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Frank Sheeran, a former mob hitman, recounts the story of his life from the quiet of an old people's home, detailing his time as a soldier in World War II, his possible involvement with the death of politician Jimmy Hoffa, and everything in-between.
It’s a superbly acted, thrillingly shot epic mob procedural about violence, betrayal, dishonesty and emotional bankruptcy starring Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci and Al Pacino, set in a time before “toxic masculinity” had been formally diagnosed but when everyone lived with the symptoms.
This immaculately-crafted tale of power, corruption and lies, told from the perspective of an elderly, less-than-reliable narrator reckoning with a lifetime of regrets, speaks to a greater universal truth.
It is not Scorsese and Mafia lore that make The Irishman a requiem, however, but the way it morphs from an ebullient, sprawling comedy-drama about the outsider Sheeran’s three-decade involvement with La Cosa Nostra into a mournful reflection on friendship, betrayal and the unassuaged guilt men take to their graves.