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Post by pacinoyes on Nov 27, 2019 19:47:40 GMT
Some little goofy things I loved about the film - although the first one below I'm not sure of exactly where that first pops up but think it's right (some confirmation would be appreciated) * The way Russell is nicknamed McGee - we the audience are never once overtly told this iirc - and it ties into "things not meaning what people think they mean" - this script is amazing in this subtle way you notice it in the dialog in "last car ride" before Hoffa gets in when he asks Frank why he was late * I mentioned this before but there is an editing trick in this film akin to Taxi Driver's one that is a "re-start" - "Listen you f*ckers, you screwheads" that people both times I saw it kind of thought was a mistake and it literally enhances the performance of the actor involved. It's a genius editing choice. * The 2nd time I saw the film I realized there is a religious icon (Virgin Mary) in the opening scene which of course is important and fits this is the tracking shot through the retirement home - I believe this is in the very first frame of the film.
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Post by Viced on Nov 27, 2019 20:19:23 GMT
Also, even though the shot composition is unsurprisingly genius, there were quite a few moments where I was turned off by the digital cinematography. I really wish he stuck with film. Pretty sure the majority of it was shot on film, and everything that wasn't shot on film needed to be digital in order to facilitate the de-aging. I thought it was pretty obvious that Peggy had absolutely nothing to say to her father. Every single glance she gives Frank after the corner store beatdown (and on second watch, you'll notice even more of them) says way more than some meaningless exposition ever would.
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Post by DeepArcher on Nov 27, 2019 20:24:59 GMT
Finally. At long last. Seated in a theater for this. Ready.
Catch y’all on the other side.
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Post by TerryMontana on Nov 27, 2019 21:03:04 GMT
* I mentioned this before but there is an editing trick in this film akin to Taxi Driver's one that is a "re-start" - "Listen you f*ckers, you screwheads" that people both times I saw it kind of thought was a mistake and it literally enhances the performance of the actor involved. It's a genius editing choice. What scene was that exactly? Don't remember noticing it.
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Post by pacinoyes on Nov 27, 2019 21:28:39 GMT
* I mentioned this before but there is an editing trick in this film akin to Taxi Driver's one that is a "re-start" - "Listen you f*ckers, you screwheads" that people both times I saw it kind of thought was a mistake and it literally enhances the performance of the actor involved. It's a genius editing choice. What scene was that exactly? Don't remember noticing it. It is at the very start of De Niro's phone call to Hoffa's wife - it sets the scene off in an odd rhythm and matches the way he also acts himself - a sort of stuttering stop/start effect Just a GOAT level move by GOAT Thelma .........
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chris3
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I just ordered a slice of pumpkin pie...
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Post by chris3 on Nov 27, 2019 21:36:34 GMT
Pretty sure the majority of it was shot on film, and everything that wasn't shot on film needed to be digital in order to facilitate the de-aging. Yeah I saw a noticeable disparity at multiple points throughout the film, much moreso than the nighttime scenes in Wolf. Some of this can also be attributed to my ambivalent feelings towards how Prieto lights the shots, too. The more muted palette of late-era Sheeran looks fine to me, but when he goes for more Richardson-esque bright flourishes in nightclubs scenes etc. I found it to look more like a TV show than a $150 million Hollywood epic. This is of course subjective and in no way killed the film. More of a nitpick. I had the same issues with the cinematography in Twin Peaks: The Return (another masterful late-era retrospective from a giant of the medium). I stand by my criticism of the Peggy subplot. Seriously, how many times do they cut to Peggy staring disapprovingly at her dad throughout the years? That was the whole character! It got to be comical and undercut what should've been a more clearly defined human being. It has nothing to do with exposition. But again I look forward to a rewatch and I might feel differently on a second viewing.
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Post by TerryMontana on Nov 27, 2019 21:43:17 GMT
What scene was that exactly? Don't remember noticing it. It is at the very start of De Niro's phone call to Hoffa's wife - it sets the scene off in an odd rhythm and matches the way he also acts himself - a sort of stuttering stop/start effect Just a GOAT level move by GOAT Thelma ......... I'll be sure to notice it on my second viewing. Best De Niro scene in 3 and a half hours!!
