In the rescue of one of those good books that at the time already triumphed in the United States but was left for domestic Yankee consumption, De Niro indulged in a non-fiction criminal plot to get that hook of the real thing that captivated millions of viewers.
And that De Niro was with Scorsese advancing in a movie about a crime novel of the international underworld of Don winslow…, But of course, the power of this story compiled from life itself, was not even painted for a trend in movies and series marked by criminal plots like Narcos.
After the death of Frank Sheeran, one of the greatest hitmen in the world, the writer Charles Brandt gave himself up to the cause of research on the character and the person. Always with that chronic thirst of someone who finds himself passionate about a story that plunges into the darkest of the underworld, the shadows of our reality.
A year later the book came out I Heard You Paint Houses that gathered everything investigated and launched the readers to the typical musings about a kind of real antihero, a survivor of his own black legend and persecutions that never found his bones until he died peacefully in his bed.
The aspect in which the focus of Scorsese's film is most focused, and that, let's say it all, revitalizes a De Niro that little by little seemed to remain as a residual comedy actor, is the Hoffa case.
Because the irresolution of the murder of this famous and powerful union member, more prone to shady deals than union representation, gave rise to a legend increased by Sheeran's testimony in the book. There it was black on white how the Irishman took care of removing Hoffa from the middle.
But the most curious thing of all is how, as a result of the commission to kill Hoffa, Sheeran offers his special connections with unexpected areas of power, splashing with that sticky feeling of the underworld reaching like a stain extended towards areas of power. Only in this case those ruling spheres are eerily real.
The suspense is served halfway between testimonies, FBI investigations and that openness that the passage of time allows, as a prescription of conscience to recognize very crude truths.
You can now buy the book The Irishman, by Charles Brandt, here: