Killers of the Flower Moon

  While the Trail of Tears was still within  living memory, the Osage nation settled in a forsaken patch of land in Oklahoma. Half a century later, oil was discovered beneath their territory, turning every full-blooded Osage into a rich person overnight, thanks to a deal they struck with the government.

 It's a ridiculously rich, interesting setting: The natives are a sort of nouveau-riche caste, but a government system that declares the Osage 'incompetent' means that they cannot spend their money freely. So white people rush to take advantage of the whole system. White business owners take advantage of the tribe with "Osage prices", and others try to woo natives to gain what's essentially a controlling share of their wealth as they take a guardianship role. There's also the expected resentment as a group of people are forced to wait on another group of people they view -with the tacit support of their government- as their genetic and spiritual inferiors.

 Into this stew wanders Ernest Burkhart (Leonardo DiCaprio), discharged from his position as a cook in the great war due to medical reasons. He's the nephew of a local prominent white businessman William "King" Hale (Robert DeNiro), an avuncular sort with deep ties with many native families.
 Ernest soon starts work as a taxi driver, where meets and falls in love with Mollie Burkhart (Lily Gladstone). With some urging from his uncle, maybe, but their relationship is genuine.

 The problem is that Hale is a complete and total sociopath who now has the opportunity to consolidate a whole bunch of oil-rich Osage lands under his ownership, via Ernest and Molly's marriage. This will necessitate the deaths of a few people, some of whom Hale professes to view as his own family; How unfortunate.

 There is very little mystery to Martin Scorsese's Killers of the Flower Moon. For a while there is some doubt as to whether Ernest will help or oppose his uncle, as DiCaprio plays him as a likeable, dumb, spineless lug who really loves his wife. It's resolved quickly.
 The movie is instead more similar to something like Goodfellas or Wolf of Wall Street, a view of the events from the ground level as they develop, anchored intellectually (a loose use of the term; he's a moron) by Ernest and emotionally by Mollie.

 The difference, of course, is that in the other cited movies you had a roster of despicable characters mostly turning on each other. It was easy to disconnect their actions from the real impact they had, so you can have fun watching everything play out. Not so here, where the horrifying nature of the enterprise (not to mention its basis in fact) is front and center, and each death hits poor Molly and the Osage community like a boulder. The film is almost three hours and a half long, and much of it feels like an emotional pummelling.

 It's Scorsese, so it's still an enjoyable emotional pummeling. There's a black-as-coal sense of gallows humor running through some of the scenes, especially when Elmore-Leonard-esque petty criminals are called upon to implement Hale's plans. You could probably cut out forty minutes to an hour out of the film without it having a huge impact, but there's so much going on it never felt like a chore to sit through even when the shaggy-dog nature of the story is going off on some tangents; Most of these also feel like they still inform the action. This is one of the rare instances where the inflated running time feels earned.

 And the surfaces of this thing are gorgeous. The film miraculously got a huge budget to work with, and it shows on every scene; Scorsese's direction remains as muscular as ever, finding ways to punctuate the film with startling scenes of surrealism or shocking violence. The editing and cinematography, by regular collaborators Thelma Schoonmaker and Rodrigo Prieto respectively, are top-notch, as always, and the wardrobe is stunning. Costume designer Jacqueline West comes up with lots of ways to replicate the Osage's mixing of flapper-era fashion with their traditional styles in a very striking way.

 The cast is also unanimously great. DiCaprio delivers a great, ego-less performance (I can't imagine Brad Pitt in the same part), as does DeNiro, but it's Gladstone who anchors the film. It's a thankless victim role, but the way she registers the blows, manipulated and refusing to believe she's being manipulated, is a huge part of why the film hit as hard as it does.

 The script (by Eric Roth and Scorsese) apparently veers off the source David Gann book a little, which was a more straightforward mystery narrative told from the point of view from the FBI agents who pop up late in the tale; The focus on Ernest and Mollie's relationship reportedly came from Scorsese's conversations with Margie Burkhart's (Ernest and Mollie's real-life granddaughter), as she reminded him that they truly loved each other.

 Events build up to a somewhat satisfying third act - there is some justice, at least (this is not a given in this sort of story). But it's the coda that packs a punch: a beautifully crafted "and then this is what happened" capstone that ends in a beyond lovely, heartfelt eulogy that left me reeling, while still recognizing that this is white people packaging other people's tragedies for white people's consumption.