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Post by Viced on Nov 27, 2019 23:00:00 GMT
I stand by my criticism of the Peggy subplot. Seriously, how many times do they cut to Peggy staring disapprovingly at her dad throughout the years? That was the whole character! It got to be comical and undercut what should've been a more clearly defined human being. It has nothing to do with exposition. But again I look forward to a rewatch and I might feel differently on a second viewing. Yeah, I hope you feel differently the second time around. To me, since the film is pretty much Frank's recollection of his entire life, it kind of makes sense that Peggy isn't really fleshed out outside of being a disapproving daughter (who loves Jimmy and is scared of Russell -- the two most important people in Frank's life). It's been 9 years since I've read the book, so maybe I'm forgetting some stuff... but who knows how much Frank even knew about Peggy and her life? He didn't show much interest in her until he was on his way out. I think if there's any character that should've been beefed up, it's Angelo Bruno.
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Post by DeepArcher on Nov 28, 2019 0:43:56 GMT
I'll obviously be writing more on this, but I gotta say: My only flaw with this movie is the total failure to convince me that De Niro and Pacino aren't Italian
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Post by Deleted on Nov 28, 2019 1:34:32 GMT
Those chili dogs looked really good. This is Scorsese's most brutal, pessimistic film. Frank's recollection of the decisions he made throughout his sordid life that led him to where he is at the end - hurt and completely confused and desperate to feel something - is maybe the most upsetting stretch that Scorsese's ever directed. The de-aging thing was hardly noticeable besides the scene where Frank kicks the shopkeeper's ass, but stuff like that doesn't really bother me. Paquin is a great actress, even when she remains mostly wordless. Great, bleak film.
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Post by moonman157 on Nov 28, 2019 2:15:42 GMT
Pretty sure the majority of it was shot on film, and everything that wasn't shot on film needed to be digital in order to facilitate the de-aging. I stand by my criticism of the Peggy subplot. Seriously, how many times do they cut to Peggy staring disapprovingly at her dad throughout the years? That was the whole character! It got to be comical and undercut what should've been a more clearly defined human being. It has nothing to do with exposition. But again I look forward to a rewatch and I might feel differently on a second viewing. The entire movie is set inside De Niro's memories. He never noticed his daughter, he never noticed his family, all he remembers are her disapproving glances without understanding that the moment he abused that grocer is when he lost her forever. She's a silent, brooding character because she's afraid of her father, afraid of what he might do if she speaks up, she understands what he is and she wants no part of it. Paquin plays the character beautifully, her silence towards him never feels less than remarkably expressive of a guilt that he is incapable of feeling. It's a tremendous performance by her and she's given the most important line of dialog in the entire film. Also I feel like if you're referring to that as a "subplot" then you likely should check it out again. It's the first or second most significant emotional core of the film and it's woven in throughout in minute, subtle strategical moves. It's beautifully handled imo.
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Post by DeepArcher on Nov 28, 2019 2:34:43 GMT
I've always been afraid of death.
That's not something I talk about a lot, or ever really, but it's true. And the weird thing is, I'm not particularly sure why. I haven't even known too many people who have died. Certainly no more than normal for someone my age. But for nearly as long as I can remember, I have always been hyper-aware of my own mortality. I vividly remember when I was little that the thought that I would die someday literally kept me up at night. In more recent years, I haven't been obsessed with the prospect of my death so much as I've been tormented by the passing of time. For the sake of context, I do need to clarify that I am only nineteen years old. I am well aware that I am still relatively young. As they say, I "have my whole life ahead of me." But, in some ways, that's the scariest thing to me. I do have all this time left -- but what if I waste it all? It's not like I'm gaining any more of it. Time just slips away to me. Time, to me, feels like an acceleration -- the older I get it, the faster it moves. Constantly, on a daily basis, I am tormented by the feeling that I cannot keep up with that. That I'm not doing enough with my life. That I'm letting it all pass by. And that the end will come long before I'm ready for it, before I've done anything worthwhile with it.
