Killers of the Flower Moon: Marty’s The Man
Killers of the Flower Moon (2023)
Directed by Martin Scorsese
Starring Lily Gladstone, Leonardo DiCaprio, Robert De Niro and Jesse Plemons
Film reviews: why we read them, and how I normally write them
In the more than 150 film reviews I’ve shared on NadaMucho.com, I’ve yet to post a single SPOILER review. Why? Because my goal is to inspire you to discover films for yourself. My approach provides a hint of the plot, yet primarily draws you in with my thoughts and analyses, hopefully motivating you to watch the movie firsthand and form your own opinion.
Many film enthusiasts turn to Letterboxd to find reviews to echo their immediate reactions post-viewing, enjoying the affirmation within their social media echo chambers. Then, there are the “professional” reviews from sites like The Guardian, The Telegraph, or Variety, which often include exhaustive plot summaries and are littered with ads that, in my opinion, undermine the review’s integrity. Some even hide behind paywalls. In contrast, NadaMucho.com has always been free of ads, pop-ups, and paywalls. So rest assured you won’t be offered any toe fungus medicine while you’re reading my review of the great Martin Scorsese’s latest film, Killers of the Flower Moon, a historical crime drama based on the book by David Grann, depicting the chilling series of murders of Osage people in 1920s Oklahoma and the birth of the FBI as it uncovers a deep-seated conspiracy.
Fair warning, though. While you won’t get any pop-up ads for Mike and Ike’s new Sour Mega Mix as you read this review, I do reveal a few minor spoilers this time around.
Scorsese throws down the gauntlet, and old men’s oeuvres
I was soured on Mr. Scorsese in 2019 after seeing click bait titles like “Scorsese Says Marvel Films aren’t Cinema” and “Scorsese SLAMS Marvel.” Upon reading his full op-ed in The New York Times, where he elaborated on his stance, and observing other directors like Ridley Scott and Francis Ford Coppola join the fray with their critiques, I couldn’t help but feel their arguments stemmed from jealousy. It seemed to me that their grievances were rooted in seeing new directors receive significant funding from Marvel—opportunities these older fellas didn’t have early in their careers—coupled with their disapproval of the film choices these newcomers were making. The situation appeared to stir resentment among these established filmmakers about their historical decisions and the prevailing trends fueling studio earnings.
My wife and I, curious about Scorsese and Scott’s views on cinema, decided to explore this further for our annual 52 Film Challenge, a yearly tradition we began in 2012. For the 2022 installment, we set out to alternate weekly between Scorsese and Scott, watching their films in chronological order.
Much like the directors who were later enlisted by Marvel, both Scorsese and Scott began their careers with notable successes. But are Scott’s early masterpieces, Alien and Blade Runner, or Scorsese’s Mean Streets and Taxi Driver, any more impactful than Taika Waititi’s Boy and What We Do in the Shadows? Or Ryan Coogler’s Fruitvale Station and Creed? Or James Gunn’s Slither and Super? Or Chloé Zhao’s The Rider and Academy Award-winning Nomadland? Or Destin Daniel Cretton’s The Glass Castle and Just Mercy? Or Nia DaCosta’s Little Woods and Candyman (2021)? Or even Jon Favreau’s Elf and Zathura? The list continues. Young directors who made films “the hard way” may face even more challenges now than in the 1970s, the era that launched both Scorsese and Scott’s careers.
After his initial success, Scorsese took on Hollywood assignments that, in my view, didn’t offer him the same level of creative freedom or financial backing that talented young directors now receive from studios like Marvel. Chloé Zhao, for instance, had writing credits on The Eternals, and her distinct style and filmmaking approach were evident throughout the movie. Can the same level of personal imprint be detected in Scorsese’s Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, New York, New York, or The Color of Money? Scott’s film choices following his early triumphs are even more intriguing. Who looks back with affection on Legend, Someone to Watch Over Me, Black Rain, or White Squall? No one!
Could it be that after Ryan Coogler transitioned from creating a highly impactful indie film like Fruitvale Station to reimagining a classic franchise with Creed, he was then entrusted with a substantial budget and writing responsibilities to shape one of the most significant films of the new century, Black Panther, which also generated unprecedented profits for the studio?
The task Coogler faced with Black Panther differed vastly from the assignments associated with Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore or White Squall. The Black Panther project was more of a partnership, aiming to expand a franchise with talented directors who were given the budget and creative freedom they deserved from Marvel. What would a young Martin Scorsese or Ridley Scott have done with such an opportunity? They likely would have embraced it, only to possibly hear a veteran from their era declare that their works were not “true cinema.” I smell sour grapes.
Marty’s latest cinematic achievement looks great, but with this cast and $200M it really should look great
After decades in the game, Mr. Scorsese was finally given a Marvel-sized budget of more than 200 million dollars to bring an important story to the screen. The 2017 non-fiction book of the same name by David Grann was highly acclaimed, regarded as one of the best non-fiction works of that year.
