The Irishman

Although Scorsese’s 2019 film, The Irishman, is a fictional crime story, it is based on Charles Brandt’s book, I Heard You Paint Houses, which incorporates interviews that the lead character, Frank Sheeran, who was in real life a close friend of James Hoffa of the Teamsters labor union, gave. Even so, viewers should not make the assumption that Scorsese’s intent was to represent contestable explanations of historical events, such as the disappearance of Hoffa. Similarly, it cannot be assumed that the actual writers of the four Christian Gospel faith-narratives intended to write historical accounts; in fact, it is perfectly legitimate to adapt historical events in making theological points. In making The Irishman, Scorsese no doubt wanted to present viewers with a problematic sketch of how weak the human conscience can be in certain individuals. In his book on Utilitarianism, John Stuart Mill begins by lamenting that no progress had been made over thousands of years by ethicist philosophers on the phenomenon of human morality. Scorsese’s film supports Mill’s point.

Scorsese brought out the big guns to act the main characters, and his arduous efforts to bring Joe Pesci out of retirement to play Russell Bufalino arguably made the film what it is. To be sure, Robert De Niro as Frank Sheeran and Al Pacino as Jimmy Hoffa also paid off, but the verbal and non-verbal subtlety that Pesci brought to his character provide not only that character, but also the film itself with depth. This is exemplified by Russell’s way of telling Sheeran that the mob had lost patience with Hoffa to the extent that not even pressuring the latter to retire on his Teamsters’ pension would be enough. It never pays to make enemies, especially if they are mobsters. Especially revealing, though not in terms of a historical fact, is the scene in which Pesci has his character lean forward in a chair to whisper to Sheeran, who is skeptical that the mob could kill a man with as much of a public persona as Hoffa: “We didn’t like a president. So, we can not like a head of a (labor) union.” The first sentence intimates what the real-life mistress of President Johnson revealed in a local television interview when she was too old to care about retaliation from anyone—the mob or the U.S. Government: The Giovanni crime-family of Chicago played a role in the assassination of President Kennedy. Pesci delivered the line so well that viewers can easily grasp that the mob could have kept such a secret, and that such a role could indeed have been the case, historically. Sometimes subtly reveals more than simply stating a historical fact can. Supporting the mentality intimated by how Pesci delivered the line is the way in which Sheeran’s conscience, or, rather, lack thereof, is presented.

Although both Russell and Frank lament the unspoken decision that the higher-up mob bosses had made that Hoffa would not be long for this world, Frank, in spite of being a close friend of Hoffa—even socializing his family with Hoffa’s—not only kills Hoffa but calls the widow to express his sorrow and to comfort her. At the end of the film, Frank asks a priest, “What kind of person makes such a call?” Even Sheeran himself is stunned by his own behavior, and he is mystified as to why he feels absolutely no guilt. Evidently, it is not as though he has any ability to will himself to have a conscience, so it could be that he is mentally ill, and this enabled him to transition so easily from killing combatants in World War II in Europe to being a hitman in New York.

A sociopathic mental illness in which a person has no conscience, is a counter-example that qualifies the typical assumption that anyone can will oneself to behave ethically. To an appreciable degree, human society is predicated on the assumption that people can will themselves not to harm other people because doing so would be wrong. Whether by reasoning, moral sentiment, or a traditional cultural norm that is unquestionably followed, a person is typically assumed to be able to be a moral agent, but this is not always the case. To the extent that human society depends on the assumption and it has holes, police action is necessary, even though it typically catches criminals rather than prevents sociopaths from harming innocent victims. Therefore, there is still a hole, in terms of how a city can protect its residents. In other words, do we rely too much on the typical assumption that people are moral agents, at least that everyone can be one?

