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https://variety.com/2019/film/reviews/the-irishman-review-martin-scorsese-robert-de-niro-al-pacino-joe-pesci-1203351142/

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Robert de Niro

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Robert De Niro, Al Pacino and Joe Pesci star in Martin Scorsese's monumental, elegiac tale of violence, betrayal, memory and loss.

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'The Irishman' | Anatomy of a Scene

Martin Scorsese narrates a sequence from his film, featuring Robert De Niro, Al Pacino and Joe Pesci.

"I'm Martin Scorsese. And I made the movie, 'The Irishman.'" "It is an honor for me to be here tonight to present this award to my dear friend, Mr. Frank Sheeran." "We're talking about a sequence that takes place in the Latin Casino. You have this wonderful reception for Frank Sheeran, who, really, it's a highlight of his life. All the representatives of the power structure of that part of the country are there to celebrate him, supposedly. And it really is obviously- it's for the union, it's for Hoffa, and it's to support Hoffa over Tony Provenzano. And it's to show his support for Jimmy, and Jimmy's support for Frank." [APPLAUSE] "The highlight of my life. Thank you very- very, very much. And this man, James Riddle Hoffa, is the guy that gets the job done." "Underlying all that, you have the darker elements, which are the men who are in real control of the situation." "Any case, from the deepest part of my heart, I thank you all. Because I don't really deserve all this. But I have bursitis, and I don't deserve that, either." "The structure of the scene is all about the looks. The dialogue doesn't matter until you have this extraordinary moment, I think, between Russell and Frank, where Russell gives Frank this special ring that only three people have. And so for me, the playing of the scene had to be weaving all the sense of a celebration, so to speak, or family gathering, weaving all that around these beats, all strung together by the music: Jerry Vale." "(SINGING) Please-" "It has a very melodramatic tragedy to it. You know, a sweetness and a sadness at the same time." "(SINGING) Say you and your Spanish eyes-" "It's like you go to an event, and there are factions. There are factions. And one faction may be polite, but they're not going to be smiling too much. But they're there. During that time, certain things are said. Looks are given, which are harder than words. But the main look's Anna Paquin. A whole sequence revolves around Anna's- Peggy, that is- picking up of the subtext of what's going on. There is trouble happening. There are problems. And she knows- I mean, particularly even Anna Paquin said, when she did the dancing shot, and she looks over, and she's says, I never saw looks like that from people. She said it chilled her as a person." "Only three people in the world have one of these, and only one of them is Irish. I have one, Angelo has one, and now you have one." "So really it's about the balancing and the editing of the frames, which encompass medium shots- hardly any close-ups. Usually medium to medium close-up, like right below the shoulders up. That entails seeing a little more of the body language rather than giant close-ups. The reason for that is the atmosphere and the environment around them has to be present in the frame, because that affects them. And there you see them in that environment and that atmosphere. If it's too close, I think you objectify it in a way. You push the audience away. But one of the hardest things to do was to get them in the frame in the wide shot, looking down, as Jerry Vale is singing in the background. They're like the gods overlooking this world that they created in a way. There's one shot- from their point of view, with a long lens- of Jimmy walking around and suddenly saying hello to Angelo Russo, played by Harvey Keitel. The reason is a personal reason. And that was that Harvey Keitel and Al Pacino were never in the same frame together in any movie." "Things have gotten that with our friend again. And some people are having serious problems with him. And it's at a point where you're going to have to talk to him and tell him it's what it is." "Once I settled on the size of the frame and the size of the people in the frame, I know that, then, it was really myself and my editor, Thelma, in the editing room, playing with the dialogue and playing with the looks and the pauses- the pauses and the silences." "These are the higher-ups." "Well, he's a higher-up, too. I mean, there's no one-" "Not like this. You know that. Oh, come on, Frank. If they can whack a president, they can whack a president of the union. You know it, and I know it."

