The Irishman

The Irishman

For half the year on and off I’ve struggled with existential dread, both fearing an inevitable end and looking for meaning in the present. I’ll watch older films and think to myself “that actor must be dead”, or feel sad seeing their bodies shrivel up and degrade with age. I’ll do the math in my head of my own life in comparison to then and what’s left going forward, silly thoughts like “I only have 3 or so of these left.” I’m not old, I’m only still in the first half of my 20’s but like the Red House Painters song “24”, time just keeps breathing in your face and banging at your door. It’s probably not healthy to evaluate time this way, the present is all that can truly exist to us.

The past is false ideas of memories and the future is often times false predictions. The Irishman deals heavily with time, age, life, and death. It does so in a way that is weirdly peaceful and reassuring than I could have imagined, honestly too difficult to put into words. These aren’t traditionally “good” people but they’re still people who have created many moments in their relatively short period on earth and those moments exist forever in some pocket of time or in this case in the various frames of a motion picture. Maybe my happiest moments can exist in that same sort of space when I’m no longer here to perceive them. These people’s lives were set in stone, but at this moment who knows what the future holds for us.

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