The Irishman 2019 ***

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There was once a discipline and economy to making a feature film; directors complained, but cinema-owners could only show a film so many times a day, and even video-tape cost money. The digital age allows Netflix to give directors carte blanche to make films of any length, and last year’s bloated awards magnet Roma is followed by 219 long minutes of Martin Scorsese’s The Irishman. Perhaps there’s a good film in there trying to get out, but handicapped by a rubber-faced CGI cast and over-familiar material, The Irishman is a limp, late return to happy hunting grounds for Scorsese.

Scorsese has a reputation as a master of cinema; Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, Goodfellas are all electrifying movies. What they have in common in style is the glamorisation of real-life criminal behaviour, and striking busts of violence. As a result, Scorsese has a large following with imitations as brazen as Todd Phillips’ Joker. But when the director tackles other subjects, in comedies like After Hours, or reverent biographies like Kundun, or literary adaptation like The Age of Innocence, or religious drama like Silence, and one thing’s for sure; the audience won’t show up. Bullets through brains is what Scorsese’s audience want, and the Irishman has plenty of that.

Don’t expect the old-school killings of The Godfather here; in The Irishman, executions happen at Grand Theft Auto speed, a flash of a weapon and a fountain of blood. Indeed, Robert DeNiro even looks like a video-game character, his gait awkward at every age he portrays as hit-man Frank Sheeran. We start in the 1950’s, and finish up four decades later, with the changes marked by the roll of history on Frank’s tv screen. Sheeran works his way up to a position serving, and then betraying, his boss, Teamster Jimmy Hoffa, played energetically under melting candle make-up by Al Pacino. Business associates come and go, with Ray Romano, Bobby Cannavale, Jesse Plemons, Jack Huston and others milling around the edges, and even old pals Joe Pesci and Hervey Keitel get in on the act.

As always with Scorsese, the editing is crisp, the cars and clothes are ideal, and there’s some absorbing scenes; a discussion about fish takes on great meaning. Robbie Robertson contributes an ideal score to compel the viewer through any lapses of conversation, while the needle-drops are always on point. But the length is hellish and self-defeating; this is a tv show, not a movie, and Frank’s story is lazily told without discipline. As with Wolf of Wall Street, Scorsese seems happy to find a unreliable story-teller and credulously set everything the say down as gospel truth, offering a narrow view, and a woman or morality-free text. Every time Frank mentions an explosion, the film stops to show it, an effect that comes close to self-parody, although the sight of rows of yellow cabs being dumped in the river is an arresting one. Steven Zallian’s dialogue similarly suffers from clichés; to paraphrase, it’s all ‘Jimmy the Snake taught me one thing; you never wanna cross Blind Willie McF*ck…’ Reflections on family and justice are marginalised by forensic attention to fashion and music.

Those who ignore all Scorsese’s other work will lap up the sudden shootings and the macho badinage of The Irishman, which is based on a book by Charles Brant. But the rubbery faces will put off casual viewers; The Irishman often looks like cut-scenes for a video-game, with mottled skin-tones and slick hairstyles that distract from what the characters say. There would be no place for an expensive dud like The Irishman at the cinemas; even on streaming, it’s likely to vanish quickly as a bizarre footnote to Scorsese’s career.

Carlito’s Way 1994 *****

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Perhaps it’s not as iconic as The Untouchables, but Brian De Palma’s adaptation of Edwin Torres’s book is a cracking crime drama that shows commendable restraint. Al Pacino is Carlito, who emerges from prison determined to go straight, despite his lawyer Kleinfeld (Sean Penn) being a coke-snorting shambles. Carlito starts up his own nightclub, always a good way to avoid criminal temptation, and kicks things off romantically with dancer Gail (Penelope Ann Miller). While the set pieces are memorable, including a pool-room shoot out and the epic finale in Grand Central Station, Carlito’s Way has a vice-like grasp of its central characters that never lets up, and engagement is high throughout. Reviews were rather tepid at the time, but De Palma’s thriller is a great Saturday night popcorn film, big stars, big performances, and an exciting, involving story. Pacino and Penn are both great here, giving proper perfoamnces that don’t bear the traces of excess that both men have indulged elsewhere. The story is bookended with a flash-forward to the final scene, which is a classic trope, but deflects the tension and the power; if you can find someone that hasn’t seen it, skip the opening scene and Carlito’s Way is a blast.

Phil Spector 2013 ***

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Only David Mamet would be so deliberately obtuse as to make a feature-length film about a famous trial and halt the action before the trial even starts; the great playwrights focus is on something other than courtroom melodrama in this television drama about the trail of Phil Spector. Played by Al Pacino in a variety of ever-more outrageous wigs, Mamet positions the notorious producer as a man out of time, ranting and raving about the injustices of the music industry while somehow unaware of the bigger picture of his impending conviction for the murder of Lana Clarkson. Pacino is on top form, matched every inch of the way by Helen Mirren as attorney Linda Kenney Baden, who puts aside her own drowsiness with the flu to consider whether Spector has a case to defend. Mamet balances trail by jury with trial by media, and uncovers some outlandish facts, including the reasons for Spector’s bizarre wigs in this wordy by fascinating production.

Looking For Richard 1996 ***

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Al Pacino’s passion project is a welcome insight into the actor himself, and specifically his passion for Shakespeare’s Richard III. Annoying as it was to see Pacino riffing on Adam Sandler vehicle Jack and Jill by ripping scenes from The Godfather, placing it in the context of a performance of Richard II at least gives a specific context; for a method actor, Pacino has an endearing willingness to send himself up. Looking for Richard alternates his thoughts on the modern day relevance of the play with scenes from an incomplete version of the play. With Pacino as the king, Alec Baldwin as the Duke of Clarence, Winona Ryder as Lady Anne and Kevin Spacey a perfect Earl of Buckingham, the results are surprisingly good, and enough to make it regrettable that Pacino didn’t go the whole hog. His interviews with British actors suggest the American actor felt that the play’s Britishness would prevent him from doing a definitive version, but Looking For Richard suggests Pacino would still have the chops for it.

http://www.amazon.com/Looking-Richard-Al-Pacino/dp/B001LH1B6S/ref=sr_1_1?s=instant-video&ie=UTF8&qid=1393973794&sr=1-1&keywords=looking+for+richard