Martin Scorsese narrates a sequence from his film, featuring Robert De Niro, Al Pacino and Joe Pesci. Credit Credit... Netflix

The Irishman

NYT Critic's Pick

Directed by Martin Scorsese

Biography, Crime, Drama, History, Thriller

R

3h 29m

Find Tickets

When you purchase a ticket for an independently reviewed film through our site, we earn an affiliate commission.

One of the all-time canonical moments in the work of Martin Scorsese - and, therefore, in all of American cinema - is the two-and-a-half-minute sequence in "Goodfellas" sometimes known as "the Copa shot." In a single, unbroken take, the camera, gliding and swiveling to absorb every detail along the way, follows Henry Hill (played by Ray Liotta) and his sweetheart, Karen (Lorraine Bracco), from Henry's car, through the kitchen and into the hurly-burly of the nightclub, accompanied by the sound of the Crystals singing "Then He Kissed Me." For Henry, an up-and-coming mobster - and also for the viewer, hovering in the limbo between bystander and accomplice - the arrival at the Copa is a pure and potent dose of gangster glamour. Life is good.

The opening shot of " The Irishman," Scorsese's latest long-form crime story (opening Friday in theaters around the country), evokes that earlier scene and turns it inside out. Once again, the camera floats down corridors and around corners accompanied by a radio hit from the past. This time it's the tune "In the Still of the Night" by the Five Satins, and we're in a nursing home. We make our way past doctors and orderlies, our attention finally coming to rest in a quiet, nearly empty room furnished with institutional tables and chairs. An old man is waiting for us. Like Henry Hill, he's going to tell the tale of his unsavory associates and criminal doings - a meandering reminiscence that will touch on some notorious historical episodes, many of them involving murder.

But the mood is different this time around, even if we recognize a few of the faces (more on those faces shortly). The anecdotes, some of which are funny, some horrifying, are edged with a bleak sense of absurdity and shadowed by the rapid onset of oblivion. Death is close at hand. The next three and a half hours will feel like a long, final breath in fading light. The light is managed by the cinematographer, Rodrigo Prieto. The passing of time is handled by the editor, Thelma Schoonmaker. The movie is long and dark: long like a novel by Dostoyevsky or Dreiser, dark like a painting by Rembrandt.

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Joe Pesci, left, and Robert De Niro in Martin Scorsese's latest crime drama. Credit... Niko Tavernise/Netflix

The man, whose name is Frank Sheeran - he's the Irishman we've come to see, and he's played by Robert De Niro - has some information to share about something everyone used to care about, a piece of information that at one time could have gotten him and a lot of other people killed. Actually a lot of people did get killed. One of them might have been James Riddle Hoffa, better known as Jimmy, the former president of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters.

Nowadays, Frank reckons, the name Jimmy Hoffa doesn't mean much anymore. Back in the decades after World War II, though, when organized labor and organized crime were mighty forces in the land, the name stirred fear and admiration in the hearts of politicians, racketeers and ordinary working stiffs. "In the '50s, he was like Elvis," Frank says of the man who was his boss, friend and eventual quarry. "In the '60s he was bigger than the Beatles."

In 1975, Hoffa vanished, and speculation about what happened to him was for many years the stuff of wild conspiracy theories and stand-up-comedy routines. Jack Nicholson played him in a 1992 biopic, written by David Mamet and directed by Danny DeVito.

"The Irishman," with a blustering, showboating, disarmingly tender Al Pacino in the Hoffa role, isn't competing with that movie, or trying to correct the historical record. There was a real Frank Sheeran, who really did claim involvement in Hoffa's demise, though not everyone believes him. Scorsese, working from Steve Zaillian's adaptation of a book by Charles Brandt (called "I Heard You Paint Houses"), assembles a kind of gangland greatest hits. The pun is intended: this is a history of the United States in a few dozen killings. Some are obscure, like the whacking of a guy named Whispers (not to be confused with a different guy named Whispers) who stuck his beak in the wrong birdbath. Others still have a garish tabloid glow, like the shooting of "Crazy Joe" Gallo at Umberto's Clam House in Manhattan. Add the assassination of John F. Kennedy to the list, along with Hoffa's disappearance.

