The Irishman is Martin Scorsese’s three-and-a-half-hour epic — a mobster-a-thon, you could say — starring Robert De Niro, Al Pacino, Joe Pesci and a light sprinkling of Harvey Keitel (he’s only in a couple of scenes). It’s based on the true, late-life confession of Mafia hitman Frank ‘The Irishman’ Sheeran and, while gangster flicks can often leave me cold and sometimes baffled — he was dispatched to sleep with the fishes for why? — this is magnificently engrossing. I wasn’t bored for a single minute which, given there are 210 of them, has to be a triumph, surely.
Financed by Netflix to the tune of $160 million, this is hitting cinemas briefly — it wouldn’t be eligible for the Oscars otherwise — before arriving at the channel on 27 November. More bladder-friendly, watching at home, but I beseech you to see it on a big screen and, in preparation, you could always dehydrate from breakfast, as I did.
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