Downton Abbey

Taking a story from a television series to a movie can present hurdles for screenwriters and directors, especially if they do not fully appreciate the qualitative differences between a movie and a television series. To be sure, well-crafted series such as Downton Abbey, The Crown, Game of Thrones, and House of Cards had narrowed the difference in terms of quality. Even so, a narrative limited to around two hours of play time is different than a narrative meant to be on-going. The financial resources are also more concentrated in the making of a film than an ongoing series (even if it ends after five or six years). I submit, therefore, that Julian Fellowes, the producer and screenwriter of both the Downton series and movie, erred in hiring a director of the series, Michael Engler, to direct the movie. Just because he had directed (just) four episodes of the series does not mean that he knew how to direct a movie. A seasoned movie director would have been a better choice.

That Fellowes did not replace a television director with a movie director is especially glaring given the salience of replacing a less-experienced or "lower" person (or entire staff!) with a more seasoned or "higher" one in the film's narrative. Robert Crawley, the Earl of Grantham, replaces Thomas Barrow, who just a year or so earlier had been promoted butler, with Mr. Carson, the retired seasoned butler, during the royal visit. Moreover, the palace replaces Downton servants with royal servants for the visit. Both moves make sense. 

Firstly, a house’s own cook (or aristocrat) could poison the king. Because one assassination attempt is highlighted in the movie, I’m not sure why Fellowes did not write the rationale into the script. Given that he did not, I’m not sure why he (and the director) did not give Mrs. Patmore, the Downton cook, more of a fit as she confronts a royal cook taking over the Downton kitchen.

Secondly, as the Downton staff is star-struck by the presence of the king and queen, and mistakes or gaffes are more likely if nerves are fraught. Mr. Molesley, for instance, is so nervous that he loses control of himself while serving the dinner table. The close proximity of the king and queen makes that situation so different from the usual that Molesley blurts out a secret and, when he realizes this, he curtsies to the royal couple.

Replacements, therefore, are salient in the film. Why, then, didn’t Julian Fellowes replace a television-series director (of Sex in the City, Six Feet Under, and 30 Rock) with a director having experience directing movies? Fellowes may have been impressed with Engler’s direction of four episodes of Downton Abbey, but being a good television director does not translate into being a seasoned movie director. To the extent that television is common and the movie genre as aristocratic (e.g., The Academy of Motion Pictures and its gold Oscar awards), Fellowes failed to grasp the upside in his replacement-motif in his screenplay. 

Julian Fellowes had written and acted in several films and television series. In fact, he received an Oscar for screenwriting on Gosford Park (2005). As he was no doubt knowledgeable in how writing for a series differs from screenwriting, I was surprised to find the dialogue pattern less extended in the film. As noted above, Mrs. Patmore’s rants are notably missing, especially with her kitchen being taken over by a foreigner. So too is Thomas Barrow’s scheming, which could be expected to make a brief return to protest the Earl of Grantham bringing back Mr. Carson as butler during the visit (only for Mr. Wilson of the palace to replace him!). Even given Carson’s penchant for hierarchy, it is too easy for Wilson—also a servant!—to take Carson down.

Gone too is the sibling rivalry between Lady Edith and Lady Mary—perhaps though because Mary respects her younger sister now that she is of a higher aristocratic rank. Character development and changed relationships since the series left off are good for the overall narrative, including that of the movie. This does not apply, however, to the truncated exchanges between the Dowager Countess (Violet Crowley) and Isobel Merton (mother of Lady Mary’s first husband). Indeed, the platitudes coming out of Violet’s mouth were fewer, less good, and even stilted. One platitude was even about saying platitudes! Had the two reached a meta-level?  I expected better platitudes in the movie than in the series. Moreover, Violet’s vitriol toward her cousin, who is refusing to make the Earl of Grantham her heir, seems muted. Maggie Smith could have shined. Also, Fellowes could have had the Earl of Grantham overhear his mother, the Dowager Countess, telling Lady Mary of the bad medical news, especially given that Violet tells her granddaughter that the fate of Downton Abbey is in her hands, rather than those of her father, Violet’s son, who presumably has done a lackluster job. A similar scenario wherein Robert is astonished at his mother is in the television series at several points.