But public affairs and Cosa Nostra chronicles aren't really what this movie is about. Don't get me wrong: there is plenty of grisly, crazy mob lore, blood and tomato sauce, guys with colorful nicknames, episodes that wander away from the main plot. Every so often the screen will freeze and a note will appear supplying the date and manner of a minor character's eventual death. These aren't facts for the final exam, but part of a deeper, sadder lesson that has to do with the inevitability of loss. The loss of life, yes, but also the erosion of meaning that accompanies the fading of experience into memory and memory into nothing.

What interests Scorsese - what he has always cared most about - aren't facts but feelings. Like many of his other films, "The Irishman" spends some time mapping the structures of power and the codes of behavior that govern its particular slice of reality. Frank, making his living as a truck driver in Pennsylvania after serving in World War II, becomes a soldier in the Philadelphia mob, working mostly for a local capo named Russell Bufalino (Joe Pesci). Russell, whose cousin (Ray Romano) is a mob lawyer, connects Frank with Hoffa. Through flush times and lean, the Bay of Pigs and Watergate, the two bosses command Frank's loyalty for the next 20 years or so.

The business of graft, extortion and influence peddling occupies all these men, but "The Irishman" finds its emotional center in the vicissitudes of their friendship. This is Scorsese's least sentimental picture of mob life, and for that reason his most poignant. Hoffa, for all his windy belligerence, is also petty to the point of neurosis. He can't stand it when an upstart Teamster rival, Anthony Provenzano (Stephen Graham), shows up late for a meeting wearing shorts. Hoffa ruthlessly focuses on money and power, unless there's the possibility of an ice cream sundae.

Al Pacino as Jimmy Hoffa, center, flanked by Ray Romano, left, and Robert De Niro in "The Irishman." Credit... Niko Tavernise/Netflix

I don't mean that Pacino and Scorsese make Hoffa lovable, but rather that they render him at human scale. Russell and Frank, big shots in their own right, are small men too. In addition to checking in periodically on Frank in his lonely senescence, the movie repeatedly jumps back to a fateful road trip he and Russell took with their wives (Stephanie Kurtzuba and Kathrine Narducci), a journey as intoxicated with the banality of midcentury, middle-class married life as a John Updike story.

And it's in those quiet moments that the elegiac power of "The Irishman" really takes hold. The forward motion of time leads to only one destination, but movies can make it run backward too. Scorsese has digitally "de-aged" his principal actors, De Niro in particular, and while the effect takes some getting used to, it doesn't take you out of the picture any more than makeup or prosthetics might. De Niro's face looks a little blurry when Frank is supposed to be in his 40s and 50s, but what's more striking is that the body it's attached to seems to belong to the actor's present-day, 76-year-old self.

There is something beautiful and fitting about that incongruity, and also about the presence of so many actors we've seen in other Scorsese films. Harvey Keitel shows up, as does Welker White, who was Henry Hill's babysitter in "Goodfellas" and is Jo Hoffa, Jimmy's wife, here. Pesci, who has been mostly absent from movies for the past 20 years, is the revelation. He's lost the strut and the shtick that used to define (and sometimes undermine) his performances, and does everything with his sad, watchful eyes and his lovely, walnut-shell face. When he and De Niro are onscreen together, you believe in the power of art.

But "The Irishman" isn't sentimental about that, either. It's a gift for cinephiles, to be sure - it will arrive in theaters on Nov. 1, on Netflix Nov. 27 - but also a somber acknowledgment of limitations. Alongside the story of Frank's career runs another one, nearly invisible to him, about the price paid by the women in his life, in particular his daughter Peggy. Peggy (played as a child by Lucy Gallina and then by Anna Paquin), is fond of Hoffa and creeped out by Russell. Though she barely says a word, her silence delivers a damning verdict on her father and his world. It also represents a gesture on Scorsese's part toward some of the stories he hasn't chosen or known how to tell over the years. That's another kind of loss.

