FILM ME IN

In the very premature wake of Martin Scorsese’s The Irishman, one would be correct in assuming that this movie will hands down be the greatest thing known to man and will earn a place in the Hollywood history books if it hasn’t already… well, on paper at least. It sees a return to the gangster pic for our fearless leader, a subject of which he has never failed to dominate, and one that currently includes the people’s champions of modern mobsters -De Niro, Pacino, Keitel, Pesci and a fond welcome to the club for fresh blood Bobby Carnivale, who more than earned his Mafioso stripes by scaring the ever-loving shit out of us in Boardwalk Empire.

Some things simply aren’t worth the wait for impatience has lead me to obtain the very book that this film is based upon. Charles Brandt’s I Heard You Paint Houses could very well be as mundane as the title suggests but in the capable hands of our godfather and his fellow henchmen I would cheerfully spectate throughout as many coats as deemed necessary. But of course in Mafia speak ‘painting houses’ means ‘kill men’ and the title was borrowed from a verbal exchange between union leader Jimmy Hoffa and a hitman dubbed, you guessed it, The Irishman.

Sure it may be a tad early to be raving and speculating on a movie that may not rear its head for years to come, besides there’s every chance our beloved heavy-gritty-hitters could all back-out in the meantime causing the project to topple like a house of cards pulled from the sleeve of Ace Rothstein. Plus, there are other works at Scorsese-headquarters worth foaming about, for instance Devil In The White City boasts American’s version of Jack The Ripper and the construction of a lost city best described as a full-scale Disneyland all in one, an analogy of which Erik Larson married so brilliantly in his book of the same name, and one that has been optioned by none other than muse no. 2, Leonardo DiCaprio himself.

Come what may, if this prolific line-up of bad-ass Italian artists is sustained, The Irishman will be the event to behold for several reasons. Robert De Niro is arguably a fixture of what’s universally considered to be Martin Scorsese’s best work. Save for a TV commercial and the voices of sharks we haven’t enjoyed a feature collaboration since 1991’s remake of Cape Fear, plus the inclusion of a fairly elusive Joe Pesci and original mean-streeter-come-pimp, Harvey Keitel, is a gift within itself. I even foster a tinge of excitement for the fact that they’re now at the age of the Brando-esque Godfather or perhaps those menacing, shadowy string pullers usually referred to as ‘the bosses back home’ in previous Scorsese numbers. So I assume we’ll finally get to the hierarchy peak and marvel at the pioneers in boss-mode, not to mention their obligatory (but this time literal) warts and all performances. But to the casual onlooker, there’s one important element of this release that should overshadow all of the above: Scarface himself is finally in the mix. Better late than never for it’s been reported that Martin Scorsese and Al Pacino have made several attempts at coordinating projects together in the past but sadly nothing has materialised until now. Although we consequently experienced a majestic run of features from the Depalma camp, the ‘what might have been’ between Scorsese and Pacino is one frustrating scenario to ponder.

Notable still and far more fascinating is what lies right before us on-screen. I refer to the unspoken clash of the method acting titans as Pacino and De Niro finally get to showdown in a movie with hopefully enough force to extinguish the memory of Righteous Kill and offer more than the fleeting tease that was Heat. I’m sure the two are amicable partners and share a bond that only a master of such craft could ever fully appreciate, but these consecutive heavy-weights, with an equal share of epic, edgy, progressive and even cringe-worthy titles under their belt surely must harbour a touch of rivalry – maybe even open hostility! I’m convinced that at the height of their acting-chops-awareness (albeit prime) we might potentially have two divas on our hands. We can therefore judge who the championship of character embodiment truly belongs to, particularly under the tutelage of our most competent director. Let the tantrums begin!

Heat at the time of its release boasted a De Niro / Pacino ‘showdown’ which in actuality proved nothing short of infuriating. Three plus hours for a measly two scenes together – A diner scene where both criminal architect and pursuer meet then leave in relative peace without as much as a voice raised and of course the short-lived climactic shoot-out. The fact that the two were rarely in the same frame makes me wonder of the extensive leg work of some very busy stand-ins that day. If it wasn’t for a google image of the two filming the diner scene with director Michael Mann, I’d swear the rare shot of them both in the same frame was film trickery. Mann has stated that the scenes were done quickly, adlibbed, no-doubt to serviced the scene blah blah blah… I dare say they interacted exclusively through the director and remained otherwise confined to their allotted corner of the ring. I distinctly remember there was a growing awareness of their remarkable work and legacy in film at the time, when considering each man’s filmography to date, or perhaps my sixteen-year-old self was merely playing catch up, but the thrill of an onscreen spar, particularly as their characters were rivals, was undeniably infectious and brought with it an air of competition.

