Some movies justify their extended runtimes. Epics like ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ or ‘Das Boot,’ both exceeding three hours, maintain a compelling pace due to meticulous editing. Their length feels necessary to fully develop their narratives without losing crucial details, coherence, or excitement. Then there are films such as ‘Heaven’s Gate,’ also over three hours, which comes across as indulgent and tedious, a consequence of director Michael Cimino’s unwillingness to cut any footage.
Martin Scorsese’s ‘Killers of the Flower Moon’ exists in a precarious middle ground. While it boasts commendable aspects, its excessive length is undeniable, plagued by issues in pacing, structure, and narrative flow. Adapted from David Grann’s non-fiction book of the same title, the film centers on Emmet Burkhart, a seemingly simple World War I veteran who arrives in the Osage Nation to stay with his uncle, William King Hale. Emmet becomes enamored with Mollie, an Osage woman who, as his uncle points out, is destined to inherit significant oil wealth from her people. Simultaneously, a series of murders target wealthy Osage individuals, and Mollie’s family appears to be next in line.
On paper, the premise suggests a captivating and thrilling story, laced with psychological complexity. However, Scorsese’s interpretation leans towards the somber, bloated, and predictable. Grann’s gripping narrative is transformed into a rather conventional exploration of moral decay and avarice, lacking suspense and momentum. Scorsese and co-writer Eric Roth overload the screenplay, introducing too many characters and padding the runtime with unnecessary scenes that lead to repetitive dialogue. The resolution feels rushed and perfunctory, opting for a hasty summary over a natural unfolding of events.
More assertive editing from Scorsese and his long-time collaborator Thelma Schoonmaker could have significantly improved the film. Indeed, the opening act is genuinely captivating and intriguing. The mystery is effectively established, the setting is well-defined, and the characters are introduced effectively. However, the film’s quality diminishes considerably afterward. The pacing decelerates to a near standstill for much of the duration, only to accelerate abruptly towards a hurried conclusion. Beyond pacing, fundamental editing flaws are surprisingly present, especially considering Scorsese and Schoonmaker’s esteemed reputations.
For instance, characters who initially seem important vanish for extended periods. Similarly, the fates of certain characters are either excessively emphasized or neglected, leaving the audience in confusion. Furthermore, abrupt cuts sometimes occur just as a character begins to speak. These issues, coupled with the film’s easily reducible runtime—potentially by forty minutes without harming the narrative—suggest an uncharacteristic level of amateurishness for Scorsese and Schoonmaker.
Nevertheless, ‘Killers of the Flower Moon’ is not entirely devoid of merit. Creating a film that addresses cultural exploitation is inherently valuable, regardless of the final execution. Scorsese deserves recognition for attempting to tackle this subject, even if the resulting story about the Osage Nation’s exploitation lacks compelling insight. The film does not adequately explore the historical and cultural context of the Osage Nation, nor does it delve deeply into the psychological and emotional repercussions of the murders on the survivors.
Furthermore, Scorsese and Roth’s script fails to challenge the prevalent stereotypes and prejudices held by white characters towards the Osage people, or the systemic injustices they faced. The characterizations lack depth and nuance, resorting to familiar tropes and clichés. Had Scorsese prioritized the perspective and agency of the Osage people, rather than concentrating on flawed and corrupt white characters, the film might have achieved masterpiece status.
In contrast, Rodrigo Prieto’s cinematography stands out as evocative and enchanting. It makes the film visually arresting, confirming Scorsese’s undiminished visual artistry. Prieto skillfully captures both the beauty and harshness of the Oklahoma landscape under Scorsese’s guidance, while Jack Fisk’s meticulous production design contributes authenticity and textural richness, amplified by Adam Willis’s set decoration and Jacqueline West’s costume design.
Additionally, Robbie Robertson’s score, in his final film project, is remarkable, reminiscent of Ry Cooder’s work. With its bluesy slide guitars and Native American chants, it perfectly complements the narrative. The inclusion of period-accurate songs also enhances the film’s realism, a welcome element, particularly in an era where some filmmakers, like Baz Luhrmann, jarringly incorporate modern music into period settings. Robertson’s contribution serves as a powerful artistic farewell.
Leonardo DiCaprio portrays Emmet, alongside Lily Gladstone as Mollie and Robert De Niro as King Hale. DiCaprio, capable of delivering exceptional performances, seems to emulate Daniel Day-Lewis’s intense acting style, mistaking exaggerated intensity for depth. DiCaprio spends the film frowning, contorting his face, and overplaying his character’s mannerisms. While he shows some range in the initial part, his performance becomes monotonous in the latter sections.
Lily Gladstone also experiences a similar trajectory. Initially, she portrays Mollie as a perceptive and intelligent woman who sees through deception. She is captivating and refuses to tolerate foolishness. However, after the film’s first third, her character becomes passive, unquestioning, and uninteresting—even before the plot introduces reasons for her diminished state. De Niro, on the other hand, portrays King Hale as a sinister George Burns: manipulative, darkly humorous, and utterly immoral. His scenes are consistently engaging; he is undoubtedly the film’s highlight.
The supporting cast includes talented actors, some of whom deliver strong performances. Ty Mitchell is compelling as John, a poor man entangled in Emmet and King Hale’s schemes, possessing more integrity than both. Jesse Plemons is reliably solid as FBI agent Tom White, while Louis Cancelmi is effectively sleazy as Kelsie Morrison, one of King Hale’s henchmen. Conversely, Cara Jade Myers, as Mollie’s alcoholic sister, and Brendan Fraser, in a brief role as King Hale’s lawyer, are miscast and excessively theatrical, detracting from the surrounding events.
Ironically, the film’s central theme is more succinctly captured in Dean Martin’s 1948 song, “The Money Song”: “Them that have it, get more of it. The less they need it, the more they love it.” This encapsulates the film’s thesis: greed is infectious, and affluence intensifies avarice. This message is neither novel nor profound; Mervyn LeRoy’s 1959 film, ‘The FBI Story,’ explored similar themes with greater impact.
Ultimately, ‘Killers of the Flower Moon’ is a diluted adaptation of a compelling non-fiction book, excessively long and lacking in original or meaningful insight. Despite its impressive cinematography, evocative score, and a few strong performances, Martin Scorsese’s ‘Killers of the Flower Moon’ is, in the end, a disappointing endeavor. For those wondering where to watch Killers of the Flower Moon, it is currently playing in select theaters and is expected to be available for streaming on Apple TV+ at a later date. Check your local listings for theatrical showtimes and stay tuned for updates on its streaming release.