To watch this movie, especially in its long, graceful final movement, is to feel a circle closing. This isn't the last film Scorsese will make, or the last film anyone will make about the Mafia in its heyday, but it does arrive at a kind of resting place. Not an easy one, by any means, since what "The Irishman" looks back on is a legacy of violence and waste, of men too hard and mean to be mourned. A monument is a complicated thing. This one is big and solid - and also surprisingly, surpassingly delicate.
The Irishman
Rated R. Everybody dies. Running time: 3 hours 30 minutes.

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'The Irishman' Review: The Mob's Greatest Hits, in a Somber Key (Published 2019)

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Robert De Niro, Al Pacino and Joe Pesci star in Martin Scorsese's monumental, elegiac tale of violence, betrayal, memory and loss. The Irishman NYT Critic's Pick Directed by Martin Scorsese Biography, Crime, Drama, History, Thriller R 3h 29m Find Tickets When you purchase a ticket for an independently reviewed film through our site, we earn an affiliate commission.

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27th september 2019 by netflix

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It was released 2019 November 29th on Netflix

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There is a sense of nostalgia and of letting go about The Irishman, the first and probably the last organised crime film made by Martin Scorsese to star not only his long-time colleagues Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci and Harvey Keitel but also genre icon Al Pacino, whom Scorsese has never previously directed. (The old goodfellas' faces, especially De Niro's, were expensively de-aged by facial-recognition technology for the scenes in which their characters are younger.)

If this is a goodbye, then Scorsese has a little intertextual fun with it. As the eponymous Mob and Teamsters labour union hitman and courier Frank Sheeran (a real-life figure, who died in 2003 aged 83), De Niro gets to destroy a fleet of chequered yellow cabs like the one he drove in Taxi Driver. Shortly before Sheeran shoots mobster Crazy Joe Gallo outside Umberto's Clam House in Little Italy in 1972, Gallo celebrates his birthday at the Copacabana club, a Raging Bull location and site of Goodfellas' weaving Steadicam shot (the most famous Scorsese shot of all), where comic Don Rickles ( Jim Norton) is performing. Had Rickles accepted Gallo's invitation to Umberto's that night, he may never have lived to be directed by Scorsese in Casino in 1995.

It is not Scorsese and Mafia lore that make The Irishman a requiem, however, but the way it morphs from an ebullient, sprawling comedy-drama about the outsider Sheeran's three-decade involvement with La Cosa Nostra into a mournful reflection on friendship, betrayal and the unassuaged guilt men take to their graves. Unconcerned with law and order (Mob life, with its code of duty and loyalty, is a social metaphor for Scorsese, as it is a matter of family dynamics for Francis Ford Coppola in The Godfather movies), the film is a morality play that forces Sheeran to confront an irresolvable conflict of interests. This resonates more than screenwriter Steven Zaillian 's adherence to Sheeran's ambiguously worded confession - made to Charles Brandt, author of I Heard You Paint Houses, the film's source - that he assassinated the powerful former Teamsters boss Jimmy Hoffa (Pacino) on 30 July 1975.

In his mid-thirties, Sheeran is mentored by the Northeastern Pennsylvania Mafia boss Russell Bufalino (Pesci), who recommends him to Hoffa as an enforcer and minder. Hoffa puts a touching level of trust in Sheeran. When they share a hotel suite, Hoffa wears his pyjamas in the fully clothed Sheeran's presence, and leaves his bedroom's sliding doors ajar, a targeted man's gesture of faith in his bodyguard's protectiveness.

Twenty-eight years after he murders Hoffa, Sheeran leaves the door of his care-home room open on his last night alive. The echo is unreadable: is this an old man's habit, a survivor trusting in a protective god, or his inviting in of death? Though the ailing Sheeran won't admit to visiting FBI men that he killed Hoffa - even for the sake of Hoffa's children - or express remorse to a priest, he is clearly haunted by the episode, and especially by having telephoned Hoffa's widow Jo ( Welker White) to tell her that her husband would soon show up.

