Scorsese rolls back the years.

For the sake of all our sanities, I think it’s probably best we leave the Scorsese vs Marvel discussion locked up in the internet basement where it belongs. But, before we move on (hopefully) forever, it’s interesting to note that, despite the fervent questioning of the superhero genre’s cinematic legitimacy, the entire discussion has centred on a filmmaker who’s spent much of his career working with a genre that has been just as maligned.

After years in the Hollywood wilderness, the gangster flick was like a genre reborn in the 60s and 70s under the masterful eye of Martin Scorsese and his New Hollywood contemporaries, as classics like The Godfather and Mean Streets rewrote the gangster rule book. Since then, it has been a rich vein of inspiration for Scorsese as he helped elevate a genre that had threatened to fade away altogether.

Despite his long and varied career, the gangster film has long since come to symbolise Scorsese, with its frequent appearances in his filmography charting an ever-evolving approach to cinema and life. It feels entirely fitting, therefore, that a career which began in earnest with the spiky Mean Streets is bookended by the reflective tones of The Irishman. 

Looking back on a life of violence and bloodshed from his nursing home, WWII veteran and former mob hitman Frank “The Irishman“ Sheeran (Robert De Niro) reflects on his time working for Russell Bufalino (Joe Pesci) and the infamous Bufalino crime family. As he recounts on his most prolific hits and his involvement in the disappearance of his life-long friend Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino), it’s clear that the indulgences of Frank’s criminal life have taken a greater toll than he’d ever anticipated.

If Mean Streets was Martin Scorsese’s feisty, wide-eyed calling card to the world and Goodfellas the director’s coming-of-age, then The Irishman neatly rounds things off as a contemplative summation of his life and career. While I’m absolutely certain he has more than enough gas in the tank to go a few more rounds, The Irishman is a beautifully poignant reflection on what has made him the masterful storyteller he is. 

This is Scorsese very much in the twilight of his career, and like Frank breaking the fourth wall of his nursing home to walk us through his ‘colourful’ life, so too does Scorsese. Working as the perfect companion piece to his deeply personal Silence, what starts off very much in brash Goodfellas mode slowly develops into a quietly devastating meditation on life, loss, and consequence.

Exquisite and devastating in equal measure, The Irishman’s themes hang heavily over the film, as we’re taken on a three-and-a-half-hour journey through low-key emotional trauma in a way only Scorsese can. It’s a heavy thematic journey that takes us from bravura-fuelled brotherhood all the way through to the bitter, lonely end with regret and mortality lingering in the air. 

Clocking in at a little under 3.5 hours, The Irishman certainly isn’t in a rush to deliver on said themes, but that’s all part of the Martin Scorsese film-going experience, as he slowly but surely guides you down a long, winding road that’s never particularly smooth, but offers the hardy viewer an immersive cinematic experience like no other.

Certainly not for the faint hearted, the lengthy running time is Scorsese down to a tee, and brings rich rewards for those willing to hop in for the journey. Though expansive, it’s strikingly intimate, as Scorsese wastes little screen time with a well-paced narrative that skips back and forth in time at will, ensuring our attention is always kept, even in its quieter moments.

The plot is a lot to take in at points and does lose itself a little in mob/union politics on occasion, something that may well go over the heads of those with limited contextual knowledge. Although never less than gripping, it’s often tricky to keep up with the second act, as Frank skips back and forth between Hoffa and the mob. With deals done, scores settled, and political plays aplenty, Scorsese clearly assumes a level of familiarity in the story’s history that, without it, can make for a bewildering experience at times.

Holding anyone’s undivided attention over 179 minutes is no mean feat, so, despite the odd narrative drift, it’s astonishing that Scorsese manages to keep us locked from start to finish. In the sprawling tradition of The Godfather, The Irishman is epic in all the right ways, spanning decades, generations, and seismic moments in history across its expansive time frame.

In relatively subdued form, Scorsese is nonetheless on top of his game and in complete control of his craft, as he moulds together great swathes of his past to create a spectacular career retrospective that stands up to anything in his back catalogue. Like Silence, the tricks and flair that have become part of Martin Scorsese’s DNA are largely muted, giving way to a more measured filmmaking approach that may not have the playfulness of the director’s early years, but is nonetheless a sight to behold.

As a classic trick in the Scorsese filmmaking playbook, Frank’s narration will bring back instant memories of everything from Goodfellas to The Wolf of Wall Street, while the constant freeze-frames are a trick that’s been part of the director’s repertoire since day one. However, perhaps The Irishman’s most prominent piece of visual trickery is one that Scorsese most certainly doesn’t want to draw your attention to. 

