The Irish: Realistic, Complex, Admirable Scorsese | Culture

Al Pacino, like Jimmy Hoffa, and Robert De Niro, who plays Frank Sheeran, in ‘The Irishman’. In the video, Boyero talks about the movie.

The final testament of that Italian-American crowded with talent called Martin Scorsese on the dark and paradoxically very seductive universe of the Mafia lasts three and a half hours, abusive footage in too many cases. In my case, I would not mind if it was longer, since I feel hypnotized from beginning to end, although at the start I feel puzzled by the digitization of the faces of the protagonists (the affective develops over 40 years, murky and very complex relationship between Don Bufalino, Irish killer Frank Sheeran, and trade unionist Jimmy Hoffa). And the final part, speaking of the sunset, the physical and mental devastation, that which Chandler when speaking of a long goodbye defined with lyricism and lucidity as “sad, lonely and final”, seems to me one of the great outcomes of film history .

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THE IRISH

Address: Martin Scorsese.

Interpreters: Robert De Niro, Al Pacino, Joe Pesci, Stephen Graham.

Genre: thriller. USA, 2019.

Duration: 209 minutes.

And there was glamor and magnetic power, even if it spoke of delectable types, in the admirable portraits that Scorsese had made about various mafias, with originality but also with babbling and tone between sickly and mystical in Bad streets, and with absolute teaching in One of ours , Casino, Gangs of New York and Infiltrates. However, the Irish characters have little fascination for me, described by screenwriter Steven Zaillian and Scorsese with a desire for absolute realism, closer to the grayness of the real world than to the fascinating elements that suit fiction and the great show. Neither their clothes, their houses, their expressiveness or their dialogues have a vocation to dazzle the receiver, they adjust to how they should be and seem, without concessions to the mythification. But it is impossible at any time to disregard them and what is happening to them. Scorsese’s ancestral prodigious camera makes virguerías only when history needs those planes. Like Hitchcock and Keaton, his glorious ancestors in creating visual forms that leave you breathless, he does not claim empty exhibitionism but uses that powerful language to convey emotions. But there is no such baroque and vertigo in most sequences. Terrible things happen, the murders are filmed dry, they must look a lot like reality (Hoffa gives a shout when he feels the impact of the bullets), the conversations between the honorable of the society have twists, keys, silences and looks very eloquent, but never pretend to be bright. Scorsese never plays with the spectator, he does not cheat him to have him hooked. He uses other artistic resources so that he is never absent from what he is seeing and hearing. I speak, as always, in the first person. That is, being a compulsive smoker I do not remember tobacco in those 209 minutes that pass very quickly. No other physiological need related to the bladder and prostate makes me miss a few minutes of this film for something as human as going to the toilet.

Pacino is past at the beginning and in the end it is moving. I can’t stand Robert De Niro in the last decades. Here he is sober, suggestive and perfect in a very difficult character. And every time Joe Pesci appears, that actor capable of expressing many things with minimal gestures, emblem of violence and danger, leaves me amazed. If this film meant Scorsese’s farewell, he will have done it in a big way, at the artistic height of his irreplaceable cinema.

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