Once again, Martin Scorsese has decided to grace the world of cinema with his presence. The filmmaker has entered his seventh decade of bringing some of the finest films audiences have ever seen to the big screen. The entertainment value and impact of his work simply cannot be overstated. Yet his previous two films seem to be declaring a turning point in an already illustrious career. Looking back to 2019’s The Irishman, Scorsese shed all the flair of mob life that he had a large hand in catapulting to the cultural zeitgeist with films like Goodfellas and Casino. Instead, what audiences saw was a filmmaker looking forward, and what he saw lying ahead scared him deeply. It’s a film that didn’t shy away from the dark side of a life of crime, moreso than any of his earlier work. Now, with his first film of the 2020’s, Scorsese appears to be looking back. Yet even 100 years ago, when Killers of the Flower Moon takes place, the greed Scorsese has highlighted for so long in his career were as present and powerful as ever. That shouldn’t be a surprise, considering the deeply flawed history of the United States. But with this latest film, it feels as if every single moment is imbued with the notion that Scorsese believes this to be his most important film. And if this is indeed the case, it’s wholly understandable; Killers of the Flower Moon is a massive film, not just as a cinematic achievement, but as a vital depiction of evil being left unchecked and allowed to exist out in the open for so long.
One of the more compelling elements of Killers of the Flower Moon is how brazen its central antagonists are. Ernest Burkhart (Leonardo DiCaprio) repeatedly states it as blunt as can be. With a villainous, yet in his mind, a childish innocent grin sprawled across his face, he says: “Don’t matter to me, I’m greedy… I love money.” It’s a key motto of the film, crystallized in William King Hale’s (Robert De Niro) abuse of power in Osage County, Oklahoma. This hideous, transparent greed infects nearly every inch of the screen whenever Hale or one of his lackeys is on screen. The very notion that his family members, nephew Ernest included, referred to Hale as “King Bill” is, in and of itself, a twisted piece of humor to be found in the history books. Unfortunately, the history books surrounding the events of the film are far and few in between. Prior to David Grann’s 2017 nonfiction novel of the same name, the Reign of Terror was neither widely known nor commonly taught among American classrooms. Early in the film, Mollie Kyle (Lily Gladstone) is heard reciting the names of victims who suffered “mysterious deaths”. What’s most critical, and most heartbreaking, is how each name is followed by two words: “no investigation.” Layered alongside archival footage, Scorsese has already begun to lay the groundwork in reminding his audience that these events occurred, and aside from the Osage people, nobody cared.
Returning from war with an injury, Ernest was taken in by his uncle Bill, and given a job as a driver. It’s through this job that he meets Mollie, an Osage woman whom he would later marry. It’s perhaps in the depiction of Mollie and Ernest’s relationship that the biggest issue of the film can be found. Ernest, as well as all the key perpetrators of the Reign of Terror, are rather upfront about their motives when marrying into Osage families. And while it’s understandable that parts of Mollie’s life, as shown in the film, were not possible to deeply examine, one might hope for a bit more interiority to be shown of Gladstone’s Mollie. And to be clear, this is not a fault of Gladstone’s in the slightest. Her performance is the beating heart of the film, even when she’s off-screen. In the most striking moments of heartbreak and pain, her performance cuts through the screen in a visceral manner. Even with this criticism in mind, it brings up a painful reminder about the time in which the Reign of Terror occurred. Even if all the central characters and members of the Osage community were aware of the crimes being committed by King Bill and his band of criminals, what could they have done about it? It was not until countless deaths had occurred, and Mollie directly pleaded to the President in Washington, D.C., that pushed the FBI to arrive in Oklahoma.
Looking back through Scorsese’s oeuvre, there’s a constant, unsubstantiated complaint his detractors like to bring up. Some claim that Scorsese’s films, especially his crime-centric ones, tend to highlight the glitz and glamour of a criminal lifestyle. Quite frankly, it’s a criticism that has always confounded me. With Killers of the Flower Moon though, it feels impossible to even consider that a talking point. The riches brought to the central characters of this film are no longer flashy, but deeply terrifying. With a harsh frame and an even colder truth captured through the camera, Scorsese depicts each murderer as pure scum. Living on the fringes of society, they take orders from those at the very height of power. Yet even the ones giving orders are bathed in shadow, and when they do appear in the light, all eyes fall upon them with a scornful, watchful look. Everybody knows to watch out for King Bill, but it shouldn’t ever be shown in public. At one point in the film, Mollie and her sisters are discussing the men they see as prospects. Everybody calls Ernest a snake, but Mollie likens him more to a coyote. How she sees him by the end of the film should be left for the viewer to experience in the theater. But as power, greed, and betrayal, fold in atop one another as they typically do, one can’t help picture a snake slowly eating its own tail over the course of 200 minutes. As Scorsese brings us to his coda, he makes his thoughts on this blatant abuse of power and injustice abundantly clear.
For every Scorsese film that depicts acts of violence, greed, and crime, there’s always the third act reveal of how it all comes crashing down in a fiery blaze. Fascinatingly, Killers of the Flower Moon takes a similar approach, while also devastating the viewer in what’s likely to be the most direct Scorsese has ever been in a film of his. In a coda that’s both full of subtext, while also blatantly addressing every member of the audience, Scorsese gives us what’s likely to be his most important ending ever. Film, while serving as an important artistic function in society, also serves as a bare essential: entertainment. We watch movies to be entertained, among other reasons, but if we’re able to laugh, cry, be moved while also enjoying our time spent in the hands of a filmmaker, that’s an important part of life. Yet too often, it may be easy to forget that some of the stories we are witnessing are more than just stories. They are real depictions of life, of tragedies, of injustices. This coda serves as a way to detail what happened to the characters we have followed in the film thus far. And in one of the most breathtaking cinematic moments of the year, Scorsese reminds us of this notion of tragedy and injustice. For the Osage nation, Killers of the Flower Moon extends beyond pure entertainment. It directly serves as a reminder that injustices like the Reign of Terror cannot, and should not, go undiscussed or untaught. Scorsese’s latest film is a lesson in history, and a reminder that movies can, and should, do more than simply entertain us. Killers of the Flower Moon is a great film, until it becomes revelatory, and there are few filmmakers working currently who can pull it off so powerfully; leave it to Scorsese to remind us just why he’s one of the greatest to ever do it.
Killers of the Flower Moon is being released in theaters on October 20th.