Perhaps I've always been drawn to various forms of art, because it provides comfort from that existential dread. But art -- really good, great art -- also makes us more aware of the truths that we most want to deny, to avoid, to live in ignorance of. The Irishman is a film about our mortality. Where death comes suddenly, indifferently, and for all of us. Where buying your own casket is just like shopping for a new car. If you don't believe that an 83-year-long life can pass by an instant, what Martin Scorsese and Thelma Schoonmaker brilliantly do is present a three-and-a-half-hour epic that flies by in what, at the time, feels like hardly half that time. And this isn't just because every moment of the film is packed with information and entertainment and world-class performing of the highest caliber. This sensation is woven into the very DNA of the film itself. When five, ten, twenty years pass over the course of Frank Sheeran's house-painting career, we hardly notice. The '50s become the '60s become the '70s. TV news coverage shows the Kennedy assassination in one scene and Watergate hearings in the next. Sheeran's young daughter is abruptly replaced with a fully-grown Anna Paquin. It's an utterly ruthless disregard for the conventional cinematic language to convey the passing of long periods of time. The Irishman is undoubtedly an epic -- it's broad, expansive, and packed to the brim with history and definitive events. And yet, it feels like it all just flashes before the eyes. Much like Sheeran's life itself. A hell of a lot happens, but nothing is ever dwelt on for longer than it occurs. It's there, and then it's gone.
The Irishman is also largely a film about duality. A contrast between the very public, political life of Jimmy Hoffa as the nation's leading union organizer, and the private, shady, conniving machinations of organized crime that secretly operated to influence the powers at be. Rodrigo Preito develops a striking contrast between the soft whites and yellows of courtrooms and administration buildings with the harsh reds and pinks of the restaurants and clubs that make up the home territory of the mafia -- all of which further contrasts with the inviting blues and greens of family and home that get hardly any screen-time, and the overly sanitized and sterilized monochromatic look of Sheeran's life of old-age. Sheeran himself acts as a mediator between these worlds, in a sense playing both sides, at one point literally compromising the difference between ten and fifteen minutes to an arbitrary twelve and a half. He's passive, nearly absent of any asserted qualities of his own, in strict contrast to the profoundly stubborn nature of those around him. Instead, he's nimble, always navigating and maneuvering. Sheeran becomes a man so full of history precisely because this passivity allows him to experience so much, to pass between different worlds that most people stay within.
At times, Sheeran is companion to Russell Bufalino, the Philadelphia mob boss who takes Sheeran under his wing and first truly introduces him to the American criminal underbelly. The two develop a deep friendship -- one that magically invokes the nostalgia of an entire history between Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci as actors. Pesci, as Bufalino, is the one always in control, though, so subtly icy and cold that even to those closest to him he is utterly terrifying, an always threatening presence that one not dare to cross. Sheeran develops another profound friendship, one that's just as intimate if not more so -- with Al Pacino's Jimmy Hoffa. When these legendary actors are on-screen together here, under Scorsese's eye, it's a far cry from the tension undercut by mutual respect we see in Michael Mann's Heat, which succeeds in using these two men precisely because of how sparingly it shows them together. Instead, Scorsese capitalizes upon the chemistry between these two men to often heartwarming effects. This isn't them intellectually squaring-off over coffee; it's the two of them sitting around in hotel rooms in their silk pajamas as they shoot shit and make fun of Italians. Pacino is a behemoth as Hoffa, watchably loud and delectably hilarious -- and yet the most striking moments might be those intimate ones between just he and De Niro, sharing a laugh.
But by the end, Sheeran's friendships are gone. The family he neglected for so long has totally slipped away. He is left utterly alone. De Niro, in his most profoundly internalized top form, conveys so much sorrow with his eyes alone that we don't need some grand outburst of emotion to understand, to see, to feel the guilt and the regret. He is left in the most terrifying solitude imaginable. The film's final shot is a stroke of pure genius. When the credits started rolling, I slowly began to weep. Much like a lifetime, this saga passes you by, and it's over just like that. It's key to note the presentation of violence in this film in contrast to much of Scorsese's past work. Contrary to what some criticism has expressed, Scorsese has never been one to glamorize violence; but he has, famously, often invigorated it with energy, giving it an almost showman like quality. But in The Irishman, there's no beating Billy Batts to death to the tune of "Atlantis" -- the killings are quick, sudden, and viscerally cruel and bloody and totally indifferent in a way these moments in Scorsese's films normally aren't. The restraint in showing the violence is just as remarkable -- something that an early montage of discarding guns into the river showcases beautifully. Because, why remember all those specific things after so much time? What's the significance of every life you took? What's the significance of your own?