The film's epic battle is fought not between Hoffa and the mobsters he threatens to expose posthumously if they whack him, but between Sheeran and his conscience, charged as he is by the man he reveres most with the Cain-like murder of a man he admires almost as much. Sheeran gleans at his Teamsters appreciation dinner, where Hoffa makes the keynote speech and presents him with a diamond-encrusted gold watch, that Hoffa is signing his own death warrant by seeking to regain the Teamsters presidency and cut off the Mob. But when Sheeran learns that he must kill him, he is blindsided by being cast as Brutus.

Credit: Courtesy of Netflix

There ensues a long sequence - depicting the two flights and four car rides it takes Sheeran to travel to and from the house where he matter-of-factly shoots Hoffa twice in the back of the head - that elicits some of the most brilliantly opaque acting in De Niro's career. The Michigan countryside beneath the single passenger plane that carries Sheeran to Detroit and the colourless middle-class suburbs he drives through are shot with chilling blandness by Scorsese's cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto (The Wolf of Wall Street, Silence).

Director Martin Scorsese

Cast
Frank Sheeran Robert De Niro
Peggy Sheeran Anna Paquin
Jimmy Hoffa Al Pacino
Russell Bufalino Joe Pesci
Mary Sheeran Aleksa Palladino
Chuckie O'Brien Jesse Plemons
Angelo Bruno Harvey Keitel
Felix 'Skinny Razor' DiTullio Bobby Cannavale
Anthony Provenzano Stephen Graham
Robert F. Kennedy Jack Huston
Anthony Salerno Domenick Lombardozzi
Carrie Bufalino Kathrine Narducci
Bill Bufalino Ray Romano
Joseph 'Crazy Joe' Gallo Sebastian Maniscalco
Allen Dorfman Jake Hoffman
The Manicurist Sharon Pfeiffer
Irene Sheeran Stephanie Kurtzuba

UK release date 1 November 2019 ( limited cinema release), then 29 November 2019 online
Distributor Netflix
► Trailer

Humdrum on the surface, roiling underneath, this passage is The Irishman's extended low-key climax, and it concentrates the film's proposition that Mafia violence is no longer the cinematic domain of Sicilian hoods in black shirts and white ties or Brooklyn wise guys in shiny suits. In The Irishman, it is conducted by weary but efficient middle-aged men who stay in Howard Johnson motels, go bowling with their wives and tell sweet jokes to little girls, as Bufalino does to Peggy Sheeran (played as a child by Lucy Gallina and as an adult by Anna Paquin), the daughter who will become her father's judge.)

Zaillian domesticates Mob patter with gouts of Tarantino-esque dialogue, inspired by Sheeran's reminiscences - about chain-smoking wives, the right dress code for meetings, and what type of fish Chuckie O'Brien delivered to a friend in the car he drove to collect his foster father Hoffa for the hit (which he may not have known about). These conversations cost the film some gravitas.

The overarching irony of The Irishman - tonally close to 1990's Goodfellas - is that it is knowingly based on what may be a cynical if self-shaming fantasy, concocted by Sheeran in his interviews with Brandt to profit his heirs posthumously; Jordan Belfort's orgiastic The Wolf of Wall Street memoir is similarly suspect. There is no documentary evidence that Sheeran, a known drunk, shot Hoffa, Joe Gallo, or Salvatore 'Sally Bugs' Briguglio, or was responsible for any of the numerous hits he claimed. His meticulous description of Hoffa's killing does suggest that he was present and had conspired in it, but Briguglio, hitman for Teamsters official 'Tony Pro' Provenzano, was also there and had the greater motive.

If Sheeran did, in fact, shoot Hoffa, it would indicate that the carnage he participated in as an infantryman in Europe in World War II numbed him psychologically. Scorsese, who shows Sheeran executing two German soldiers, said at a New York Film Festival press conference that Sheeran wasn't "psychotic" (meaning psychopathic), which deepens the mystery of how he could have carried out the hit, unless the comply-or-die ultimatum issued to Hoffa - "It is what it is" - applied to him too.

