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The Irishman: Visuals and the Concept of Denial


When Martin Scorsese released The Irishman in 2019, many were extremely excited. After all, it was the most expensive movie he had made. Although much of it can be attributed to the CGI (Computer-Generated Imagery) used to make the then 76-year-old Robert de Niro appear much younger such that he could portray a young Frank Sheeran, the movie certainly lives up to its extravagant budget with a stunning 3-hour timespan, of which I can confidently say that no moment in the movie was boring. The Irishman is a captivating neo-noir film, produced by Martin Scorsese, a legendary director who has made distinguished films such as Goodfellas, Taxi Driver and many more critically acclaimed movies. Unsurprisingly, The Irishman is about as good as a crime movie gets. Unlike many other crime movies chock-full of violence and action scenes, this movie explores the early life of union truck driver Frank Sheeran and his eventual descent into a hitman, or “house-painter”, for the mafia.



Russell Bufalino(Joe Pesci), Frank Sheeran(Robert De Niro) and Jimmy Hoffa(Al Pacino). What a legendary cast.


The movie starts off with large letters, spelling out “I heard you paint houses”. Initially, viewers may wonder what the phrase means, but the next scene makes it extremely apparent. It depicts a man shot by a hitman, with his blood splattering on a wall. It requires no further explanation. While this may not be the most important part of the film, it certainly sets the scene as to what much of the movie would be delving into. The movie generally illustrates Robert de Niro as Frank Sheeran, working as a truck driver for the International Brotherhood of Teamsters, known simply as Teamsters. Frank, seeking to earn more money, meets a contact called Skinny Razor and starts selling sides of beef to him. Eventually, the company accuses Frank of stealing, but union lawyer Bill Bufalino gets the case thrown out after Sheeran refuses to name his customers to the judge. Bill introduces Sheeran to his cousin Russell Bufalino, head of the Northeastern Pennsylvania crime family. Frank begins working for Russell, as well as for the Southern Philadelphia underworld, including contract killing. He keeps his mobster life a secret from the rest of his family, but his daughter, Peggy, becomes increasingly suspicious of his activities after he brutally crushes a shopkeeper’s hand for shoving her. This event somewhat traumatises her as well, as Frank’s sudden display of violence was unnerving to her at the very least. She becomes more distrustful of him over time as she observes him sneaking out late at night, hearing about his tasks for the mafia on the news. Her suspicions grow as she meets Russell because she can see through him. This is especially highlighted when Russell gifts Peggy a pair of skates since she likes to go ice skating, but she ignores him, and it is obvious by the look in her eyes that she knows Russell is the bad influence on her father.

Peggy knows that Russell is not what he seems.


Frank’s growing reputation within the crime families eventually earns him a meeting with the President of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters, Jimmy Hoffa, who has financial ties with the Northeastern Pennsylvania crime family. Hoffa is becoming increasingly stressed as he struggles to deal with rising Teamster member Anthony “Tony Pro” Provenzano as well as mounting pressure by the federal government. After Frank becomes close friends with Hoffa, he is then designated as Hoffa’s chief bodyguard. Peggy starts to grow closer to Hoffa than Frank since she felt afraid of Frank’s violent tendencies. While Hoffa is soon convicted for bribing the jury during his trials, his successor - Fitz, begins giving money to the mafia without any interest, angering Hoffa. After Hoffa is pardoned by Nixon, he vows to regain his power and desires to distance the Teamsters from the crime families. Russell pleads with Frank to convince Hoffa that he should avoid disrespecting fellow Teamster members and the mafia because the mafia dons are becoming increasingly displeased with his behaviour. However, Hoffa refuses, and his murder is ultimately sanctioned, with the designated hitman being none other than Frank himself. Russell told Frank that it had to be that way because he knew Frank would try to save Hoffa instead, resulting in Frank’s own family being put in danger in addition to himself. Reluctantly, Frank lures Hoffa to a set-up where he kills him, and Jimmy is secretly cremated. Frank returns home afterwards, pretending as though nothing happened.


What follows next is one of the most impactful scenes in the movie. When it's been a few days since Hoffa went missing, and it's all over the news, Frank’s family watch the TV in horror. However, Frank seems less than worried, and this immediately raises a red flag for Peggy. The Hoffa's were close family friends. Jimmy and Frank were brothers. Frank's daughter's horrified gaze shifts from the TV over to Frank when he mentions that he should call Jimmy's wife. That's when her gaze throughout the film reaches its most powerful. She sees right through him. Without having uttered more than seven lines of dialogue in the entire 207 minutes of runtime, a visual motif about visuals... pays off. It’s precisely due to her piercing gaze that we know that Peggy has uncovered the truth about Hoffa’s disappearance. The way she scans Frank’s face and body language, coupled with the realisation in her eyes, reveals much more than words can.


Peggy’s eyes and actions are often more revealing than what words can express.


The many instances where Peggy grows suspicious of her father stand out to me in particular throughout the movie. As an adult, Peggy is portrayed by Anna Paquin. However, many critics questioned the director, Scorsese’s casting of her in The Irishman. Martin Scorsese received a lot of heat for giving her so few lines, considering how impactful her role was. However, I posit the argument that this decision is what makes The Irishman and Paquin’s casting shine brilliantly. While she does not speak much, Paquin’s facial expressions are all we need to see to know what Peggy is thinking.


