Far from a masterpiece, this three hour meander into overly familiar territory by Martin Scorsese is nothing more than a desperate bid to cling onto old Hollywood patriarchy. Whilst this may seem like a bold claim, it is evident that Scorsese is eager to not only play homage to his career, the stalwarts of his repertoire such as Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci, but he is also bidding a reluctant farewell to a bygone era of male, white dominance.

Frankly, this narrative does not seem to hold the same weight as when its predecessors dominated screens. This is in part due to the fact that this is a story which has been told to death and executed to perfection, by none other than Scorsese himself, so anything afterwards leaves a trite, tired aftertaste. The result being a dated, irrelevant and tediously meagre imitation, which falls short of any substance due to its lack of paramount significance.

The Irishman's story is as expected; a well meaning working man gets in with a mafia boss and starts working his way up the ranks, as a result he starts to suffer the consequences of being involved in such a lifestyle. This has been done countless times within Goodfellas, The Godfather, The Wolf of Wall Street, The Departed, Casino etc. And it goes without saying that every single one of these execute this with a particular perfection that The Irishman cannot capture. Told through a mixture of flashbacks, flash-forwards and present day narration, one would assume that the story would progress, however, these ploys only serve to highlight the flaws which exist even more. The narration by De Niro's main character, Frank, has an air of indolent detachment, and you can almost believe that Scorsese plucked De Niro straight from his own retirement home to narrate.

Throughout there is an unshakeable feeling of stale, trodden water, as you watch the events (or lack thereof) occur. Irksomely for the mammoth run-time, there is very little to non existent character development, which leaves one wondering what exactly it is Scorsese has invested his time and effort into. The script is dry, highly unimaginative and frankly superficial especially since characters come and go quicker than Ricky Gervais' being blacklisted from the Golden Globes. The little Italy setting is trite and irrelevant, and feels as though Fat Tony would've been more threatening or at least entertaining. Not to mention women have virtually no role in this film, apart from a moment where Welker White is noted as being the brains behind Al Pacino's Jimmy Hoffa. Anna Paquin has a silent role as the disapproving, passive daughter of Frank, in all that this is meant to speak volumes, her silence is resoundingly symbolic of an industry notorious for shunning women.

For the first of the film, we follow Frank in a series of flashbacks, depicting his initial meeting with mafia boss, Russel (Joe Pesci) through to his full integration. It is here where we are led to believe that Frank is "young" man, maybe late twenties, if that by the use of CGI de-aging technology. There are plethora of issues with this, including De Niro's detracting soulless eyes, which are severely distracting considering the realism this is supposed to achieve. However, this is indicative of a film completely dead behind the eyes, lacking the heart and soul which made Scorsese a master of a genre he can best now only imitate. The use of this technology highlights a fear to give-way to a changing industry, awoken to the anxieties and issues with multicultural modern society.

Context aside, the technology does not do the actors nor the characters any favours. Exemplified in a scene, which I believe will go down in notoriety for how not to execute dramatic action, whereby De Niro threateningly beats a grocery clerk. However this looks as though it was filmed in slow motion and is unforgivably obvious that this is geriatric body struggling yo act with the gumption of a vengeful, twenty something gangster. It is both insulating and startling that in the age of deep fakes, an acclaimed director has billed this as acceptable. Not only does this undermine his reputation, audience's intelligence but it serves to perpetuate the longevity of a hegemonic power. Scorsese could have used younger actors, fresh actors but instead he has stubbornly stuck with "his" actors, refusing to give up on an industry crumbling and deteriorating, even forcing Pesci out of retirement to work on the film.

Everything feels tired, and stuck in the past, entangled in old Hollywood traditions. Far from playing homage to these great veterans, it has served to undermine them, whether that be De Niro's apathetic performance or Al Pacino's comical over acting. Only Pesci seems to save this, his scenes being the most charismatic of them all. Perhaps this is a sign more than anything else, to let Hollywood patriarchy die.