Revisiting The Irishman: The price of sin

I must take my words back. A little over two years ago, I was asked to review Martin Scorcese’s The Irishman for this paper, soon after the movie had dropped on Netflix. My thoughts, at the time, were summed up as thus: “From a polished script that keeps one glued to an ensemble cast delivering masterclass performances, there are many reasons to watch The Irishman. In theme and feel, however, it seems more a retread than a return to form for Scorsese.”

‘In theme and feel,’ I must take my words back.

For critics and more importantly audiences, the movie remains divisive in some ways. Its deliberately languid pace hearkens back to what seems another eon in cinema –when films were more meditative, sometimes to the point of indulgence. Clocking in at nearly three-and-a-half hours, there are some who have suggested The Irishman could have worked better as a three or four part miniseries. Perhaps that would have worked better given how modern viewing habits have evolved.

But I come back to the point I want to make. The Irishman did seem to me unremarkable within Scorcese’s body of work when I first viewed it. I did not expect that over the two years that followed, I would keep coming back to it.

There is art and literature that reveals itself at first glance, but sometimes it takes a little more time, experience and context. I now find myself arguing that The Irishman may be up there with Scorcese’s best work, despite what appear its flaws.

If there is one thing that is very well known about Martin Scorcese, it is that he is a deeply religious filmmaker. However, somehow, when it comes to his films, that aspect tends to be overlooked and overshadowed. While movies like The Last Temptation of Christ and Silence are very overtly imbued with Christian themes, the ones that are centred on rather unsavoury protagonists are peppered with them too. From Mean Streets, Goodfellas and Casino, all the way up to the Wolf of Wall Street and The Irishman, linger the themes of sin and penance. It is rather tragic that for many fans of Scorcese, the young male ones especially, characters like Jordan Belfort have become the wrong kind of anti-hero rather than the cautionary tale they were intended as.

The Irishman, the more I dwell upon it, isScorcese at his most religious –in a manner only someone who knows the bulk of their years are behind them is Towards the end of the movie, we find protagonist Frank Sheeran, played by Robert DeNiro, now estranged from his daughters, selecting a coffin for himself. A few scenes prior, we see Frank’s mob mentor Russell Bufalino, old and frail, spend his final years in prison. The film concludes with a Catholic priest giving Frank absolution for his crimes. As the priest leaves, Franks requests him to leave his door ajar.

These final scenes put Frank and his criminal compatriots’ entire lives in perspective. Till this point, Frank justifies his choices and actions with his intention to provide his family a better life – or worse, with a matter of fact “it is what it is.” The latter phrase is what he cites when asked by the mob to take out his friend, the legendary American union activist Jimmy Hoffa, played in the movie by Al Pacino. “It is what it is,” Frank and the other mobsters repeat after failing to convince Hoffa to fall in line with the mafia’s wishes.

By taking the audience all the way to the twilight of Frank’s life and that of his mentor, Scorcese seems to ask: “Was the sin worth it?” If life inevitably ends the same for everyone – with death – then why not try to take a more virtuous path.

A path that may leave you with less in material wealth, but perhaps more in terms of the bonds you make.

For those that gripe with pacing and running length of The Irishman, I would argue now that it too was an apt choice. We need to arrive at the end somewhat exhausted to consider the weight of Scorcese’s suggestion. No matter how big or small, the consequences of our choices will outlive us. Why not leave behind the world in virtue, rather than sin.