Frank Sheeran’s real life confession on his deathbed that he killed President of the Teamsters, Jimmy Hoffa, is built on shaky foundations. Sheeran made a number of sensational claims at this time, implying that he played a minor role in the assassination of JFK and the Bay of Pigs invasion, with all of this being revealed in Charles Brandt’s 2004 book ‘I Heard You Paint Houses’. But Martin Scorsese’s gangster epic ‘The Irishman’ is very much aware of his unreliability, letting Sheeran recount his life working for the mob as our unreliable narrator.
There is a tinge of regret in Sheeran’s narration as he revisits his life from the 50’s all the way through to the present day. Though he thinks of his friends from those days fondly, including Hoffa himself, he struggles to reconcile his nostalgia with the growing understanding of how painful it was for family to live through it. His daughter, Peggy, stares in silence as she watches her father’s crimes build, like the ever-watching eye of God quietly judging his actions.
As minor characters come and go, we are given glimpses into their ultimate fates through freeze frames and title introductions. A sinister undertone is established, reminding us that those who choose organised crime as a career are effectively cutting their lives short. Those who do make it to old age aren’t much better off either, as an elderly Sheeran comes to realise all his work and connections have resulted in nothing but pain for those still alive. He continues to keep his secrets, but for what? Who is he protecting? We can almost see Scorsese questioning the value of his career that has largely focused on men like this, searching for some kind of virtuous meaning in his work that will last long after he retires.
At three and a half hours ‘The Irishman’ often feels bloated, diverging from its central narrative to explore more of Sheeran’s smaller jobs that ultimately feel inconsequential. I have never been one to go in for Scorsese’s mob films though – it is often his more laser-focused character studies such as ‘Taxi Driver’ and ‘Raging Bull’ that engage me on a deeper level, and as a result a lot of ‘The Irishman’ feels like a distraction from a much more interesting story about those who are affected by, but not directly involved in, organised crime rings. It isn’t until its last act that ‘The Irishman’ starts to give voices to these people, culminating in a conversation between Sheeran and his daughter, Dolores, that is perhaps the most human part of the film. “You weren’t a bad father,” she says. “We were just afraid of you.”
‘The Irishman’ has been nominated in ten categories at the Academy Awards this year, including Best Visual Effects for its digital de-ageing of its main cast. Its effect isn’t quite perfect – it glasses over de Niro’s eyes, which is particularly noticeable in his scenes as a young Frank Sheeran. It also isn’t enough to cover up his awkward, stiff movements that betray his true age, though the seams start to show less as the CGI is gradually stripped back.
The Netflix curse will certainly be a factor that keeps ‘The Irishman’ from winning Best Picture, but more than that it will likely lose the votes of Academy members who are already less than excited to watch a film of this length, even if it is by such a respected director. There is no pressure to reward Scorsese with a “career” Oscar this year either, given that he won both Best Picture and Best Director for ‘The Departed’ in 2007. His best chances would lie with his fans’ ability to rally behind him and garner support, but ‘The Irishman’ just doesn’t hold the same widespread appeal as many of the other Best Picture nominees this year.
