography, writing, acting and in all the drama. And soon
after, reading about the real life incident, made me appreciate the effort
more. This isn’t about what actually happened, but for the art of storytelling
itself. At least for me.
This essay was inspired from works of Rohan Shivkumar @anarchytectslist and Manna Elizabeth Sam @the_nonconformist1
Image Credits: a frame from the film, 'The Irishman' Directed by Martin Scorsese, produced by Netflix.
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