Written the day after its premiere, my prediction for this film was that it would be a strong contender for numerous awards, potentially even the prestigious ones from the Academy. My early call on its award-worthy success seems to have been spot on, but with Scorsese’s sole Best Director Oscar to date being for a remake, is it a fait accompli that he will triumph this year? I believe it shouldn’t be, particularly with Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer also in contention. While honoring Scorsese with awards during his lifetime is a beatiful sentiment, one must contemplate whether this extended, self-indulgent 3-and-a-half-hour examination of nihilism truly merits the accolades it seems set to receive.
Killers of the Flower Moon‘s visuals of 1920s Oklahoma are grand, cinematic, and stunning. As the story of the Osage people unfolds through the voice of William King Hale (Robert De Niro), I felt reassured that I was in good hands and that Scorsese was operating at his best. The combination of sight, sound, and actors fully capable of conveying this story was impressive.
Lily Gladstone anchors the film’s great cast, and her character anchors the story
De Niro has collaborated with Scorsese on nine feature-length films prior to Killers of the Flower Moon, giving life to some of cinema’s most memorable characters. Although Travis Bickle, Jake LaMotta, Max Cady, Sam “Ace” Rothstein, and Frank Sheeran all exhibit their own brand of terribleness, William King Hale stands out as particularly odious, sinister, and cruel. His malevolent nature isn’t immediately apparent, yet on a primal level, we sense he’s a man not to be trusted. Posing as a “dear friend” to the Osage people and having assisted them into the new century, he speaks their language and acts as a benevolent advisor. However, this façade masks a long con driven by a relentless pursuit of power. De Niro masterfully portrays this complexity through squinty looks and peculiar movements, especially in his interactions with the Osage and his nephew, Ernest Burkhart, freshly returned from World War I.
This marks the sixth collaboration between DiCaprio and Scorsese, with DiCaprio’s portrayal of Ernest Burkhart standing out as the least intelligent among the characters he has played in Scorsese’s films. Ernest’s dimwittedness might typically evoke sympathy, but, similar to his uncle, his malevolence is unmistakable. Unlike De Niro’s King, who employs intelligence and cunning, DiCaprio’s Ernest leverages his naivety and bewildered demeanor to charm and integrate himself with the Osage tribe. Initially, the film’s first act might lead some to believe that Ernest is the protagonist of Flower Moon, the white savior who will recognize his mistakes, turn against his nefarious uncle, and rectify the wrongs. However, this reversal of fortune never materializes. As I watched the stellar performances by De Niro and Lily Gladstone, I held off on judging DiCaprio’s role. There was something amiss, and upon reflection, his portrayal feels like a subtle pastiche of Forrest Gump—not nearly as overt as Simple Jack from the comedic Tropic Thunder, but enough to seem slightly inauthentic and unconvincing.
Lily Gladstone is both the linchpin of Killers of the Flower Moon as an actress and her character, Molly, is the narrative’s anchor—a beacon of pain that permeates the entire film, transforming it into what could be described as the Passion of Molly Burkhart. One might question the value in witnessing the extensive suffering of this character. Scorsese and others might argue that it’s crucial to confront the atrocities committed by the antagonists to present an accurate depiction of a lesser-known chapter of history, potentially fostering change. This intention is commendable, yet it raises the question of whether Scorsese is the appropriate figure to relay this tale—perhaps suggesting that the story does not require a “white savior” to be told effectively. The depiction of violence, a hallmark of Scorsese’s previous films, when applied to the brutal murders of Osage individuals, might come across as a sign of the director’s reluctance to innovate or adapt his storytelling approach.
Scorcese’s characterisitc approach to realistic on-screen violence was unneccasry and misguided in this context
Was the violence in Taxi Driver shocking and warranted early in Scorsese’s career? Probably, even though the censors made the blood appear more like diluted Kool-Aid. Was the visceral depiction of domestic violence necessary to authentically portray Jake LaMotta’s story in Raging Bull? Sure. And was the brutal death of Joe Pesci’s character and his brother in Casino essential to underscore the consequences of a life riddled with poor choices? As ghastly as it was, yes.
However, the repeated, visceral portrayal of Molly and her sisters’ suffering on screen incited a deep rage within me—a rage that found no relief in catharsis. This is not a revenge film offering viewers the satisfaction of seeing a character vindicated. Instead, it felt like witnessing the agony of a pure soul, seemingly to elevate it to sainthood. Could this be Scorsese’s “Passion of the Christ”? Is his Catholic upbringing influencing his storytelling more as he contemplates his own mortality? With Scorsese’s 2016 film Silence serving as a literal exploration of faith and his latest work as a metaphorical one, I lean towards yes. This religion venerates not just the cross but the crucifixion itself—kissing the icon, kneeling before it, and eating the body and the blood.
