By Kael Childers
*This Article Contains Spoilers
Subconsciously, we divide men into two categories: the ordinary and the extraordinary. This idea is often discussed in historical thinking and literature. To what extent may Napoleon Bonaparte enact his will, such that he kills legions of men and enforces his rule over many, yet is looked up to as a leader and figure of pride? Yet if such a man as myself were to kill, not through the process of the law but through my own sense of righteousness, I would surely be cast out of good society and looked down upon. Within each of us lies a desire to be Napoleon; We wish to live by our own moral code and see our gain be praised, and our loss be avenged. But we live in reality- and so we turn to fantasy. Vicariously through film, we can become the gods we so desire to be, and one of the greatest captures of this feeling is the gangster movie.
The mob movie, the gangster flick, the Italian anti- Mafia TV Series, call it what you will. Men wearing what they want, doing what they want, seeing their own desires be rewarded, and putting down those in their way. This idea is easy to romanticize, and good movies can do it so well. They are realistic enough to feel of this world, but fantastical enough to transport us into the shoes of an extraordinary person. You can steal, kill, bang, eat, and do whatever you want, because at the end of the day it’s all about what you want.
Two classic examples of this idea are Goodfellas (Martin Scorsese, 1990) and Casino (Martin Scorsese, 1995). In both stories, young men grow into a life of lies and crime. They get money, drugs, women, and anything they want, and they are not afraid to get their hands dirty. And at the end of this high we have ridden, we are let down spectacularly, when we see our “shadow self” get what he deserves. Arrested. Shot in the head. Ruined. Because after all, this is just a fantasy, right? Martin Scorsese is responsible for many of these power-trip movies, and even outside of his direction, they usually star the same familiar faces, although they posses a variety of roles. Al Pacino, Robert De Niro, and Joe Pesci are the big three actors used to fulfill these gangster archetypes, and we find this exact lineup of men in The Irishman. (Martin Scorsese, 2019)
The mob movie, the gangster flick, the Italian anti- Mafia TV Series, call it what you will. Men wearing what they want, doing what they want, seeing their own desires be rewarded, and putting down those in their way. This idea is easy to romanticize, and good movies can do it so well. They are realistic enough to feel of this world, but fantastical enough to transport us into the shoes of an extraordinary person. You can steal, kill, bang, eat, and do whatever you want, because at the end of the day it’s all about what you want.
Two classic examples of this idea are Goodfellas (Martin Scorsese, 1990) and Casino (Martin Scorsese, 1995). In both stories, young men grow into a life of lies and crime. They get money, drugs, women, and anything they want, and they are not afraid to get their hands dirty. And at the end of this high we have ridden, we are let down spectacularly, when we see our “shadow self” get what he deserves. Arrested. Shot in the head. Ruined. Because after all, this is just a fantasy, right? Martin Scorsese is responsible for many of these power-trip movies, and even outside of his direction, they usually star the same familiar faces, although they posses a variety of roles. Al Pacino, Robert De Niro, and Joe Pesci are the big three actors used to fulfill these gangster archetypes, and we find this exact lineup of men in The Irishman. (Martin Scorsese, 2019)
The Irishman is a 2019 crime drama about an ethnically Irish gangster. The film follows Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro), a man who becomes increasingly involved in a crime-filled life of excitement. It is mostly dialogue, fairly colorless, and a daunting three and a half hours long, with a bold choice to de-age the main actors and have them slowly grow up over the course of the movie. The technology is mostly there, and the result is something that appears to be a genuine lifetime before our very eyes. De Niro partners with Pacino and Pesci, reliving a classic gangster story one last time. Frank Sheeran meets Russel Bufalino (Joe Pesci) and Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino), and together they blow up cars, take out opposing businessmen, eat lavish dinners, and laugh their way through a life of sin. But the film doesn’t truly play the ace up its sleeve until the final act.
After. After a life of crime. After girls and money. After food and drugs. What comes after? What do they get in the end? The pivotal scene in this movie goes as follows: Frank is in a cemetery, looking at the graves of people he used to know. He has an internal monologue revealing his worry about what awaits him after death. “The hardest part of when they bury anybody is when they go in the ground, because it’s so final.” He realizes that no matter how fantastic a life you live, things will always end. There will be a final day. After this, he is asked a few questions by FBI agents. He still smooth-talks like a mobster, dodging the questions and asking for his attorney. “Your attorney is dead,” They respond. He can’t believe it. “What! Who did it!” The agents stare at him for a few moments. “Cancer. It’s all over Mr. Sheeran. Everybody’s dead. They’re all gone.” Frank asks them to leave.
After. After a life of crime. After girls and money. After food and drugs. What comes after? What do they get in the end? The pivotal scene in this movie goes as follows: Frank is in a cemetery, looking at the graves of people he used to know. He has an internal monologue revealing his worry about what awaits him after death. “The hardest part of when they bury anybody is when they go in the ground, because it’s so final.” He realizes that no matter how fantastic a life you live, things will always end. There will be a final day. After this, he is asked a few questions by FBI agents. He still smooth-talks like a mobster, dodging the questions and asking for his attorney. “Your attorney is dead,” They respond. He can’t believe it. “What! Who did it!” The agents stare at him for a few moments. “Cancer. It’s all over Mr. Sheeran. Everybody’s dead. They’re all gone.” Frank asks them to leave.
What did he get after his life of fantasy? He got a retirement home. Frank grows old and ends up in a retirement home with Russell, who with shaky hands and a foggy memory, slowly dies in his wheelchair. What about Frank’s only other friend, Jimmy? He betrayed and killed him, gaining nothing but loneliness. He rode that high and took out anyone in his way, including the people who cared about him the most. But as he comes down with nothing to show for all his misdeeds, he finally begins to comprehend what he has done with his life. In the final moments of the movie, Sheeran sits in a wheelchair in a nursing home, talking to a priest. He has never been honest with this man, but has he ever been honest with anybody? He tells him he isn’t afraid of the end, that he has no regrets, but does he mean it? As the priest stands to leave, Frank asks him, “Please, don’t shut the door all the way”. But this is just another dishonest front. It’s not about finishing that action of closing the door; it’s about finishing that dream and waking up to death. What he really means, but will never have the honesty to say, is “Please, don’t shut the door on my life.” The camera holds on his face for a few moments. His old, soon-to-be-dead face. Where is his bravado? Where is his splendor? The final shot is a peek into this lonely room, at the lonely Frank Sheeran. He will soon be in the ground like everyone else.
Scorsese tells a powerful multi-sided message with this film. Its initial plot is a high that eventually comes down, just like every other gangster movie. But unlike Goodfellas, Casino, The Godfather (Francis Ford Coppola, 1972), Scarface (Brian De Palma, 1983), or any other classic of this genre, there is nothing fantastic about this ending. There is no epic shootout, no melodramatic collapse of an empire. No heroes, no legends, no martyrs. This one is different. This one is brutally real because not only is it a goodbye to the movie, but also to the audience. From Scorsese, from De Niro, and from all these legends. This dream, the fantasy of being a Napoleon, was really just that and nothing more: a fantasy. Live a real life, go after things that are real, and don’t surround yourself with the pleasures of this world. We all will one day be in the ground, and we can’t bring anything with us.
