Forget Goodfellas, Martin Scorsese's 3-Hour Crime Epic Is A Masterpiece From Start To Finish
Simon Gallagher has worked in movie and TV journalism for more than 17 years. He has written more than 6000 articles and reviews, and edited thousands more. He is an expert in the entertainment industry, particularly in the golden age of screen superheroes. Simon is also a Rotten Tomatoes approved critic.
Martin Scorsese is never too far away from the discussion when the Mount Rushmore of cinematic mastery comes around. The fact that he built such a reputation in as divisive and controversial a space as the gangster genre is even more impressive. But then, as The Godfather trilogy and The Sopranos have also proven, there is an almost operatic and Shakespearean slant to the world of organized crime.
It sounds like a hollow cliché, but Scorsese’s movies have set the blueprint for a lot of what followed in the genre. He defined the modern lexicon of screen violence, complex moral decay, and perversely aspirational crime, and turned a black mirror on American ambition. He set a high benchmark that others, like Tarantino most notably, followed, and he turned his hand to other genres just to prove how capable he was as a multi-disciplinary filmmaker.
In a painfully ironic twist, though, Scorsese’s brilliance also set an astronomically high tide line for his own work. Just as every Christopher Nolan movie is now quietly expected to outdo the one before in every way, Scorsese’s work is constantly compared to his best. And when your best is Goodfellas, it’s a rather unfair comparison to face.
As a result, the monumental reputation of the sordid, intoxicating tale of Ray Liotta’s Henry Hill has actually cast a long shadow over everything he’s made since. And no matter how critically acclaimed it was, his modern gangster epic, The Irishman, has struggled for anything like its due praise since its release, particularly with the discourse around it reductively focused on its de-aging effects. But it’s time to acknowledge that The Irishman deserves to be considered a masterclass in filmmaking in its own right.
The Irishman Is The Opposite Of Goodfellas (& That's Good)
Rather than trying to replicate either Goodfellas or his also-excellent Casino, Scorsese wisely made The Irishman feel completely different. Goodfellas revels in the intoxicating excess of the gangster lifestyle, underlined perfectly by the mesmerizing Copacobana sequence that seduces the audience. Then comes the inevitable crash and accountability. But The Irishman is far more melancholic and deeply tragic, observing the mafia lifestyle from the observation deck of a nursing home, with little of the sparkling romanticism. It’s almost like an elegiac sequel to Goodfellas.
Frank Sheeran’s journey doesn’t reflect the glamorous thrill of gaining power; it is a contemplative study of existence, arguably more aligned with Silence and The Last Temptation of Christ than with his other crime movies. There are fewer explosive, flashy moments, and despite the slower pace, it never loses your attention. Comparing the two is unfair, because despite their shared gangster story, they almost live in different genres entirely. The Irishman could have been Scorsese’s final movie; a self-conscious reflection on the stories he’s told, and the missing prologue for all the tales of vulgar excess and gleeful violence.
The Irishman Works As A Perfect Endpoint Of Scorsese's Gangster Movies
Even if Scorsese returns to mobland in future projects, it still feels like The Irishman is an exercise in creative closure. Viewed alongside Goodfellas, in particular, and with Scorsese bringing back De Niro and Pesci, it feels like closing a circle. It obviously also offered Scorsese the chance to direct Pacino for the first time. That meta-textual element also adds symbolic significance too, and it really is difficult to not see the movie as a sort of grand farewell to an entire Hollywood era.
That goes for The Irishman’s story too, with its sense of finality, and with De Niro’s Frank Sheeran literally looking back over his life, filled with significant figures from organized crime, from the end of it. You might expect something as short and sharp as an execution to bring the curtain down, but The Irishman has no catharsis: it’s almost like a rebuttal to the message lots of people took from Scorsese’s earlier movies. Legends die slowly, and the world moves on.
The final shot of The Irishman's ending, of an old man, abandoned by his family and shorn of his legend, sitting waiting for a visitor who will never come, is a beautiful elegy for Scorsese’s gangster movie era. After decades exploring sin and moral bankruptcy, this is the final, morbid meditation on mortality. And the frivolous excesses of past decades no longer matter. It’s a genius final touch to a great movie that deserves higher praise than it ever seems to get.
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