"Can you find the wolves in this picture?" - Ernest Burkhart
With an incredibly delicate subject matter to handle, tackling Killers of the Flower Moon is no easy feat. This is true particularly for Martin Scorsese, a white American man telling a chapter of the great suffering endured by the Osage nation, a series of murder that’s product of the systemic greed and corruption of power by white Americans. Throughout the film, it’s well-expressed that he’s aware of his limitation, as this idea is woven attentively in the fabric of the narrative. The film keens to avoid exploitative sensationalism in favor of a cinematic rhythm that’s expressive in its restraint, grounded by the incredible weight of its devastating tragedy. The violence depiction—like what’s depicted in his later works e.g. The Irishman or Silence—is especially interesting. In contrast to his early works, Scorsese is more interested in the destructive nature of violence and its grim repercussions rather than the action itself. He intentionally keeps catharsis at bay, brimming the frames with understated anguish and grief that creep their way under the audience’s skin and lingers there. At times, the film may feel cold and distant, but in order for this film to work, it’s also necessary. There’s no solace or sense of finality offered. Instead, he acknowledges the film’s and his limitation loud and clear, serving as as a moving reflection for him and us as spectators, that we’re all complicit in this crime—or to quote Scorsese himself from his press interviews, this “sin by omission”.
The film marks another Leonardo DiCaprio and Robert De Niro collaboration with Scorsese, and another peak in their respective careers. Amidst the formidable turns by DiCaprio and De Niro, in the eye of the hurricane there’s Lily Gladstone’s Mollie Burkhart—fantastically played by Gladstone who rightfully deserves an Oscar for this performance—whose life, along with that of the Osage nation, were forever afflicted and destroyed. As Mollie, Gladstone’s grief-stricken delivery of pain and resilience is unbelievably nuanced and palpable. Her piercing glares alone speak volumes, louder than any words could. She stands as the cornerstone of Osage nation’s experience: left aside and hurt by the injustice, yet whose fortitude remains intact and powerful. The film excels in this depiction and she stands above her material, but the script does face setbacks. Having to split focus between Gladstone’s, DiCaprio’s and De Niro’s points of view, her absence at times results in a less comprehensive portrayal of the Osage perspective. Yet, even when she isn’t physically gracing the screen, her profound strength continues to resonate and impact the narrative. Still, this doesn’t diminish Scorsese’s genuine commitment in bringing this tragedy into consciousness. Despite this narrative challenge, the sprawling 3.5-hour Killers of the Flower Moon is a monumentally riveting achievement, firmly rooted in impeccable, sensitive storytelling by Scorsese and colossal performances from its three leads. It’s one achievement that proves how even a decorated filmmaker in his ever-growing 60-year old career, like Scorsese, can still hit new heights of honesty and maturity. It’s also one aching reminder of the many ways in which systemic atrocities of evil operate and propagate, spanning from the brutal inhumane acts to subtle shades of their inherently commonplace existence.
