The Irishman

The Irishman

I posted The Martin Scorsese Anagram Conspiracy before I'd seen The Irishman, and my pre-release conclusion about it was MEN SHIT HAIR. I'm so happy to admit that I was wrong! The film actually goes down so smoothly (HI, SHARE MINT?), and was a vivid existential study of the lifespan of a "loyal soldier" (THEIR MAN, ISH) instead of, as I feared, a turgid tableau of machismo (I THRASH 'EM IN), or even worse, a droning "historical epic" with little sense of that history's importance, à la Gangs of New York ("MAN, THE IRISH!").

And while Film Twitter (THE MINI RASH) picks apart the particulars of Scorsese and Netflix and superhero films, I am probably going to watch this another time or two, and be warmly contented that I can spend the holidays watching films, these marvelous art-contraptions (AHH, MAN TRIES) that make me think, and feel, and stare agape in wonder (MIRTH; A SHINE).

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