Let’s be honest – more legendary than the performances would have been their internal telepathic dialogue back in 1995, sniggering remarks that could only be heard by the esteemed mind of a truly great actor – Val Kilmer heard no such telepathic quips at his expense. Pacino casually relating that there could only be one true Godfather on screen post Brando and De Niro quick to remind him who snapped up the academy award. The banter slowly escalating to boiling point as Pacino name-dropped his iconic Tony Montana while De Niro casually rebutted ‘pfft Travis Bickle my little friend’. The seething turned to rage and the metaphorical fists came flying in the form of who was better, sighting Serpico and One Upon a Time In America for effort, until eventually it became a game of who yelled the loudest, the real-estate salesman or the raging bull. It all turned low and ugly by the time Dick Tracy and Frankenstein arrived to the conversation and only Michael Mann would witness the strain and sweaty vain on each man’s brow as the real showdown reached its draw.

Come production time of The Irishman, there will no doubt be whole new plethora of fresh dung to fling at one other. De Niro better tread with caution when channelling his telepathic powers of evil before tearing Pacino to shreds. Likely this will be for Pacino’s steering his talents away from the big screen and settling for the smaller. Pacino’s swift telepathic response will no doubt begin with Bad Grandpa and work backwards all the way to Rocky and Bullwinkle whilst mentally pummelling (or worse – penetrating) his nemesis with his Golden Globe, assuring sloppy-bobby that with the exception of a Lifetime Achievement Award no such honour for a single movie shall be bestowed upon him ever again. Their combined directing efforts will no doubt be refused as far as ammunition goes. And thus the two will be propelled to do their best work on The Irishman making anything we’ve seen from these two actors previously look like the best friend in an amateur student project.

I could be completely wrong, and the two could have buried the hatchet on the set of the eyesore that was Righteous Kill. I’m certainly not going to revisit this film for the sake of writing but here’s what I remember: It had one of those post-Fight Club twists that an uninspired Hollywood was still churning out, the one where the good guy was the bad guy the whole time. I remember the unnecessary twist was awarded to De Niro which probably could have worked with either character. I was strangely reminded of A Philadelphia Story where although Katherine Hepburn clearly should have ended up with James Stewart in a relationship we had sincerely invested in. Cary Grant’s contract stipulated that he ‘gets the girl’, and as I assume he was the marginally bigger star of the three, in an all-too-quick-to-wrap-it-up ending, that’s exactly what Cary Grant does, gets the girl and within seconds – The End title. Unless Pacino has stopped giving a shit, I wonder if De Niro has a clause that ensures he gets the so-bad-it’s-genuinely-unpredictable twist plot a la Cary Grant which officially holds him in slightly higher regard than Pacino (for further proof – Hide And Seek where De Niro was the good guy and the bad guy… again).

There was another thing I remember from Righteous Kill that most certainly deserves a mention because it ruined whatever of the movie was left to salvage. I’ll preface by saying that I was too in awe of the fact that I was really watching Pacino and De Niro to care about much else. In one scene, the two cops – they were cops or detectives or something – need to interview, or in their case interrogate a prisoner who may lead them to the next plot destination. You have a small table with three chairs in an otherwise empty and sterile room within a prison facility. De Niro and Pacino sit side-by-side at the table barking questions at the young inmate who sits opposite, facing them.

My first thought was ‘did the guy playing the prisoner sleep the night before?’ As a nameless actor, how could you possibly sleep knowing that tomorrow you would have to act in a scene with just De Niro, Pacino and your good self. If anything I want to re-watch the film just to identify traces of this guy shitting death. My second thought was – ‘what happened after the director yelled cut?’ I mentioned one hypothetical scenario to my housemate at the time as we watched the DVD. I did my very best De Niro rendition complete with frowning mouth and nodding head and pretended to look straight past the young actor towards the crew proclaiming “you call that acting? You gotta be fucking kidding me, you call that acting?” In the same breath my housemate did his best wild-eyed Pacino shouting “He-Can’t-Act!” We pretty much repeated this throughout the duration of the film whenever extras and small part players invaded the presence of these giants and thus Righteous Kill’s plot faded from memory right before our eyes and failed to fulfil any and all of my most burning expectations.

The Irishman will be a masterpiece and successor to the extraordinary Scorsese gangster efforts of yesteryear. Why not? It’s unfair to think that it won’t be since the filmmaker still directs with the same passion he did when he was young and hungry. Maybe De Niro and Pacino buried the hatchet whilst tearing a young actor limb from limb and this common bond or cruel pastime will be enough for them to do some remarkable work together. And if they do mentally berate one another throughout, who cares, it may even help to service each scene and the holistic view of the whole picture and blah blah blah.