Molly Burkhart, both as a character and Lily Gladstone in her portrayal, deserved more than to be depicted as a modern-day messiah. The forced introduction of Christianity to Indigenous people upon the arrival of white settlers mirrors the film’s portrayal of these events through the lens of a Catholic-raised white man. Despite Scorsese’s well-intentioned efforts—thorough research, financial contributions to the Osage tribe, hiring Indigenous actors, costume designers, and consultants—the film still feels forced, violent, and ultimately unsatisfying through his prism. Perhaps my rage at the film’s portrayal of Molly Burkhart was compounded by the approach to the subject matter itself. And, of course, the frustration only grew with the realization that after nearly two hours of suffering, another hour and a half remained.
Killers of the Flower Moon doesn’t earn its three hours and 26 minute run time
Films can be lengthy and still succeed as impactful works of art. For instance, the epic biopic Gandhi, directed by Richard Attenborough, is only 17 minutes shorter than Killers of the Flower Moon. It, too, delves into the suffering and struggles of its protagonist, yet it intersperses these moments with triumphs. Despite starting and ending with Gandhi’s assassination, the film leaves viewers feeling enlightened and grateful for the insights into this remarkable individual’s teachings.
Similarly, Lawrence of Arabia shares almost the exact runtime as Killers of the Flower Moon but feels significantly faster, perhaps due to its expansive desert scenes and the exhilarating journeys across them, in contrast to the more confined setting in Killers of the Flower Moon that might contribute to a slower pace. T.E. Lawrence’s grand adventures also impart a sense of education and appreciation for his contributions.
Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather Part II is slightly shorter than Killers of the Flower Moon yet feels considerably quicker. The dynamic interplay between Michael and Vito Corleone’s stories, combined with political intrigue and courtroom drama, captivates in a way that leaves audiences wanting even more. In contrast, Killers of the Flower Moon could benefit from a tighter edit, particularly by condensing its segments on political maneuvering and legal proceedings.
Jesse Plemons is great, but his arrival bookmarks an uneven third act
Jesse Plemons is quickly becoming one of my favorite character actors, and his portrayal of federal agent Tom White in Killers of the Flower Moon is commendable. However, as the film transitions into the third act with White approaching the Burkhart family’s door, it begins to lose its momentum. The frequent flashbacks to events we’ve already inferred occurred off-screen and have grieved over, alongside the contrived courtroom drama that allows actors like John Lithgow and Brendan Fraser to somewhat overact—seemingly to proclaim, “Hey, did you see I’m in a Scorsese film?”—all contribute to a sense of unnecessary embellishment and self-indulgence in this part of the film.
The sequence where Ernest wavers—first taking a deal from the federal government, only to back out half an hour later, and then ultimately deciding to testify—feels particularly extraneous. It’s unclear if Scorsese aimed to highlight the character’s incompetence and foolishness or simply seized an opportunity to indulge in showcasing his knowledge of arcane subjects (e.g., the spanking scene). Regardless, these scenes seem superfluous. At its heart, the story is about Molly, and by making these cuts, her suffering would remain evident yet be presented in a manner that feels more dignified and respectful.
All of that said, you really should watch this film
Any fan of Scorsese, as well as cinephiles and film enthusiasts, should watch this film. Witnessing what a seasoned director can achieve with a $200 million budget is a marvel. The performances are exceptional, even if DiCaprio’s portrayal of a less intelligent character doesn’t entirely convince me.
The cinematography is visually stunning, and the editing skillfully evokes feelings of anger, sadness, and rage. While I’m drawn to cinematic nihilism—a sentiment echoed by some of my favorite directors like Lars Von Trier, Gaspar Noé, and Michael Haneke—I find I seek something different from Scorsese. In the context of Killers of the Flower Moon his approach, perhaps too literal rather than metaphorical, didn’t align with my preferences.
Killers of the Flower Moon is an impressive filmmaking feat that I don’t foresee wanting to revisit for at least a decade, and perhaps that’s intentional. It’s possible Scorsese aimed to incite rage within his audience, suggesting that rage might be a catalyst for present-day change. But what actions can we take? Land acknowledgments before events can come across as perfunctory and self-serving. This begs the question: Is there a more meaningful way to honor the first inhabitants of this land?
Maybe Marty doesn’t know everything after all
The film’s penultimate scene left me both shocked and perplexed. Instead of the conventional closing with white text on a black background summarizing the characters’ fates post the events of the film, it presents a 1930s radio show complete with voice actors and foley effects. The program, titled “True Crime: The Osage Indian Murders,” seemed to amplify my frustration, reflecting the film’s overall portrayal. It felt like a spectacle of white audiences gathered around the radio, captivated by the tragedies of what they deemed ‘exotic’ people.
This depiction raises the question: Is this a commentary on our current obsession with true crime, which proliferates on streaming platforms to the extent it almost seems like studios might be exploiting real-life pain, suffering, and death for profit?
Probably not. I doubt Scorsese intended such a deep meta-analysis, especially considering his views on Marvel films not qualifying as cinema—casting doubt on his capacity for such layered critique. I mean, if he doesn’t think Marvel Films are cinema, how smart can he be?