The Irishman

Critics have pointed out that this beautiful, epic film by Martin Scorsese is rueful and contemplative in comparison to his other mafia movies. Indeed, it is a recollection by an elderly Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro, sporting blue contact lenses) of his days of murderous allegiance to Mafia boss Russell Bufalino, (the extraordinary Joe Pesci). But as stately as it is, it needs to be noted that The Irishman is also enormous fun. It’s three hours and a half long but its pacing is a marvel. It feels like it drags a bit only in the last half hour, which still delivers a deeply resonant coda. The rest of the movie does not zip by — it floats. The movie unfolds in a deliciously riveting pace, thanks to Steven Zaillian’s excellent screenplay, to the masterful editing by Scorsese’s long-time collaborator, the great Thelma Schoonmaker, and to Scorsese’s mastery of cinematic storytelling.

He has a fantastic story to tell, based on a tell-all book by Charles Brandt. Frank Sheeran, a union truck driver, ends up working for Bufalino as a hit man and later bodyguard for Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino). Through this loyal gofer we learn about the way in which Hoffa’s union was involved with the mafia, and much more.

It’s a history lesson from the point of view of the underworld, which as Scorsese has always understood, is the more fun side, at least in the movies. His enduring fondness for these terrible people, he…