“In the 50s, he was as big as Elvis in the 60s, he was the Beatles,” says Frank of Hoffa, whom he also compares to General Patton. With mouth turned down, chin pushed up and blue eyes staring straight ahead, De Niro leads us through Frank’s wild years – from the traumatic events of the war (after which “whatever happens, happens”) to a chance meeting with Pesci’s crime boss Russell Bufalino (described by Frank as “the rest of my life”) and an introduction to Hoffa (Al Pacino, in boisterously shouty form). We first meet Frank in his 80s, decrepit and ruminative, his confessional inner monologue turning to outer narration as he looks back on his life with a mixture of pride and regret. Yet the energy with which Scorsese conducts this labyrinthine elegy ensures that it has enough cinematic oomph to propel it through a brief theatrical window before finding its natural home on the small screen on 27 November. Adapted by Gangs of New York co-writer Steven Zaillian from Charles Brandt’s book I Heard You Paint Houses, The Irishman chronicles the life and times of Frank Sheeran, a second world war veteran turned hitman whose story intertwines with that of notorious Teamsters head Jimmy Hoffa.īacked by Netflix, and clocking in at an expansive three-and-a-half hours, this may seem tailor-made for television audiences.

Now, thanks in part to the miracle of digital de-ageing technology, the septuagenarian trio have reunited for another sweeping tale of crime and politics, spanning six decades as it blends the episodic, adrenaline rush of Good Fellas with a rather more contemplative melancholia.

I t’s been almost a quarter of a century since Martin Scorsese teamed up with Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci for his epic mob drama Casino.

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