Oscars: Once Upon a Time With The Irishman

Maybe I should have done brackets. I see a pattern here. I’m not going to lie and say it wouldn’t have been more convenient if the two three hour epics didn’t match up, but alas, here we are. I blame Al Pacino for being in both films.

Kudos to The Irishman and Once Upon a Time in Hollywood for making me feel like I need to get to research. I mean, if you can give kudos for bringing attention to serial killers. The subject of serial killers isn’t in my wheelhouse. So for both movies, I was not super well versed in the people being referenced.

In The Irishman, it didn’t matter all that much. Scorsese was using fictionalized versions of real mobsters in The Irishman. The origin of Scorsese’s latest is the contested account of Frank Sheeran’s confessions documented by Charles Brant. Frank Sheeran being a close associate of Jimmy Hoffa and the Bufalino crime family. But that doesn’t really matter either.

When it comes down to it, The Irishman was a homage to all of Scorsese’s other mob films and the actors who have played in them. He missed out on not being able to squeeze in a part for Ray Liotta. He would have had the pantheon of mobster players if he had. I guess he was wrapped up in divorce court trying to get Kylo Ren out of a fix.

The Irishman did not push any boundary except perhaps the patience of the audience. I’m not trying to be harsh here. Think about it. Do you know of anyone who would dedicate three hours to the “Back in my day” ramblings of their own grandfather, let alone a cinematic one? Because that’s what is being asked of the audience in this movie.

You might think I don’t have the staying power for three-hour movies. But, as a kid, I used to watch Gone With The Wind on repeat. To my mother’s dismay. I am also of the generation that poured gobs of money into Titanic’s box office gross. The length wasn’t the problem. Well, not exactly.

De Niro put in another solid performance of the Irish American who falls in deep with the Italians. Pesci plays hardened wise guy Russ Bufalino who sought attention and affection from everyone around him. Pacino pulled out all of the stops combining his trademark raspy, expletive-laden monologues, and “good guy” appeal to create a near manic Hoffa. Sadly, there was not a “Hooah” to be heard, but he did get a chance to cut a rug. Keitel was admittedly underused in this epic but still managed to be a menacing presence throughout the narrative.

There was a lot of hoopla about Anna Paquin’s lack of verbal representation in the film. She has come out saying she was ok with the number of lines, so it seems clear she knew what she was getting herself into. She was there for the silent indictment of mob violence. And, well, she managed to lay down that performance like the champ she is.

But, to focus on just her is a little short-sighted. None of the women were particularly verbose. And when they were, it was likely to be about a smoke break. Geez, it took me quite a few beats to realize Sheeran had gotten a divorce. The wives were just silently exchanged, and the story just kept rambling on. I don’t consider this a spoiler since I’ll probably be helping you catch on to the switch long before I did.

And in this silence, I don’t think we’re meant to find some buried animosity toward women. I think instead, the silence is reflecting the indifference felt by Sheeran. One wife walked out. Another one entered. He picked up a job for a friend. He put a bullet, or several, into said friend’s face. He wasn’t entirely detached mind. He did get choked up once. But ultimately, everything that occurs glances off of Sheeran never fully touching him.

To say there was nary a lesson to be learned in The Irishman would be an understatement. Not all movies need a lesson or moral, but after three hours, you should get something. And audiences don’t really get that with this film.

I think by now, you can tell I did not have the same mixed feelings for The Irishman that I did for Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, which you can peruse at your leisure.

Like The Irishman, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood did not step outside of Tarantino’s usual MO. He, too, brought in his pet actors, sprinkling in a few new faces. Hollywood lacked any sort of lesson and was chock full of emotionally detached or emotionally handicapped characters. Obviously, the violence. And the use of real people and actual events.

Tarantino was using the Manson family/Sharon Tate killing to flesh out the tribulations of the fictionalized Rick Dalton. Or wait, was Rick Dalton used to make this macabre fairytale possible? I’m still not sure. Either way, the combination at least allows for a more engaging storyline.

Actually, in putting Hollywood up against Irishman, I think I’ve shaken some of the uncertainty about this film. It’s not his best and not my favorite. My thoughts on the Bruce Lee treatment are still the same. Totally unnecessary. He could have gotten better comedic relief from Booth wailing on another stunt guy. But even in sticking to all of his trademark moves, there is more of a journey here.

Really, that’s just me saying, if the fairytale train of thought about Sharon Tate was dropped, there would have been loads more time to explore the Dalton-Booth story. That. That was a missed opportunity.