I’m six years late to the party. Still, I set aside a massive chunk of time (not a Ken Burns documentary-length chunk that requires you to bathe when you’re done watching) and absorbed The Irishman, a mobster epic starring Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci, and Al Pacino, and directed by Martin Scorsese.

Gee, a mob movie involving De Niro with Scorsese directing it. I wonder if De Niro will constantly spew the F-word while shooting people in the face?

I recently rewatched Goodfellas and Casino, both 1990s classics involving most of the same players. Casino doesn’t get as much praise, but it’s a solid adaptation of Nicholas Pileggi’s true-crime book by the same name (the same way Goodfellas faithfully followed Pileggi’s Wise Guy).

I’ve read no other reviews of The Irishman. I had no idea who Frank Sheeran (an Irish hitman sans the brogue because De Niro would sound absurd trying one) was. Spoiler alert: He kills Jimmy Hoffa. At least he does in the flick. Whether that happened in real life, we’ll never know. Scorsese based the film on a true-crime book called I Hear You Paint Houses by Charles Brandt. Painting houses is a pleasant euphemism for murdering people for money.

The film follows Sheeran’s growth from a working-stiff truck driver to befriending Russell Bufalino, the head of the Scranton Mob. That’s right, Scranton, Pa., had a mob boss. I guess there’s hope for Morristown, N.J. Pretty soon, Sheeran proves his worth as a tough-guy murderer who also befriends Jimmy Hoffa, only to betray him out of loyalty to the mob.

Everybody’s horrible in The Irishman. It’s hard to form attachments to anyone because they’re all scumbags, Hoffa included. And let’s face it, three hours plus of Di Nero dropping the F-bomb and shooting people in the face gets a bit tiresome after a while. He’s sort of a slower version of his Jimmy Conway character from Goodfellas. Been there, done that.

Pesci surprised me the most because, for once, he wasn’t running around screaming F-bombs and murdering people like he did in Goodfellas and Casino. He plays Bufalino, a reserved and respected mob boss, kind of like Paul Sorvino’s character in Goodfellas, but a lot older, slimmer, and shorter. All that was missing from the cast was the late, great Frank Vincent, who portrayed the doomed Billy Batts (Now, go home and get your f***ing shinebox!) in Goodfellas, and who had a part in Casino.

Pacino’s Hoffa too closely mirrors his portrayals of Frank Slade (Scent of a Woman), Big Boy Caprice (Dick Tracy), and Mayor John Pappas (City Hall). I gotta hand it to Pacino, he’s excellent at shouting and waving his arms while exasperated. Hat tip to actor/comedian Kevin Pollak, who 30 years ago described Scent of a Woman as a two-hour movie about a blind Foghorn Leghorn.

There are a few movies out there that you watch until the end whenever you happen upon them while working the remote. Jaws and Goodfellas come to mind. The Irishman? To quote a line from the movie, it is what it is. And you’ll likely keep working the remote.

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