The Irishman

The Irishman ★★★★

I heard you paint houses

Frank Sheeran has aged a lot. Face blank and gaumless as he pretends that his body and mind still have what it takes to stand up against the past and win over the current of time. His ponderous speeches and recollections fall hard but they are not hollow. He thinks about his comrades very often and the very thought of their bodies gradually dissolving and becoming one with the earth unnerves him even more. Frank is nothing less than a ghost wandering through the half-empty, familiar spaces to desperately reconcile with what once was. He keeps the door slightly ajar, with a crevice big enough for his memories to creep through. It all goes by so quickly. Frank’s getting old but his daughters wouldn’t let him. Why did they think he was a bad man when all he did, in fact, was painting houses? Never grow old, Marty. Never, please.

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