The Irishman: A Long, Winding Road of Regret and Regicide
Picture this: a three-and-a-half-hour epic where the main character, Frank Sheeran, expertly balances his day job as a truck driver with a side gig as the mafia’s most efficient hitman. It’s like if you combined a road trip movie with Goodfellas, but with less youthfulness and more back pain!
Frank, played by a digitally de-aged Robert De Niro (who looks like he just stepped out of a time machine from the ’70s), is a decorated war veteran who decides that the best way to make a living post-war is to start whacking people for the mob. Because, you know, who wouldn’t want to swap PTSD for PTSD and a life of crime?
As Frank gets deeper into the mafia, he becomes the right-hand man to the infamous Jimmy Hoffa, portrayed by Al Pacino, who is basically a walking, talking, larger-than-life character that could outshine a disco ball. Hoffa is the head of the Teamsters union and has big dreams—mostly involving himself and a lot of shady dealings. Frank’s loyalty to Hoffa is as steadfast as his commitment to not getting caught, which is saying something considering he’s always one step away from a mob hit.
Now, let’s talk about the elephant in the room—or should I say the missing person? Hoffa’s mysterious disappearance is the crux of the film. Spoiler alert: Frank is the one who takes him out! But it’s not just a simple whack; it’s a whole emotional ordeal. You see Frank grappling with his conscience as he realizes that his loyalty might just lead him to betray the man he’s grown to respect. It’s like a really tense episode of Friends where, instead of a coffee shop, you have a mobster’s basement and instead of witty banter, it’s all about betrayal and existential dread.
The film weaves in and out of timelines, showing Frank’s rise and eventual decline, much like a poorly executed diet plan. It’s all fun and games until you start to realize that your friends are disappearing one by one—literally! The film is filled with moments where Frank reflects on his life choices, and you can almost hear the audience collectively whispering, “Well, that escalated quickly.”
In the end, Frank is left alone, haunted by the ghosts of his past—quite literally, as he starts to see all the people he’s wronged. It’s like a mafia version of It’s a Wonderful Life, but instead of angels, he’s greeted by the spirits of his former victims, asking him why he didn’t just take a desk job instead.
The Irishman is a masterclass in storytelling, expertly directed by Martin Scorsese, who clearly decided that if he was going to make another mob movie, he might as well make it long enough to cover every single detail. And let’s be honest, who doesn’t love a good mob story that makes you question your own life choices while you’re at it?
So grab a chair, settle in, and prepare for a cinematic journey that’s as long as a transcontinental flight and just as turbulent. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, and by the end, you’ll be left wondering if you should start a new hobby—like knitting or maybe even a less violent profession.