MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR NO OTHER CHOICE AND THE IRISHMAN AHEAD
In No Other Choice's finale, protagonist Yoo Man-su (Lee Byung-hun) sits in the lavish front yard of Choi Seon-chul (Park Hee-soon), a top candidate for a paper company job that Man-su plans to kill. As they sit outside by a firepit, Seon-chul begins sobbing. "When I moved here," he recalls, "I thought I'd barbecue every night!" In reality, this unexpected rendezvous with Man-su is the first time he's utilized the firepit. "That's what happens when you finally get what you want," Man-su pontificates as he prepares for his latest act of violence. It's a very wise observation from this man slaughtering other working-class souls to secure financial stability for his family.
Man-su is eventually reminded of this brutal reality in No Other's Choice's gut-punch of an ending, which reminded me of nothing so much as The Irishman's haunting finale. Both films keep their bloodthirsty leads alive and well for the closing shots, but also suggest they've become encased in their own personal Hells. A Faustian bargain has transpired. Blood has been shed for survival...and it's a nightmare.
Let's start with Martin Scorsese's The Irishman, a 2019 adaptation of Charles Brandt's 2004 book I Heard You Paint Houses. This gangster feature follows Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro) as he gradually becomes a more and more prolific figure in the Italian-American mafia. Throughout The Irishman, on-screen text illustrates to the viewer the grubby, unflattering endings these various opulent gangsters will eventually suffer. No amount of money or power can prevent them from experiencing death's cruel hand. Sheeran knows death's inevitability all too well, given the countless lives he's taken as a hitman.
During his job, he develops a close friendship with union advocate Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino). Their bond makes it overwhelming when Russell Bufalino (Joe Pesci) informs Sheeran that not only has a hit been put out on Hoffa, but Sheeran must pull the trigger. Upon hearing this news, Sheeran reacts with dismay and confusion over how this could even be possible. It's a tragic response illustrating his naivety about this world he's inhabiting. In a realm built on corpses, nobody's safe. Not even the people closest to you.
Sheeran does kill Hoffa and (thanks to unrelated transgressions) eventually goes to prison. Once released in his feeble old age, Sheeran finds a quiet nightmare waiting for him. He survived. He followed the orders of his bosses. He shed so much blood. Outliving so many of his superiors means Sheeran now gets to live a life of estrangement from his daughter. To boot, he can't sleep without keeping his door open a crack. That's a maneuver Hoffa used to employ in hotel rooms to make it easier to see any potential assassins. Now, in his final years, Sheeran still keeps that door slightly ajar once darkness falls. The fear of death persists, as does looking over his shoulder. This is the devastatingly silent Hell Frank Sheeran now inhabits. He has no company beyond the fear he will end up like Hoffa and the other souls he murdered.
The Irishman's final aching image devastatingly reflects this reality. That's the kind of haunting status quo No Other Choice's final season echoes. Long before that ending arrives, Yoo Man-su is reciting a speech he plans to give to his Solar Paper bosses about how he can't fire his cohorts at the company. Man-su darkly jokes to his co-workers (who are listening to him rehearsing this spiel) that he's only doing this because he doesn't want to toil away with unfamiliar co-workers. However, this and earlier glimpses of Man-su interacting with his coworkers illustrate how this job's human element is essential for this man.
Cut to No Other Choice's ending two hours later. The company Moon Paper opts to hire Man-su for a secure job. However, this gig solely entails overseeing a "lights off" factory where machines make the paper (the "lights off" term refers to how the robots inside don't need light to work). Man-su is now just some observer of cold, lifeless machines working on paper. This is his existence now. Nobody to talk to. No human beings to connect with. No lights to provide brightness. Just darkness and sterile mechanical creations. He killed so many to get here and secured monetary stability. All of the madness got Man-su what he wanted, and it's a lifeless nightmare. Like Sheeran peering at the slightly open door in that assisted living facility, Man-su is now destined to spend his days alone.
Immense confidence just drips off these conclusions. That chutzpah doesn't just come from the lack of tidiness or "comeuppances" in these respective endings. It's also apparent through the heavy emphasis on dialogue-free imagery. No Other Choice especially leans into this approach while following Man-su navigate his new workplace. Relying exclusively on visual storytelling reinforces the sterile, quiet nightmare Man-su will now live day in and day out. After several previous hysterical sequences (like Man-su attempting to kill Goo Beom-mo) hinging on overlapping loud dialogue, No Other Choice concludes with a hauntingly sparse sequence other, less assured filmmakers would drown out in didactic dialogue.
The Irishman's ending shows similarly masterful gumption in its imagery-based choices. Framing a doctor tending to Sheeran from a low-angle shot, for instance, emphasizes how far this man has fallen in power. He slaughtered so many to maintain his societal stature. It's all led to him being so vulnerable and at the mercy of this stranger. Shortly after that, the final 30 seconds of The Irishman transpire as a dialogue-free, aching portrayal of pervasive loneliness. Only the hum of lights occupies the soundtrack while dark shadows fill the frame's corners. Save for one quick close-up shot, these final 30 seconds occur as a wide shot. Here, Sheeran is as distant from the camera as he is from everyone else in the world.
Painful loneliness is palpable in these exquisite endings. Such a powerful atmosphere derived from evocative sparseness could only be possible under top-caliber filmmakers like Park Chan-wook and Martin Scorsese. These artists have each created sublime endings that creatively and unforgettably depict the most hollow of victories. Man-su secured the job, his childhood home, and financial stability. Sheeran outlived everyone else in the gangster underworld.
In the process, they've secured lives that aren't prosperous. Man-su's wife, Lee Mi-ri (Son Ye-jin), now (unbeknownst to him) knowledgeable about her husband's barbarism, will never look at him the same way. Corpses, meanwhile, litter Sheeran's mind, whether it's the people he killed in World War II, the hits he executed for the mob, or the friends he's lost (or slaughtered). These two fictional characters are technically existing in the aftermath of "victories," yet they've lost so much. To boot, neither man is about to die or change their status quo as their respective stories end. These tormented existences will go on and on long after the credits finish rolling.
Such endings fascinate me. They're extensions of conclusions in ancient yarns like Sophocles' Oedipus Rex, where ironically gut-wrenching endings await morally complicated protaganists. "Finally [getting] what you want," as Man-su knows too well, doesn't solve all your problems. At once so classical and contemporarily relevant (particularly Choice's searing look at the modern job market), more than just immense artistry binds No Other Choice and The Irishman's unforgettable endings. They also reflect the inevitable outcome of blood-soaked, morally-compromised existences. As Guillermo del Toro so poetically described The Irishman's ending for Variety:
"Dead are his enemies, and the places in which they dwelled. Gone are the reasons for their demise and the laurels of his victory. There he stands in the lateness of the hour, with his ghosts, consumed by regret — lacking any comprehension or insight — overwhelmed by the final silence. Bypassed by history, forgotten, abandoned by all."
No Other Choice and The Irishman are haunting ballads of men trapped in prisons they carved with betrayal and bloodshed. They toiled and killed to get to the top. All that awaited them was an army of mechanical co-workers and a slightly ajar door.
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