In the movie, Robert Crowley, the earl, as well as his wife Cora have noticeably few lines and nothing dramatic. A good example is the truncated exchange in which Robert admits he is excited about the royal visit even if saying as much sounds common. His wife Cora, an American, replies that he can get away with making such a common statement to an American. None of the tension between Robert and Cora regarding her being an American exists, unlike in the series and yet nothing accounts for any resolution having occurred. The dialogue between the two is so short it comes off as stilted. You say something, then it’s my turn, rather than a conversation.

In short, the movie comes across as less well made than the series. Fellowes’ decision to use a television director and perhaps not enough work on the script itself were, I submit, problematic especially given that a movie rather than a television series was being made. It is as if someone took the air out of sails in the making of the movie. I expected better writing, especially given that Julian Fellowes had received an Oscar for screenwriting. I have sung in several choirs. I’ve been amazed at how different the actual concerts are from even the dress rehearsals, which are often better. The conductor, singers, and crew are typically so nervous during the concerts that everything seems rushed, and thus must impact the quality of the singing. I know I’ve taken fewer risks during concerts, and my air-flow is more restricted. I don’t “belt it out,” and am consequently less satisfied after a concert. The Downton crew, including the producer, director, screenwriter, and actors, must surely have been excited to make Downton into a movie, even though the screenwriter and many of the actors had worked in movies rather than merely television. In this case, the movie-making was compromised even relative to the television series.

Narrative Catching Up to Technological Eye-Candy: The Return of Substance

Even after the century known for its astonishing technological advances, the human inclination to revert to a childlike state in innocently going overboard with the new toys proffered by still more advances as the twenty-first century gained its own footing. With regard to film, revolutionary special effects based on computer technology far outstripped any directorial investment in depth of story, including the characters. Even before the advent of computer special-effects way back in the 1970s, Charleston Heston starred in Earthquake,  a film worthy of note only for the creation of an “earthquake-like” experience for viewers thanks to surround sound with a lot of base. The narrative was bland and the characters were mere cut-outs.

Years later, as part of a course at a local public-access cable studio, I concocted a music video out of footage the instructor and I had shot of a salsa band playing in-studio. After too many hours in with the computerized editing machine, I proudly emerged with my new Christmas tree only for the instructor, Carlos, to hand the tapes back to me. “Now make one without going over-board on all the bells and whistles,” he wisely directed. I had indeed put in just about everything I could find. Back in the small editing room, I used the fun fades sparingly, as good writers use adjectives.

For years after that course and some experience shooting and directing public-access programming, I would recall the lesson each time I saw yet another film sporting the newest in film-making technology yet otherwise empty of substance. James Cameron was a notable exception, centering Titanic (1997) not just on the obvious—the sinking (by means of a real ship in-studio)—but also on a romance undergirded by substantial character development. The next film to successfully do justice to both technological development and depth of characterization along with a darn good story was Cameron’s own Avatar (2009). That Cameron accomplished such a technological leap in film-making without sacrificing characterization and narrative says something rather unflattering about all the technological eye-candy that has brought with it huge cavities in narrative and characters.

In spite of the release date of Avatar 2 being in 2016, David Cameron has put out a preliminary trailer.

It was not until I saw Gravity (2013) that I discovered a litmus test for determining whether a film-making advance has come at the expense of narrative substance. Sandra Bullock gave such an authentically-emotional performance that at one point I found myself oblivious to the stunning visuals of Earth from orbit. In watching Avatar, I had become so taken with Neytiri’s eye-expressions that the technologically-achieved visuals on Pandora receded into the background. As a criterion, the re-integration of dazzling technologically-derived visuals back into the background as emotional-investment in a character re-assumes its central place in the foreground of the suspension of disbelief can separate the “men from the boys” in terms of film-making.