Pennsylvania, 1956. Frank Sheeran, a war veteran of Irish origin who works as a truck driver, accidentally meets mobster Russell Bufalino. Once Frank becomes his trusted man, Bufalino sends him to Chicago with the task of helping Jimmy Hoffa, a powerful union leader related to organized crime, with whom Frank will maintain a close friendship for nearly twenty years.
I don’t know. It’s certainly beautiful. But it’s three hours (and a half) of old men talking. Talking and talking. Talking and talking. And talking again.
This is it.
It is.
Talking and talking, talking and talking.
Hoffa. I wonder whether he was a real figure. I bet he was.
Once I’ve been reading a book, War and Peace The World, read the first 50 pages, and got such a great nap! I’d never come back finishing that book. Now, I don’t read translations, but I also not read Russian too. So, chances are, I’m never going to finish that book.
This film, it’s like that book. I never called book bad by the way. It’s just so fucking long, so fucking long. So. Fucking. Long.
Okay. The film is good, in its way. I won’t call it a masterpiece for now, only because I’m so tired of it.
Ahh, I’ve never watched Godfather by the way. I should now, shouldn’t I?