For some time, I’ve been having this feeling that we’re coming to the end of an era. And the premiere of Martin Scorsese’s film merely confirms my suspicions.    

Don’t you think that there’s very little chatter or talk about The Irishman? What was one of the most eagerly-awaited pictures by movies buffs worldwide, the one that promised to be the movie of the year and the one that would sweep away this year’s Best Picture Oscar.

The public called for the movie to be released in theatres and, now that we’ve been given what we asked for, did we actually go to see it on the big screen, or did we instead prefer the comfort of our homes and Netflix, wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa?

It’s inevitable to compare it with Joker, the most popular superhero movie ever, as we decide who’s got what it takes in the arm-wrestling match between two ways of making and understanding cinema. One that’s mainlined directly into the blood stream and, another, as Frank Sinatra said, in the way of a director who faced it all and who still stood tall.

The Irishman is much more than a gangster movie.

It’s truly admirable how veritable movie buff, Martin Scorsese, masterfully deals out, dosing the action, over three and a half hours in which bladders and resilience are tested to the max as our fear of missing a beat far outweighs our desire to take our eyes off the chessboard-like screen. This is a game for geniuses.

I just can’t take my eyes off our always pensive De Niro, or the always outspoken one Al Pacino, and what a luxury to watch the two chatting away while dressed in pajamas, while their third mainstay remains in discord. Joe Pesci, another unique one-of-a-kind. And then comes the always fantastic Harvey Keitel, in the background in a role that’s always short-lived, not to mention the look of Anna Paquin, who as a colleague said the other day, ain’t too shabby at all.

The Irishman is much more than a gangster movie.

The Irishman is much more than a gangster movie. It’ll never dethrone Coppola’s The Godfather with Marlon Brando, nor will he erase James Cagney or Edward G. Robinson from the maps of our memory. The director of Goodfellas has turned to his favorite Taxi Driver, his Raging Bull, to tell us the story of a murderer who paints walls with the blood of his victims, an unscrupulous type who, in the end, discovers that the worst punishment a man could possible endure as the sun finally begins to set on his life for the last time…, loneliness.

The Irishman is a masterclass in filmmaking narrated with the same precision our protagonist lines up his pistol next to his wristwatch on the bedside table. This is a type of cinema that surely is no longer fashionable, a cinema that finds it more difficult each time to connect with younger audiences distracted by fifty thousand other things, a cinema we hope will not get lost in our memories and becomes diluted like a sachet of sugar in the midst of this ocean of worldly noise.


Conxita Casanovas
Journalist specializing in film, works at RTVE. Accumulate a lot of experience. He has toured the most important festivals and won important prizes but he retains the enthusiasm and passion of the first day. He directs the VADECINE program, which already has 37 seasons on the air in R4 (Sundays from 14 to 15), a space that has a version in Spanish on R5 (Saturday 11.35 in the morning) for all of Spain. Current Director in addition to the BCN FILM FEST.