People bitched and moaned about how long The Irishman is when it came out. (Wednesday, on the other hand, is more than two hours longer than The Irishman, only has one joke, and no one got mad about that.) Let’s start with a conversation from a movie that has a good forty-five minutes on The Irishman.

Winfield Hancock: Now, you tell me, Professor. Can you recall a story from antiquity where two men who are the best of friends—almost brothers—where these men find themselves by a trick of fate on opposing sides of a great war? Then, on a given day, find themselves facing one another on the very same battlefield?

Joshua Chamberlain: If the Greeks did not tell of such a story, surely the Romans did. But, sir, I think it must be found in the Bible.

Chamberlain was almost right when he said that the Romans told a story like that one. It turns out was the Italians, and they were talking about Frank Sheeran and Jimmy Hoffa, on different sides of a great war. Frank is not in charge of his own fate. He must obey orders from a commanding general, emphasis on commanding; Russell Bufalino gets to say who lives and who dies, or else. Meanwhile, Jimmy is a commander at heart but is short an army to wield against Russell. For years, Frank and Jimmy have been enormously close; Jimmy’s daughter Peggy is much enamored of this entertaining, friendly man who comes around the house. Yet Frank knows that he has sworn his oath to a power much greater than Jimmy Hoffa, and exponentially greater than Frank Sheeran. When the gun fires, there is only person who it will be pointed at, and it will be the ex-Teamster leader, the apple of Bobby Kennedy’s ire, and minister without portfolio. Jimmy can plead his case with Frank when Frank is at his highest, at a grand dinner celebrating him, haha, as a union leader, and it’s to no avail. Russell can make his demand over breakfast cereal, a demand that he knows will break Frank’s heart, and look half-sorry while he does it.

The last thing that Jimmy Hoffa ever does is paint a house. Frank is the man with the brush in his hand, a splatter artist with great experience and skill after all those years doing similar jobs for Russell. Jimmy was not above using Frank for similar work once upon a time. Frank is a little starstruck talking to Jimmy Hoffa on the phone. “There wasn’t nobody in this country who didn’t know Jimmy Hoffa was,” Frank says to us, but now he’s got a private connection with Hoffa, a labor personality back when there was such a thing. After some introduction, Jimmy implies to Frank what he’s calling about. “I heard you paint houses,” he says, blissfully unaware of what will happen to him.