I started this piece with differing ideas. The initial plan was to write about The Irishman as a reflection on Scorsese’s mob filmography, using the comparison between a scene in this and a scene in Goodfellas (which I still write about) as the foundation. I was also recommended to read Melissa Tamminga’s thread on twitter on the subject (which is excellent and will be linked below).
But in the end, I wanted to focus Peggy.
The Placement of The Close-Up
When Henry Hill (Ray Liotta) learns his girlfriend Karen (Lorraine Bracco) was sexually harassed and pushed out of a car in Goodfellas, Henry violently attacks the man.
The tracking shot of him attacking the man starts with him on his side of the street, followed by a pan to the other side of the street, camera holding in a wide composition as Henry knocks him around with a gun, then a pan as he walks back. It’s simple, and the filmmaking does little in terms of complimenting the violence beyond moving slightly when the man being assaulted falls out of frame
The simplicity is important in that it establishes this violence as an everyday thing. Someone being violently assaulted is shot with the same cinematic emphasis as someone turning on a stove. It’s just another thing for Henry Hill.
But what is “just another thing” for Henry (and especially that this is just another thing for Henry) is a revelation for Karen, thus giving us the close-up of her following the assault. The close-up effectively contrasts the wide compositions in the shot that preceded it, and it shows that she absorbed it all. She doesn’t even care about her own earlier assault; when Henry asks if she’s okay, she’s so fixated on the gun he gave her she barely gives him a response. Her narration states “I know there are women like my best friends who would have gotten out of there the minute their boyfriend gave them a gun to hide. But I didn’t. I gotta admit the truth; it turned me on.”
There’s a very similar sequence in The Irishman. Similar context, similar shot with a wide composition, similar close-up. Frank Sheeran (Robert DeNiro) hears his daughter Peggy (Lucy Gallina, later played by Anna Paquin) was shoved by a grocer and takes it out on the grocer. The build up to the violence (Frank walking with Peggy to the store) and the violence itself is all portrayed through a wide composition, the camera again moving minimally to follow the characters when necessary.
We also get a close-up of Peggy. But rather than being at the end of the sequence to emulate Karen’s uninterrupted absorption and approval of the event, it’s in the middle of it, to establish horror. A horror that fragments the violence and establishes how petrified she is of her father. And rather than narration to seal this approval, we get silence.
Peggy’s Comfort
Peggy’s silence (and brief lack thereof) remains essential to her character and relationship with her father throughout the film, particularly when it comes to her relationship with his friends. Her scenes with Frank’s pal Russell Bufalino (Joe Pesci) show clear discomfort; he’s clearly desperate for the approval of his friend’s daughter, attempting to achieve it through cute jokes and nice Christmas presents (also known as bribery). She barely speaks in response to the joke and reluctantly thanks him for one of the gifts.
But things are different with Jimmy. When Jimmy gets an ice cream sundae for Peggy, she happily says thank you. She gives a speech about Jimmy’s union for an assignment, and her voice dominates the classroom.
Jimmy loves Peggy, and Peggy loves Jimmy.
But she remains uncomfortable around her father. As Frank watches the news one morning, a murder he was responsible for is being reported. Watching it over a bowl of cereal, it’s just another work day for Frank. But, once more, this ordinary daily aspect of Frank’s life horrifies his daughter, and the camera pans to a now adult Peggy standing by the kitchen. Knowing her father was responsible for this, she maintains her fearful silence.
Jimmy’s Fate
As the film progresses, tensions rise between Jimmy and other characters, leading to some behind the scenes drama at a dinner being hosted in honor for Frank. Jimmy has ambitions for reclaiming his union, and he’s told he can’t. He’s told “it’s what it is.” He has no say in the matter. He either listens, or he dies.
At this dinner, there’s some nice music being played, and Peggy and Jimmy dance. After all these years, she still trusts and has a soft spot for Jimmy.
But amidst this nice moment, Peggy catches a glimpse of Russ and some men intently discussing as they stare at Jimmy. She doesn’t need to hear their words; their eyes say it all.
Her understated discomfort with her unsettling Uncle Russ clashes with her happy dynamic with Jimmy to form a horrifying realization.
From Fear to Loathing in Philadelphia
The Sheerans all watch the news about the missing Jimmy together. Frank sits in an armchair, and he’s in the same frame as his wife Irene and his other daughters, who are on the couch, when he informs them that he needs to call Jimmy’s wife Jo.
Irene responds with confusion, wondering why he hasn’t already made the call. She’s upset he hadn’t completed a task. An emotional, necessary task, but she responds to the statement with the same annoyance as though he hadn’t washed the dishes.
For Peggy, it’s another revelation.
Peggy is in her own shot separated, from her sisters and mother, and so a shot of Peggy once again fragments Frank’s world.
Paquin speaks her only words in this scene, at first just asking Frank “why”. They’re in medium shots, but in Peggy’s medium shot there’s an out of focus Frank in the foreground. In Frank’s medium shot, Peggy has no presence, and his eye contact is fleeting. She understands him, he doesn’t understand her.
At last, Peggy asks “why haven’t you called Jo?”
Frank’s can’t even maintain the fleeting eye contact anymore.
This same framing appears a little later in the film, at Irene’s funeral. They stand with a small crowd of people, facing the Priest as he speaks. Like before, Peggy’s medium shot has Frank in the out of focus foreground, and Frank is in a medium shot with no Peggy. But unlike before, where Peggy stared directly at Frank, and Frank’s eye contact with Peggy went from fleeting to non-existent, the opposite is true.
Well, almost. While Frank looks directly at his daughter the way she looked at him all those years ago, Peggy’s eye contact is non-existent. It doesn’t go from fleeting to non-existent the way Frank’s did during her dialogue scene. It just doesn’t start.
Frank looking at her without her being in his shot indicates that he misses her but still doesn’t understand her, whereas Peggy understands him all too well and doesn’t give him the time of day.
After a wide shot showing them standing apart at the funeral, the two are never in the same frame again.
Oh, they’re in the same shot. Two of them, actually. But never in the same frame. Frank in his older age tries to speak to her at her job at a bank (it’s essentially an ambush), but the camera pans from a composition of Frank hobbling towards her in his walker to a composition of her walking away.
Same shot, segregated frame.
There’s a shot of Frank as he begs, saying he just wants to talk, followed by a shot of Peggy walking out of his sight. This shot then pans to over Frank’s shoulder.
Same shot, segregated frame.
Peggy’s silence is no longer out of a submissive fear but out of a dominant loathing. There’s an overlap of the two found in discomfort; she’s shaking ever so slightly in the funeral scene, indicating her awareness of his presence. But after having to live silently with his horrific behavior, giving him the bare minimum of responses, she now doesn’t respond to him at all.
She’s gone.
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