While Killers of the Flower Moon is an expertly produced, directed and acted film, it isn’t one that lends itself to viewer adoration and the kind of love that leads to repeat viewings. I doubt that I’ll ever see it again. Interestingly (to me at least), that seems to be true for most Martin Scorsese films. As expert as they are, as finely wrought as he can possibly make them, they do not inspire in me the desire to revisit them. I think this is because they are Shakespearean in terms of their protagonists’ moral attitudes and actions; everyone is guilty in some way, even if that refers to bad judgment or self-destructive behavior; the worst not only condone murder but practice it — and those people are our main characters.
Martin Scorsese’s film covers the true events of the Osage people in Oklahoma who, early in the twentieth century, discovered oil on their property and became rich because of it. Such wealth attracted men with plans to steal it, and steal it they did, over time, often by marrying Osage women and then killing them to obtain to inherit the oil wealth. This particular story follows Ernest Burkhart (Leonardo DiCaprio), a returning WW I soldier who, encouraged by his uncle, William Hale (Robert De Niro), woos and weds an Osage woman named Mollie (Lily Gladstone). Ernest genuinely loves Mollie and they raise a family together, but that doesn’t stop him from plotting the transfer of their oil rights to the Hale side of the family.
It’s a long, involved, complex tale with nuance enough for two movies or more (hence the three-and-a-half hour length). It’s not boring at all, but neither is it joyous or inspiring to any degree. It’s three-plus hours of Machiavellian plotting, lying, sneaking around, grief and illness, punctuated by quick bursts of violence. It’s all based on fact, and the filmmakers made the bold decision to alter the original script from an FBI perspective (this was their first major case) to a more genuine, emotionally powerful “insider” perspective from the Osage side of the story, focusing on Mollie and her three unfortunate sisters. That perspective switch moved DiCaprio from the role of the lead investigator (now Jesse Plemons) to the much trickier role of Ernest, who seems honest and trustworthy at first, only to be revealed as just as greedy and evil as his brother (Scott Shepherd) and uncle. Ultimately there’s no one to root for in this cesspool except Mollie, and the best we can hope for her is that she will survive.
Like so many of the other stories Martin Scorsese has chosen to film this one explores the darkest corners of human behavior, wallows in brutality and the grief it causes, and frames all this sturm und drang as fashionable entertainment, performed by the best cast that can be assembled (including DiCaprio, De Niro, Plemons, and in small roles, John Lithgow, Brendan Fraser, Barry Corbin and, ultimately, Scorsese himself). For authenticity a number of Native American actors are used, including Gladstone and Tantoo Cardinal), and even the extreme length provides the time to include Native American custom and music and perspective. All that is to the good, but this remains the type of depressing drama that mesmerizes critics yet makes me yearn for something less felonious or morally wicked. The last Martin Scorsese film I can remember watching, and enjoying, a second time is either The Aviator or Cape Fear. That’s why he’s not one of my favored directors. ☆ ☆ ☆. 7 February 2024.