The Irishman features bravura dolly and travelling shots and the use of intertitles humorously describing how various mobsters met their ends. But it is less stylised than most Scorsese films, and Robbie Robertson's score is subdued, a few period pop songs aside. The mastery here is in Scorsese and editor Thelma Schoonmaker's orchestration of Mob depredations, Hoffa's rousing of the rank and file (in scenes packed with everyday physiognomies worthy of Elia Kazan) and the intimate talks between Sheeran, Bufalino and Hoffa, with Pesci's quiet and subtle performance, a thing of beauty, balancing Pacino's bellicose but charming one.

Sheeran's journey is richly contextualised by the era's political shakeups: John F. Kennedy's election, the Bay of Pigs fiasco, the Cuban missile crisis, Robert Kennedy's hunting of Hoffa, JFK's assassination (which lights up Hoffa's eyes - Pacino's best moment) and Watergate. It's hard to believe that Sheeran delivered arms to the CIA's Howard Hunt in Florida and had a conversation about Hunt's ears, or played a role in the 1963 cataclysm coded 'Dallas', but Scorsese knows that 'printing the legend' tells its own truths.

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The Irishman review: De Niro and Scorsese say goodbye to the goodfellas | Sight & Sound

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There is a sense of nostalgia and of letting go about The Irishman, the first and probably the last organised crime film made by Martin Scorsese to star not only his long-time colleagues Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci and Harvey Keitel but also genre icon Al Pacino, whom Scorsese has never previously directed.

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Martin Scorsese

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The Irishman was distributed by Netflix on the 27th September 2019.
https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/the_irishman

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https://www.empireonline.com/movies/reviews/the-irishman/

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The film was released in cinemas for a limited time on November 1st 2019 and then started streaming on Netflix on November 27, 2019.

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4. https://variety.com/2019/film/reviews/the-irishman-review-martin-scorsese-robert-de-niro-al-pacino-joe-pesci-1203351142/

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The film was released in 2019 and was directed by Martain Scorsese and it was distrabuted by Netflix.

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It's been almost a quarter of a century since Martin Scorsese teamed up with Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci for his epic mob drama Casino. Now, thanks in part to the miracle of digital de-ageing technology, the septuagenarian trio have reunited for another sweeping tale of crime and politics, spanning six decades as it blends the episodic, adrenaline rush of GoodFellas with a rather more contemplative melancholia. Adapted by Gangs of New York co-writer Steven Zaillian from Charles Brandt's book I Heard You Paint Houses, The Irishman chronicles the life and times of Frank Sheeran, a second world war veteran turned hitman whose story intertwines with that of notorious Teamsters head Jimmy Hoffa.

Backed by Netflix, and clocking in at an expansive three-and-a-half hours, this may seem tailor-made for television audiences. Yet the energy with which Scorsese conducts this labyrinthine elegy ensures that it has enough cinematic oomph to propel it through a brief theatrical window before finding its natural home on the small screen on 27 November.

We first meet Frank in his 80s, decrepit and ruminative, his confessional inner monologue turning to outer narration as he looks back on his life with a mixture of pride and regret. With mouth turned down, chin pushed up and blue eyes staring straight ahead, De Niro leads us through Frank's wild years - from the traumatic events of the war (after which "whatever happens, happens") to a chance meeting with Pesci's crime boss Russell Bufalino (described by Frank as "the rest of my life") and an introduction to Hoffa (Al Pacino, in boisterously shouty form). "In the 50s, he was as big as Elvis; in the 60s, he was the Beatles," says Frank of Hoffa, whom he also compares to General Patton. All this is framed within a "peace mission" - a 1975 road trip from Pennsylvania to Michigan, with cigarette breaks and rear-view mirror flashbacks to a past in which blood is photogenically splashed upon walls and faces.