Utilising a good portion of the film’s huge $160 million budget and occupying much of the pre-release discourse, The Irishman’s deployment of de-aging technology certainly takes some getting used to as we’re hit with strikingly youthful versions of De Niro, Pacino, and Pesci. At first, this may take you out of the film, yet the tech is so well utilised that it’s not long before it all melts away into the background.

As a guy who doesn’t get out of bed for a film that doesn’t move him, Martin Scorsese only ever does personal, yet, coming hot on the heels of Silence, The Irishman feels like a one-two punch of Scorsese intimacy that gradually wears you down emotionally. Told precisely how the director wants it due to the freedoms afforded to him by Netflix, The Irishman often feels like a Scorsese highlight reel, with elements from much of his back catalogue hinted at somewhere along the line.

Of course, you’ve got more than a little dose of Goodfellas and Casino in there, but The Irishman makes sure to take in Scorsese’s more pensive side, as echoes of The Last Temptation of Christ, Bring Out the Dead, and of course Silence can be felt throughout the film. In the best possible sense, The Irishman is the greatest hits work of a master at the tail end of a long and fruitful career, one that has found him searching, almost obsessively, for both the sacred and profane in life.

There’s not an awful lot about The Irishman that feels wholly original, as we’ve seen the film’s constituent parts many times across Scorsese’s career, yet we’ve rarely, if ever, witnessed the various facets of his filmography sewn together quite so elegantly. As we work our way through the bravura of Frank’s early years with the mob, things slowly but surely spiral, before we’re hit with the mournful pain of the final act.

Appearing like an entirely different film, The Irishman’s finale feels as moving as anything Scorsese has ever done, but perhaps not in the ways you’d expect. As the tone and the score all switch to full contemplation mode, with Frank growing old before our eyes and those around him fading away, the character is as stone cold as he’s ever been and still clinging onto the past that haunts him, but there’s certainly a sense of regret, if not full-blown remorse, in there somewhere.

Holding this all together, Robert De Niro puts in his finest and most committed performance in years, as he - quite literally - roles back the years with a role that requires him to be everyone from Johnny Boy to Jake LaMotta to Jimmy the Gent, before becoming the old man we meet at the end, looking back at his heinous actions in a way that none of these previous characters were ever able to.

It’s an astonishing performance that’s only enhanced by those around him, most notably Joe Pesci and Al Pacino - two contemporaries of De Niro’s that have all occupied a similar cinematic space over the years, yet have never, until now, shared the same screen. The combination of these acting heavyweights is truly something to behold and there are many moments where you just have to kick back and admire the masterclass that’s unfolding before you.

At any given moment, it’s impossible to decide who the real stand out of the trio is, as they take it in turns to outdo one another. With De Niro as The Irishman’s protagonist and a screen presence for almost the entire film, it’s hard to deny him glory, yet Pesci and Pacino both bring their A-game with performances that are everything we’ve come to expect and then some, proving that they’ve still got what it takes to own the screen even as the years catch up with them.

Around them are an ensemble as strong as anything Scorsese has ever put together, with everyone from Ray Romano and Bobby Cannavale to Stephen Graham and Harvey Keitel giving it all. Unfortunately, as is often the case with a Scorsese offering, fully sketched out female characters are almost non-existent, yet perhaps the film’s most crucial role goes to Anna Paquin as Frank’s daughter, who many not offer much in the way of dialogue, yet nevertheless operates as a subtly affecting emotional anchor for the film. And when she does finally speak, it’s perhaps The Irishman’s most devastating moment.

However, despite the incredible support from the extended cast, this is without a doubt the De Niro, Pacino, and Pesci show as they combine for what feels like one last trip. Whether or not this is actually the final time any of them will share the screen together remains to be seen, but if this is it, I can’t think of a more fitting way to play things out.

Compelling, intoxicating, and achingly melancholy, The Irishman is a latter day Scorsese classic. Starting out like Goodfellas but ending up somewhere nearer Silence, this is the film its director has clearly been working towards his whole career. As a highlight reel of his entire filmography, The Irishman works wonderfully and feels like the perfect final chapter of his great love affair with the gangster genre. Bolstered by three acting legends, The Irishman is a long and winding journey through a fascinating piece of American crime history, and while it certainly has its flaws, the film lands as a solemn, meditative rumination on regret, death, crime, and consequence.