There are not many filmmakers for which moviegoers are willing to stand in line at 6 in the morning for a movie show that is only at 9. There are not many filmmakers for which the capitalists are willing to take a trip from one an hour and a half to the province to see his movie in the cinema. There are not many filmmakers for whom the public is willing, even happy, to flatten their innkeepers in an armchair for three and a half hours. There are not many filmmakers who have a place in this world of intellectual properties reused to satiety. In these circumstances, that The Irishman exists is a miracle, and that moviegoers alter their routines to see a Martin Scorsese movie in the cinema is a moving mobilization that industry captains should take note of.
However, this mobilization could be a simple anecdote, and we are surprised again that apart from all this, with forgiveness of how categorical these words may sound, The Irishman is a great film that ratifies - as if necessary - the genius of Martin Scorsese, watch it now and see why.
First and foremost, this criticism wishes to give the reader peace of mind with one detail: the three and a half hours that The Irishman lasts fly by. The patience of the spectator is never challenged, since from the first frame Scorsese has us under his spell like the Pied Piper of Hamelin.
The narrative format, like his other epic Good Boys or Casino, is an anecdote in charge of the hit truck driver hitman Frank Sheeran. It includes his participation in World War II but mainly the years in which, on the orders of the mafia, he was bodyguard of the trade unionist Jimmy Hoffa, disappeared and declared legally dead. Considering that the years with Hoffa occupy a good part of the bulk of the Irish, we can say that it is version of the film that Danny DeVito made in 1992 with a script by David Mamet.
Steven Zaillian's script penetrates much deeper, not only in the development of his characters but in the way he presents the story. Zaillian looks for the return inserting a narrative line inside another one as if it were a mamushka.
You have old Frank telling you the story from the present as a narrative framework, but within this there is another that takes place during a peculiar car trip in 1975. This dichotomy has a clear intention: Old Frank is not going to say anything to the viewer that they don't want to know, but, and in line with the issue of facing the consequences sooner or later the film proposes, the same narrative betrays Frank and reveals the details of what (as the film understands it) happened to Jimmy Hoffa.
Needless to say, the outbursts of violence appear from the beginning, and the naturalness with which this brotherhood accepts it is the order of the day, which is why the foul words and the brief moments of comedy will not be lacking.
This tremendously complex narrative, with this extensive footage, can be carried by the dynamic camera work of Rodrigo Prieto and the sharp, fluid and invisible montage of the always great Thelma Schoonmaker, watch now and enjoy this masterpiece.
In acting, the three protagonists deliver moving interpretations, not rarely doing something greater to raise an eyebrow. Robert De Niro crosses all records and has a capacity that survives any support: prosthetic or digital. Joe Pesci, returning from retirement, delivers a dignified interpretation as a mob boss.
Likewise, if there is a performance that stands out above the average, and by a small margin with respect to its cast partners, it is Al Pacino in his role as Hoffa. The calm, the sympathy, the fury, the pity, are all there, expelled as by a volcano.