Killers Of The Flower Moon: A Sobering, Slow-Burning American Epic
When oil is discovered in 1920s Oklahoma under Osage Nation land, the Osage people are murdered one by one - until the FBI steps in to unravel the mystery.
Killers Of The Flower Moon is a fascinating amalgam of genres. It stands at an interesting intersection where the greasy greed of the gangster picture meets the dusty dirty road of the western, and their blood-lust romance bleeds over into police procedural and courtroom drama territory. It is a film full of complex characters that seeks to tell a complicated and compelling story of Indigenous injustice with a compassionate and respectful lens, portraying the Osage people as just that: people, not a stereotype. While it is a film that honors the Osage with its deep authenticity, it is not a film that is necessarily for them or entirely about them, and this is where the real genius of Scorsese and screenwriter Eric Roth enter the picture.
The film tells the tragic story of the sinister genocide that befell upon the Osage people as part of their newfound wealth via the discovery of oil on their land, which was given to them by the U.S. government because it was deemed “worthless.” This ironic twist of fate didn’t sit well with the White populace in the area, and before too long, they began scheming on ways they could get a piece of the Osage’s money. It wasn’t a There-Will-Be-Blood style “I drink your milkshake” kinda thing either, but a far more evil form of backstabbing, which involved marrying the Osage women and murdering them so the oil headrights flowed directly to them in the form of inheritance. The novel keeps the results of the investigation of the “Reign of Terror” as a mystery, but you won’t have any trouble spotting the wolves in this pictures because they’re in plain sight. Scorsese and Roth make them known to us from the very beginning, and they even present them as protagonists.
Our point of entry into the film’s atrocious and duplicitous events is Leonardo DiCaprio’s Ernest Burkhart, who’s just returned from World War I and come to Oklahoma to stay with his uncle, Robert De Niro’s William King Hale, and his other brother, Byron (Scott Shepherd), on his ranch which sits on the reservation. Hale is the film’s biggest wolf in sheep’s clothing, and he presents himself as a friendly benefactor to the Osage; he appears kind, giving them gifts, offering seemingly sincere consolation during hard times, and even fluently speaks their language. Secretly, however, he schemes their murders and ways in which to usurp their fortunes. The fact that he wishes to be referred to as “King,” tells you all you need to know about his character, and it’s Hale who pushes Ernest to brush up on Osage language and culture and to consider marrying one of their women to collect their oil money. This is no problem for Ernest, who is “breedy” and greedy, proclaiming excitedly, “I love money!”
This is where Lily Gladstone’s Mollie Kyle enters the picture. Her family owns oil headrights, but better yet (for Hale and Burkhart’s motives, that is), Mollie’s mother is seriously ill and Mollie herself is a diabetic. Burkhart begins by serving as Mollie’s chauffeur, and then a romance blossoms, one which appears to be genuine at first blush and is wonderfully rendered through the strong chemistry between Gladstone and DiCaprio. Eventually, Mollie and Ernest are married, and they even have several children and appear to be happy, even in love, but as they say: looks can be deceiving. Ernest does some truly despicable things, and his biggest betrayal is done to the one he supposedly “loves.” Soon, Osage bodies begin to pile up, delivered in that unflinchingly brutal Scorsese way, and each time their still bodies are shown, laid out peacefully in their beds or strewn across the landscape after their murder, Marty’s compositions punctuate the film like the “So it goes” of Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five, reminding you of how money and greed and oil and capitalism lead to flimsy morals and hands covered in blood.
Standing at nearly 3.5 hours, you can definitely feel the runtime, and while there is a lot of incredible stuff explored within, not all of its proceedings are spent economically or justifiably — though much of it is. All of the performances are great, especially the Osage first-timers who you would think have been doing this for a long time, but the film is heavily bolstered by the three vigorous performances that stand at its center in De Niro, DiCaprio, and Gladstone. De Niro relishes the opportunity to play a complicated scumbag and really gives it his all. DiCaprio’s constantly downturned face tells a story without needing words, hinting at a tortured past and hard times (probably from the War, but also the inner turmoil brought on by his wrongdoings). But it’s Gladstone that really shines the brightest; she may be playing an infirm character, but she gives Mollie a solid and powerful composure that serves as the film’s backbone.
Other notable aspects include the groovy and multi-layered score from Robbie Robertson that mixes indigenous instrumentation with American blues. It serves as the film’s heartbeat, but it never tells you how to feel emotionally about the characters, it just lays down a vibe and gives everything a potent atmosphere. The production design from the great Jack Fisk is excellent, as is the costume design from Jacqueline West, both of which give the film a tactile quality. The lovely colors and patterns of the costumes are wonderful drawn out by cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto, who also captures some truly breathtaking images (the opening oil dance and the fire sequence are both excellent examples). Of course, Scorsese’s direction is fantastic, but it’s how he ties up the story here that is truly ingenious, eschewing any title cards to wrap things up. And that last shot, well, we’ll get to that in just a minute.
Killers Of The Flower Moon is a truly American tale. It’s an early period dramatic epic that shows that the true colors of “the American way” (greed, wealth, corruption, flimsy morals, racism) were flying just as strong then as they are today. While the film does explore Ernest and Mollie’s “love” and whether it was real, what Scorsese and Roth do more than anything is hold a mirror up directly to the audience, forcing them to reflect on the film’s events and their own actions (or inactions). It is a film that implicates its viewers, both in the framing of its events (as a viewer, technically we are accomplices) and how they echo the events of today. It says, silence equals complicity and being complicit makes you part of the problem. It urges us to talk about injustice, to remember, to be better.
At the end of the day, it’s not really about who murdered the Osage; it’s about who didn’t do it, and its 100-year-old story still finds shocking relevance today. It presents you with some sobering history and leaves you with a lot to think about, but it also sails out on a beautiful symbolic image that ties things up in a lovely aerial bow: the Osage dancing, retaining the old ways despite running against the new ones, remaining despite all the terrible things that befell them. That’s the power of cinema, and Marty still has it!
Recommendation: While it’s going to be best experienced in a theater, due to its long runtime, some may benefit from home viewing to pause without missing a moment or to break it into more digestible sections. Absolutely with a watch though!
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