I don't know. Right now, I just want an ice cream sundae.
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Post by DeepArcher on Nov 28, 2019 2:35:46 GMT
Gave this a 4.5 on Letterboxd but I may very well bump that up to a 5 upon further rumination. And I never give something a 5 on a first viewing.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 28, 2019 2:44:02 GMT
But by the end, Sheeran's friendships are gone. The family he neglected for so long has totally slipped away. He is left utterly alone. De Niro, in his most profoundly internalized top form, conveys so much sorrow with his eyes alone that we don't need some grand outburst of emotion to understand, to see, to feel the guilt and the regret. He is left in the most terrifying solitude imaginable. Completely agree with this. Surprised to see the "De Niro as a blank slate didn't work for me" type comments, I thought he did a fantastic job (especially in the harrowing last twenty-five minutes or so of the movie) conveying Frank's deeply puzzled and lonely pain. I think some people might be confusing Frank, a pawn through and through, missing the point of his whole life as De Niro not playing an interesting character.
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Post by JangoB on Nov 28, 2019 2:53:47 GMT
Why are "Goodfellas" and "The Godfather: Part II" being used as points of comparison for this when the right answer is clearly "Once Upon a Time in America" - another XXL-size saga about an aged gangster played by Robert De Niro remembering his life of crime and trying to come to terms with it? But where Leone's masterpiece is operatic and highly emotional (even if its characters are ruthless), Scorsese's latest leaves you with a feeling of necessary chill. This is a most fitting and quite brilliant conclusion to his gangster oeuvre. After diving into the youthful catch-me-if-you-can vigor of the criminal life in "Mean Streets" and "Goodfellas", then followed by the epic opulence of "Casino", it is only perfect that Scorsese finishes it all with a movie this restrained, this reflective and this insistent on creating a feeling of heartache and loneliness. His visual approach is decidedly simpler this time as he's already shown us plenty of brilliant tricks he can do so this time the adrenaline rush of his previous crime efforts takes a step back, leaving central stage to the creeping alienation of Sheeran's way of life, of his choices, of the path he's taken. Not many gangster films deal with that post-crime period of mobsters' lives for the very simple reason that most criminals don't get the chance to make it to that period at all but it's great that "The Irishman" (or indeed "I Heard You Paint Houses" - a title that appears twice in the movie!) not only deals with it but specifically structures its whole entity around it. In fact the structure of the movie is nothing short of terrific especially in how its narrative hook is split between the older-day scenes and the road trip. Of course it's got the traditional depiction of a criminal's ascent in the mafia world that we've seen Scorsese depict before but this time it's a whole new feeling. A lot of that is due to the portrayal of Frank Sheeran and especially to how fantastic De Niro is in the film. I'm glad that the de-aging (which was never a distraction during my viewing experience, I must say) didn't make De Niro look entirely like his younger self - instead it made me see a younger version of this particular character with his hulking physicality and his obedient-dog agreeability. There're fantastic little touches in his performance that I simply adored - one of my favorite moments being the one where he starts telling Pesci and Keitel that he was about to blow up a laundry with a 'ain't this shit funny' smirk on his face, a smirk that is a clear search for appreciation and for kinship with them, and yet he doesn't see any smiles in return. Deep down he probably knows he'll always be a kid to the bosses and yet that primal desire to belong is totally within him, and De Niro portrays that brilliantly. Now, if there is a true kinship he shares, it's with Jimmy Hoffa. Their scenes together with Pacino make for some of the best buddy movie stuff I've seen in a long time - these are of course the only moments where we see Sheeran actually fully commited to someone emotionally and all of them make the inevitable even more painful. Pacino gives an amazing explosive performance in the film but his emotions aren't restricted to mere screaming - it's in how he shows his genuine affection for Sheeran as a friend where he truly shines and grabs your heart. His Hoffa is a man of emotional honesty - he can go off like a bomb but you'll never think he's bullshitting you. And then there's Pesci with his serpent-like quiet danger and yet father-like care for Sheeran which is especially evident in the scenes where he subtly tries to