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.