It's as if Oliver Stone took an Ambien and tried to make a Scorsese film. Irishman is an unnecessarily long, fantastical farce that has been wrongly casted. Pacino has his moments early on as Hoffa, and by early I mean an hour into it. He shines, but then turns into Pacino later on. Apart from the book the film was adapted from, there was little to no further research on the era, locations, even proper pronunciations. Everyone sounds like they're from New York. The CGI de-aging failed to account for turkey necks and old man postures. Overall, this film is lazy, cinematic sentimental hogwash. But the Scorcese fanboys will disagree vehemently. He is, after all, their pope.