convince the doubting Sheeran that what's about to be done simply has to be done and that it's gonna be all right. When Pesci calls him his 'kid'...there's something special about that. This amazing three-headed Bob-Al-Joe performance beast is a wonder to behold, especially during a time when old masters seem to be taken for granted. Look at them showing us how it's really done. The film's exploration of Sheeran's life and of some crucial points of American history is fascinating stuff to me and while the film runs for 3.5 hours I was honestly a little surprised when it ended because I didn't feel its length. I felt its size for sure and yet its intimacy and focus too but the length never got to me at all. Kudos to pacinoyes for showing appreciation for that wonderful little Schoonmaker gem during the beginning of the phone call - a masterful touch in one of the film's most powerful scenes. Since the picture is more subdued than Scorsese's other mob stuff, those little flourishes leave a real mark when they do happen. As I've said, "The Irishman" is necessarily less emotionally charged than other Scorsese films and as such can sometimes feel a tad dry as a result (mostly in the middle hour). And fans of Scorsese's hurricane-like direction may find themselves missing that a little bit here. Yet it seems vital for this particular film to be done in this particular way. Having been a part of 'all this history' (as Hoffa puts it), Sheeran finds himself pretty much completely alone. His disconnect from his family is smartly depicted in how sparingly his interactions with it are shown. He loved Hoffa more than his own blood and yet he was the one to pull the trigger - an astonishing sequence in its entirety by the way. He keeps trying to find forgiveness in the eyes of God but the words ring hollow and he himself admits that there's no real remorse within him except for Hoffa. And there's nothing left for him except to try and say the words once again to a priest since nobody else will listen. Yet in reply there's silence. Just like when he once laughed about blowing up a laundry and got no laughter in return. That's a great ending for sure. An ending which leaves you with a bit of a sense of emptiness but not in a bad way at all. It's actually necessary. So yeah, it's a great film, no doubt about it. I can't place it among my VERY favorite Scorsese films just yet - I'm curious what time will do to it in my mind - but it's amazing nonetheless. This should definitely be the final gangster movie he does. After all, what's there to say after it?
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Post by Tommen_Saperstein on Nov 28, 2019 3:10:32 GMT
had to pause it to get some chow because those chili dogs made me hungry!
I actually liked it a lot once it settled into its groove by the 60-minute mark. The first hour moves so fast and is so chalk full of exposition I was barely able to keep up and it was really grueling, but once the tempo slowed down in the second/third acts I was able to sit back and appreciate the interpersonal dynamics at play between these three old pros largely free of voiceover narration and non-linnear shenanigans. De Niro surprised me (that phone call with Jo Hoffa better be his Oscar clip if he's nominated), Pacino is better than ever (a tall order but he delivered), and I liked Pesci a lot too with his understated menace (proving he doesn't have to be OTT to be scary af). Can't say I'm in a hurry to see it again even though I probably should to get a fuller grasp of everything. No matter what anyone else says, 209 minutes is a long time.
I will say this: for a three and half hour decade-spanning crime epic and knowing how many tech noms this thing is pegged for, I was expecting to notice the set designs and costumes and cinematography A LOT more. It's shocking to me that this is considered a major contender for cinematography for its really standard compositions, and the shots in the first hour are so short (I swear there was a cut every two seconds) that you barely get a chance to take anything in. I remember more about the production design and cinematography in films I watched 10 years ago than I do about this one that I just finished. Visually speaking, this is a far cry from Marty's collabs with Richardson and Ballhaus. A Star Is Born was a more deserving cinematography nominee than this will be.
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Post by JangoB on Nov 28, 2019 3:13:18 GMT
Oh and one of my favorite aspects about the film (and particularly that it's depicted JUST to the extent that it is and no further!) is the way Pesci's Russell, who can't have kids, is annoyed that Peggy doesn't like him and his subtle jealousy towards Hoffa whom she loves. It's not really talked about, it's not made into a plot point and yet it's absolutely there and it informs so much of Pesci's latter period performance, in my view.
