Killers of the Flower Moon has put me in one of the most delightful quandaries of my cinematic life. Let me be perfectly clear, Killers of the Flower Moon absolutely towers over thousands of movies you've seen this year. This is a thrilling, exhilarating, gorgeous and horrifying work of art from the master of cinema himself, Martin Scorsese. For 3 and 1/2 hours, you are glued to screen and completely untethered from reality. It tells both a grisly true crime story, more terrifying to witness than it is to read about and a heartbreaking tragedy of injustice and greed at its most grotesque. Both stories are absolutely worth your time in experiencing and I'd recommend seeing this film, in its behemoth-sized entirety, in a theater. But do both stories work as a complete, singular film? Is the whole greater than the sum of its parts? Or are the parts so good, they'd work better on their own? That is the question of the day.
The Osage Nation, in northern Oklahoma, are a tribe blessed by an unspeakable bounty of oil underneath their feet. The twenties come roaring in for them, as the Osage becomes the wealthiest tribe in all of North America. But white would-be robber barons come gushing by the trainloads, and they want in on all of that oil money. Enter, Ernest Burkhart (Leonardo DiCaprio), a down-on-his-luck, simple-minded WWI vet and the nephew of influential cattle rancher William "King" Hale (Robert DeNiro). Hale takes his nephew under his wing and influences him to marry a Osage woman in order to take control of the family head-rights. Ernest finds that woman in Mollie (Lily Gladstone). Mollie falls for him, despite being seemingly aware of his intentions of which she clearly resents. All is hunky dory until, out of nowhere, a mysterious rash of brutal killings take hold of the Osage nation. Bodies start piling up, one by one. Incidentally, Mollie's immediate family is directly impacted by the murders. She loses her sister Anna, and then her sister Rita. Mollie knows that someone close to her is wiping out her family for the head-rights. What she doesn't realize is that William Hale is running a diabolical criminal enterprise in killing Osage men and women. Furthermore, Ernest is directly involved in the planning of these murders and is plotting to take out his own wife by lacing her insulin with alcohol. Does Ernest care? Not really. "I love money more than my own wife!" he exclaims to his crony friends. Mollie solicits the help of the federal government and soon enough, a budding, early stage FBI comes knocking on Ernest's door.
Ernest, Mollie and William are as richly developed and fascinating as any character we've seen in any Martin Scorsese picture. Ernest is guided merely by his primal desires for sex and greed. He has no depth, integrity or any self-respect. Like most of Scorsese's male protagonists, Ernest's lack of morals motivate every bad decision he makes and we the viewer watch in awe at how badly he debases himself in pursuits of his goals. William Hale, portrayed by Robert DeNiro, is one of the most evil screen villains I've seen in recent memory and easily the worst person DeNiro has ever played on screen. He's a master manipulator and a methodical psychopath, who befriends the Osage nation as a loyal benefactor and an ally, with every intention of wiping out their wealth, their land and their lives. This is a level of evil that most films never touch upon. The wolf in sheep's clothing. Lily Gladstone is absolutely mesmerizing as Mollie. She gives a profoundly beautiful performance as a woman utterly exhausted from the constant outrage and tragedy in her life. Her performance is a Best Actress Oscar contender for sure.
So what is the thing that's confusing me so much? Honestly, it's the constant tonal shifts. Its stark to say the very least. It's an amazing gangster movie and it's an amazing tragedy. Marty goes back and forth between the two. That didn't completely sit well with me. Scorsese admitted weeks ago that he originally wrote the film through the perspective of the FBI agents and nearly forgot about the perspectives of the Osage nation. He did a substantial rewrite. Watching the film, you can really see it. It explains the bloated run-time. Some have suggested that the film could've been near perfect with a proper edit. The problem is, functionally, you'd lose so much if you did. Could Killers have benefited from being separated into two parts (Ala the Godfather)? Or sliced up into 30 minute episodes for a miniseries? It's an interesting thought. We'll never know for sure.
The Osage Nation, in northern Oklahoma, are a tribe blessed by an unspeakable bounty of oil underneath their feet. The twenties come roaring in for them, as the Osage becomes the wealthiest tribe in all of North America. But white would-be robber barons come gushing by the trainloads, and they want in on all of that oil money. Enter, Ernest Burkhart (Leonardo DiCaprio), a down-on-his-luck, simple-minded WWI vet and the nephew of influential cattle rancher William "King" Hale (Robert DeNiro). Hale takes his nephew under his wing and influences him to marry a Osage woman in order to take control of the family head-rights. Ernest finds that woman in Mollie (Lily Gladstone). Mollie falls for him, despite being seemingly aware of his intentions of which she clearly resents. All is hunky dory until, out of nowhere, a mysterious rash of brutal killings take hold of the Osage nation. Bodies start piling up, one by one. Incidentally, Mollie's immediate family is directly impacted by the murders. She loses her sister Anna, and then her sister Rita. Mollie knows that someone close to her is wiping out her family for the head-rights. What she doesn't realize is that William Hale is running a diabolical criminal enterprise in killing Osage men and women. Furthermore, Ernest is directly involved in the planning of these murders and is plotting to take out his own wife by lacing her insulin with alcohol. Does Ernest care? Not really. "I love money more than my own wife!" he exclaims to his crony friends. Mollie solicits the help of the federal government and soon enough, a budding, early stage FBI comes knocking on Ernest's door.
Ernest, Mollie and William are as richly developed and fascinating as any character we've seen in any Martin Scorsese picture. Ernest is guided merely by his primal desires for sex and greed. He has no depth, integrity or any self-respect. Like most of Scorsese's male protagonists, Ernest's lack of morals motivate every bad decision he makes and we the viewer watch in awe at how badly he debases himself in pursuits of his goals. William Hale, portrayed by Robert DeNiro, is one of the most evil screen villains I've seen in recent memory and easily the worst person DeNiro has ever played on screen. He's a master manipulator and a methodical psychopath, who befriends the Osage nation as a loyal benefactor and an ally, with every intention of wiping out their wealth, their land and their lives. This is a level of evil that most films never touch upon. The wolf in sheep's clothing. Lily Gladstone is absolutely mesmerizing as Mollie. She gives a profoundly beautiful performance as a woman utterly exhausted from the constant outrage and tragedy in her life. Her performance is a Best Actress Oscar contender for sure.
So what is the thing that's confusing me so much? Honestly, it's the constant tonal shifts. Its stark to say the very least. It's an amazing gangster movie and it's an amazing tragedy. Marty goes back and forth between the two. That didn't completely sit well with me. Scorsese admitted weeks ago that he originally wrote the film through the perspective of the FBI agents and nearly forgot about the perspectives of the Osage nation. He did a substantial rewrite. Watching the film, you can really see it. It explains the bloated run-time. Some have suggested that the film could've been near perfect with a proper edit. The problem is, functionally, you'd lose so much if you did. Could Killers have benefited from being separated into two parts (Ala the Godfather)? Or sliced up into 30 minute episodes for a miniseries? It's an interesting thought. We'll never know for sure.