Martin Scorsese, the legendary director celebrated for his captivating crime dramas rooted in the world of Italian-American mobsters, has a filmography that spans six decades, encompassing diverse genres. While he has ventured into richly furnished historical dramas, faith-focused explorations, and exhilarating rock & roll concert documentaries, his latest masterpiece, “Killers of the Flower Moon,” stands as a remarkable synthesis of these disparate elements. In this cinematic triumph, Scorsese has not only harnessed his signature storytelling prowess but also crafted a profound commentary on American history.
Collaborating with acclaimed screenwriter Eric Roth, known for his work on iconic films like “Forrest Gump” and “Dune,” Scorsese adapted “Killers of the Flower Moon” from journalist David Grann’s compelling 2017 nonfiction book. Grann’s book delves into the chilling narrative of the killing spree that occurred to oil-rich members of the Osage Nation in 1920s Oklahoma. It is no surprise that both Scorsese and his longtime leading man, Robert De Niro, were drawn to this story, akin to their past collaborations. “Killers of the Flower Moon” shares thematic threads with Scorsese’s classic crime films like “Goodfellas” and “Casino” as it weaves a tale of criminal conspiracy involving sex, money, and murder. Notably, the real-life account of this dark chapter in American history bears a striking resemblance to the sensational and ruthless narratives found in Scorsese’s mobster classics.
However, in Scorsese’s adaptation, these elements are not as overtly foregrounded as one might expect. While the book’s subtitle, “The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI,” underscores the investigation conducted by proto-FBI agent Tom White, portrayed by Jesse Plemons, Scorsese’s perspective alters this focus. In an attempt to shift away from a narrative centred around “all the white guys,” as Scorsese himself stated, Plemons’ character and his investigative team receive comparatively minimal screen time. Instead, they often linger in the background of scenes, their figures hazy and literally out of focus. At the same time, the camera directs our attention to pivotal figures like William K. Hale (portrayed by De Niro), Ernest Burkhart (played by Leonardo DiCaprio), and the Osage wife, Mollie (depicted by Lily Gladstone).
Scorsese’s “Killers of the Flower Moon” commences and concludes with the Osage perspective, which elevates the film above the standard Scorsese gangster narrative. The opening scene poignantly captures an Osage ceremony in which tribal elders bury a ceremonial pipe. The elders mourn the gradual abandonment of their traditional beliefs and symbols as their people increasingly opt for intermarriage with white settlers and Catholic mass. This thematic exploration of religious questions calls to mind Scorsese’s faith-based films, which have traditionally stood apart from his mobster tales. However, “Killers of the Flower Moon” goes further by presenting the perspectives of characters like Mollie’s mother, Lizzie, played by Tantoo Cardinal. Lizzie’s dream visions, which feature a doomsaying owl and Osage ancestors at the gates of the afterlife, are treated with profound seriousness, reminiscent of Jesus’ desert confrontation with Satan in “The Last Temptation of Christ.”
Yet, the film isn’t exclusively seen through Osage’s eyes. While Scorsese expressed his desire for the adaptation to focus less on white characters, they continue to dominate the majority of screen time. The difference is that audiences are now compelled to grapple with the guilt of racist criminals Hale and Burkhart instead of basking in the justice-seeking crusade of White and his team of do-gooders. Scorsese’s crime films typically follow a clear rise-and-fall narrative arc. Still, the ascent to power is sometimes depicted with such charismatic fervour that it leaves viewers questioning if the likes of “The Wolf of Wall Street” actually glorify the protagonists’ actions. To counteract this misinterpretation, Scorsese’s previous film, “The Irishman,” embarks on a different trajectory. It retains the camaraderie and thrill of his earlier gangster films but eventually unveils a harrowing third act, showcasing De Niro’s character’s painful descent into isolation, guilt, and remorse.
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Guilt, whether stemming from criminal activities or spiritual and moral dilemmas, has always held a significant place in Scorsese’s cinema. His 1973 crime drama “Mean Streets” explored the tension between the Catholic faith and the mafia lifestyle. “The Last Temptation of Christ” delved into the profound moral choices faced by its protagonist, while “Silence” saw Jesuit missionaries grappling with the preservation of their faith against formidable adversity.
However, “Killers of the Flower Moon” introduces a new layer of guilt, one that extends beyond personal redemption. Scorsese’s latest film represents his first foray into addressing the genocide of Native Americans. Unlike his previous crime-focused movies, this time, everyone bears the weight of guilt. White Americans, by their silence and complicity, benefited from the destruction of Indigenous Americans. They didn’t need to pursue a criminal lifestyle or financial schemes actively; they had to remain silent and consent to the horrors unfolding around them.
Crucially, the Osage Nation did not remain silent. Deprived of the protection of the American legal system and the representation of the media, they have continued to tell their story through art, music, and performance. Scorsese, no stranger to the world of documentaries, has been an advocate for showcasing these expressions. Robbie Robertson, a musician of First Nations heritage, provided the score for “Killers of the Flower Moon,” blending percussive rhythms from Native music with blues rock—a genre that Scorsese and Robertson have chronicled extensively.
In uniting the previously disparate elements of Scorsese’s extensive filmography, “Killers of the Flower Moon” not only stands as a cinematic triumph but also points to a path forward. While the past cannot be altered, it can serve as a profound source of reflection and learning. This film underscores the idea that we must reckon with history, both the personal and collective aspects, and glean essential lessons from it. As Scorsese adeptly demonstrates, the rhythm of life and storytelling persists, leaving an indelible mark on the cinematic landscape.