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Post by Javi on Nov 28, 2019 5:33:38 GMT
Well I'm speechless. It's either a very great film or a flat out masterpiece (will need a rewatch to decide). Full of contradictions: crepuscular in tone but its rhythms are swift and unforgiving, leading to a conclusion that's inescapable and confrontational and baffling (how did we get here???) but also (masterfully) a respite from the senselessness. (The recognition of deepening encroaching mortality may be a small comfort but it's all we're left with). No glory left--just fear of the priest closing the door, a prelude to the coffin that awaits us. The performances, as my man pacinoyes more or less said in another thread, are both highly individual and a high wire collective achievement... they shape each other, and the joy of watching De Niro, Pacino and Pesci work their magic is in the richness of their interactions. If I had to single one out, however, it'd be Al - he gives an all-time great turn as a consummate showman who can't even conceive of the curtains closing. But they do, for everybody, and it's De Niro as the pawn of time and history who gets us to the core of the film. What small sense of identity he's got is circumstantial (the war, his reputation, the mentors who "made" him what he thinks he is). Take it all away and then... This truly feels like the end of an era and a final throwback to that period when (great) American movies had a profound cultural impact on the world. Also I don't think it's a coincidence that some of the best American movies this decade deal with death in some way, or present America as something ghostlike, distanced from itself ( First Reformed, Inside Llewyn Davis, Meek's Cutoff which works as an anti-myth, Twin Peaks...) Something is coming to a close. And at 77 years old Marty has given us arguably his most daring movie since Taxi Driver... both a glimpse at the end of all things and a warning--a return to the silence of God that filled his Mean Streets.
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Post by DeepArcher on Nov 28, 2019 6:14:17 GMT
Why are "Goodfellas" and "The Godfather: Part II" being used as points of comparison for this when the right answer is clearly "Once Upon a Time in America" - another XXL-size saga about an aged gangster played by Robert De Niro remembering his life of crime and trying to come to terms with it? That was the exact comparison I made when the runtime was announced! And I stand by it even more having seen the film. And there is that beautiful contrast between them -- one is a melancholy tale where we are forced to reckon with the fact that De Niro in his prime will one day age and wither away, the other is a melancholy tale where we watch a now old De Niro artificially rendered to recreate the old days as it all slips away as it has in reality. Brilliant review btw. Love the connection between the silence of Russ and Bruno to Frank's laughter and the silence of God ... you could extend that connection further to the fact that Frank starts to turn to God in his old age because there's no longer anyone left on Earth for him to blindly follow.
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Post by DeepArcher on Nov 28, 2019 6:18:38 GMT
had to pause it to get some chow because those chili dogs made me hungry! You bring attention to an excellent point about this that is already going criminally under-discussed ... not only is this my favorite movie since Phantom Thread, it's also without a doubt the best food movie since Phantom Thread. Also, it seems we had exact opposite experiences with the runtime. The only part where I "felt the length" was before Pacino showed up, largely because I kept thinking to myself, "Geez, we're already this far in and no Pacino yet. Just how long is this thing?" Then once Pacino shows up there's so much electricity to the entire thing it basically just felt like one extended scene until the end to me.
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Post by Pavan on Nov 28, 2019 6:42:25 GMT
Oh and one of my favorite aspects about the film (and particularly that it's depicted JUST to the extent that it is and no further!) is the way Pesci's Russell, who can't have kids, is annoyed that Peggy doesn't like him and his subtle jealousy towards Hoffa whom she loves. It's not really talked about, it's not made into a plot point and yet it's absolutely there and it informs so much of Pesci's latter period performance, in my view. Jimmy, Frank and Russell are Peggy's 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly'.
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Post by Pavan on Nov 28, 2019 6:48:29 GMT
I also have a problem with the really crisp, sleek way Rodrigo Prieto lights the frame. I think out of all his DPs Prieto is by far the worst. Prieto is Lubezki lite. With the exception of Silence I'm not a fan of his work and he is a step down from Ballhaus and Richardson.
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Post by DeepArcher on Nov 28, 2019 6:55:12 GMT
Thinking about this obsessively for seven hours running after watching it in a theater, then remembering it's already on Netflix for me to revisit my favorite scenes at my leisure all night...
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Post by wallsofjericho on Nov 28, 2019 7:13:28 GMT
I'm going to be gutted if Pacino (and Pesci) loses to Pitt. I loved the movie, De Niro is fantastic too and would absolutely be deserving of a nomination. Can't wait to see it again.
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Post by Good God on Nov 28, 2019 8:32:03 GMT
De Niro is great in the phone call scene and toward the end, but it's his, "I talk to this guy, I talk to him, I talk to him, I talk to him, he don't listen, but he's gotta listen now. I gotta make him listen," that moved me the most.
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