Hoffa

The rise and fall of union leader Jimmy Hoffa (Jack Nicholson) as seen through the eyes of one of his longtime associates (Danny DeVito).

Hoffa should have been directed by Martin Scorsese or Michael Mann. This isn’t a knock on director Danny DeVito, who does a solid job, but rather a wish that either Scorsese or Mann, both of whom would do bio-pics later in their careers, would have picked Jimmy Hoffa’s story in favor of either Howard Hughes or Mohammad Ali respectively, simply because in their hands Hoffa could have been a masterpiece.

Though DeVito, working from David Mamet’s tight script, does a wonderful job recreating the era, and coaxes a powerful, chameleon-like performance out of Jack Nicholson, the film feels distant. We never really enter the story’s world the way we do in Scorsese or Mann’s best pictures; those moments when the score, cinematography, and performances combine to create something larger than the sum of their parts and for a moment, you feel like you’re there with the characters instead of just watching them.

Hoffa’s filled with prime spots for these moments, whether it be the confrontation with the strike busters, the Senate hearings with Robert Kennedy, or even the faux hunting trip with the mafia, but the film just doesn’t deliver the knockout punch it seems capable of throwing.

Some of this is due to the score by David Newman, which feels flat and generic, but responsibility ultimately falls on the director and Newman’s never scored a film by either Scorsese or Mann.

Again, score aside, all this isn’t to say that Hoffa’s a bad film; just that’s could have been great a great one, and, unfortunately, that’s what stays with you.