She asks why Frank hasn't called yet. She knows why. We know why. Frank knows why.


This ultimately showcases how not speaking can sometimes be way more powerful than just uttering a few lines in the script, which is what makes The Irishman so fascinating. It also justifies Scorsese’s casting of Paquin, owing to the fact that only such a talented actress would be able to pull off such genuine reactions and expressions with such raw emotions.


And that's all that happens to take us to this scene.


Frank goes upstairs and sits down with the phone to call Jimmy Hoffa's wife Jo and console her... reassure her... about how her husband has vanished.


The cinematic genius occurs once Scorsese hands the reins over to his longtime onscreen muse and counterpart, Robert de Niro.


Robert De Niro delivers a performance at this moment that captures something so dark, deep, and horrible and impossible to relate to, trying to comfort the wife of the friend he just murdered coldly. Yet... there it is on screen. You'll never doubt for a moment that it is honest in its depiction.


De Niro's Sheeran stutters and stumbles through consolation, and once again you can almost tell that Jo Hoffa knows what happened. She tries to ask Frank. Frank tries to answer. They dance awkwardly around the unspeakable and the unthinkable, mainly in false starts and silence.


The raw emotion displayed by Robert De Niro is difficult to express in words, to say the least.


It's something to behold.


This moment was crafted and earned through minimal dialogue, and mostly silent visual storytelling over the course of an entire feature film.


Great stories can be about simple moments. Powerful visuals can be nothing more than a human's face. While The Irishman relies on a hugely expensive de-ageing process to allow De Niro, Pesci, Pacino, and others to play these roles at various ages, none of that matters when it comes to what makes the moment a transcendent example of what movies can do.


They can show you sides of the human experience you'd never imagined. They can put you in the moment with someone as they grapple with life-altering and horrible decisions they felt they had no choice about.


That is the charm of The Irishman.


In the very last moments of The Irishman, a door is left open at Frank’s request. It is the door to his room in the nursing home, where he’s just been praying with his priest. The priest tells him he may not see Frank again until after the Christmas holidays. “It’s Christmas?” Frank asks. It’s a question that implies that Frank is old enough now to not have a firm grasp of what’s happening in the world around him. It’s also yet another exhibit in the body of evidence that tells us that the world is moving on without him.


That body of evidence is presented in the scenes that immediately precede this one and explain what has happened to Frank since he served time in prison for some of his crimes, but not his most serious one: the murder of Hoffa. Frank’s wife has died. So have his attorney and all the former colleagues who have some knowledge about what happened to Hoffa.


Even those who are not dead have basically forgotten about Frank. His daughters rarely visit, and his most beloved child, Peggy, refuses to have anything to do with him. Frank is all alone now and still toggling between owning up to his guilt and acting like that guilt doesn’t exist. When his priest asks if he feels any remorse for the families whose lives were ruined because of the murders Frank committed, he says, “I didn’t know the families.” But seconds later, he asks rhetorically, “What kind of man makes a phone call like that?” The priest doesn’t know what Frank is referring to, but we do: He’s recalling the conversation in which he lied to Hoffa’s distraught wife, Jo, telling her that he had no idea what happened to her husband and that he’s sure everything will be fine. He knows it won’t. Jimmy is dead and Frank is responsible. If he fully gives in to the reality behind that lie and of what he did, he won’t be able to live with himself. Denial has become Frank’s life preserver.


This is also why, in one breath, Frank can say, “Sooner or later everybody put here has a date when he’s gonna go,” and then in another, regarding his decision to be laid to rest in a mausoleum, say, “You’re dead, but it ain’t that final.” He believes in keeping the door open.



All alone.


Frank quite literally does that. As the priest leaves Frank’s room, Frank says, “Don’t shut the door all the way. I don’t like that.” Maybe he does this for practical reasons: because he still thinks Peggy might walk through that door, or because he’s still trained to keep a lookout for any threat. Either way, that comment serves a more symbolic purpose. The last projected image we see of Frank is a view of him through a door ajar, not fully open nor fully closed, a literal manifestation of Frank’s indecisiveness. Through that space, Frank looks small, distant, all by himself.


He’s a man left behind.


The Irishman has certainly proven to be much more than a typical crime film, as the crimes committed by Frank are not the main focus of the movie, but rather Frank’s descent from union truck driver to mob heavyweight, then his eventual fall from grace. The exemplary acting by Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci, Al Pacino and many others have brought out a more intricate meaning to The Irishman. Add that to the performance of Anna Paquin, who said so little, yet so impactful, and The Irishman has become one of the greatest films of the Scorsese universe. Despite the extremely exorbitant budget of the film, the calibre of acting which is further enhanced through the de-ageing technology more than makes up for it. I therefore highly recommend this film to anyone seeking an epic crime neo-noir style movie where not a single minute of runtime is wasted. Exceptional casting and screenplay by Scorsese and the rest of the team.


(All images retrieved from: The Irishman, Netflix)

Written by: Ryan Tan Zhen Xuan (22S75)

Edited by: Hu Chenwei (21A15)


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