While Frank plays his cards close to his chest, he's surrounded by a rogues' gallery of volatile characters, from Pacino's charismatic superstar union leader, who comes on like a not-so-distant relative of Tony Montana (fuelled by unstoppable self-belief), to Stephen Graham's "Tony Pro", referred to dismissively as "the little guy", but in whose company I felt genuinely unsafe (think Good Fellas ' Tommy DeVito without the jokes).

As for Pesci, he adopts effective understatement throughout, cruising in sotto voce mode through the fog of contested events, his eyes often hidden behind dark glasses that make him resemble a more dangerous version of Karl Lagerfeld.

Several characters are introduced with breathless on-screen headlines, detailing their names and the hour of their deaths - some natural, many more violent. Yet while Zaillian's frequently funny dialogue is full of "take the cannoli"-style bon mots ("You charge a gun; with a knife, you run"), it's notable that Anna Paquin packs a largely non-verbal punch as Frank's increasingly disillusioned daughter, Peggy, whose silence cuts her father to the core.

As the story shuffles the decades like a pack of cards (plaudits to ace editor Thelma Schoonmaker for making the transitions seem entirely organic), production designer Bob Shaw and costume designers Sandy Powell and Christopher Peterson ensure that each vignette has a clear sense of time and place. For all its flash-back/flash-forward tricksiness, The Irishman rarely seems disjointed or thematically fractured. It conjures a kaleidoscopic illusion of depth that only starts to shatter as the pace flags in the final act.

As for the much-debated regenerative facial effects, they are for the most part impressively unobtrusive. It says much that I found De Niro's eerily blue eyes more distracting than any of the VFX work on his face, and was only really aware of the technological trickery in scenes where body movements seemed notably out of synch with a character's years (a middle-aged Frank gingerly kicking a grocery-store owner is a case in point).

An eclectic soundtrack opens and closes with the dreamy doo-wop strains of the Five Satins' hit In the Still of the Night, mixes in the timely sounds of Jackie Gleason and Jerry Vale, and cheekily plants the theme to Jacques Becker's French-Italian crime drama Touchez pas au grisbi in one incidental scene. Meanwhile, Robbie Robertson conjures a theme tune featuring spaghetti harmonica, slow-bowed bass strings and lolloping drums that sounds like it escaped from The Pink Room of David Lynch's Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, perfectly capturing the heady cocktail of sadness, threat and tarnished glamour that runs through the movie.
The Irishman is on Netflix from 27 November and also on theatrical release Topics

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The Irishman review - Scorsese's sweeping tale of crime and politics

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It's been almost a quarter of a century since Martin Scorsese teamed up with Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci for his epic mob drama Casino. Now, thanks in part to the miracle of digital de-ageing technology, the septuagenarian trio have reunited for another sweeping tale of crime and politics, spanning six decades as it blends the episodic, adrenaline rush of GoodFellas with a rather more contemplative melancholia.

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3. The Irishman was released in 2019 and distributed by Netfilx.

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Review for The Irishman.

https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/the-irishman-movie-review-2019

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Actor Robert De Niro

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3. the film was distributed by Netflix originally

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Director martin scorsese

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The film was released in November 2019 and was disturbed by Scorsese’s production company, Sikelia as well as Robert De Niro’s production company, TriBiCa and Netflix

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Al Pacino

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27 September 2019
Netflix
https://www2.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/sight-sound-magazine/reviews-recommendations/irishman-martin-scorsese-robert-de-niro-frank-sheeran-joe-pesci-harvey-keitel-al-pacino-hoffa-assassin-mob-epic

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Once you have discovered the name of the secret movie you must find the following information and post it on the wall:
1. An image or poster from it
2. An image of the director and ONE of the stars
3. Describe when it was released and by which distributor
4. A link to a review of the movie

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TASK 1 - You must find the following items in your house, take a picture of them on your phone / tablet etc and upload them to the padlet wall with a guess to what the movie is that they are a direct reference from!
Pasta

A toy gun

A potatoe

A hat

Paint (any kind)