David Grann’s best-selling book Killers of the Flower Moon was primarily centered on the true story of the Osage Nation in the years immediately following the discovery of oil under their land in and around Fairfax, Oklahoma, in the early part of the 1900s. The film version is also a mystery about a rash of Osage deaths, a tale about the early days of the organization that became known as the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and an improbable but passionate romance between a returning war hero named Ernest Burkhart (Leonardo DiCaprio) and Mollie Kyle (Lily Gladstone), whose eventual marriage was one of many such couplings at the time between white men and Osage women, many of whom died of mysterious illnesses, leaving their oil rights to their husbands. Above all else, the film is about the worst kind of betrayal, and it’s that portion of this epic tale that hits the hardest emotionally, because we’re rooting for this couple even when we know we shouldn’t.
Directed by Martin Scorsese (The Irishman) and running damn-near 3.5 hours, Killers of the Flower Moon has so many story threads and subplots that to attempt to explain any of it in any amount of detail would be futile. But Scorsese and his trusted, skillful editor Thelma Schoonmaker make sure everything makes sense, lines up, and is told as clearly as possible. The discovery of oil changed life for members of the Osage Nation overnight, making them some of the richest people in the world (they have white servants, so you know they’re doing all right). This sudden wealth made them instant targets of white businessmen, including Ernest’s uncle, William Hale (Robert De Niro), who befriends the Osage and becomes a seemingly loyal adviser to the Nation. But there’s something about Hale that we never really trust, especially when he pushes (gently at first) his nephew to marry Mollie, who has a pair of sisters and an ailing mother (the great Tantoo Cardinal). Before long, most of these women are dead, pushing their land’s oil rights ever-closer to Ernest and eventually his scheming uncle.
The unbelievable sense of detail in the film (adapted by Eric Roth and Scorsese) is remarkable. Since the Osage women are wealthy, none of their husbands find reason to get jobs; the men even take it upon themselves to help raise the children. The role of local doctors in what turns out to be a horrific conspiracy is alluded to, before being spelled out much deeper into the movie. Before the end of Flower Moon, we realize that the entire town of Fairfax was essentially erected to destroy and drain the wealth from the Osage. Even their most trusted white allies are working against them. While this doesn’t come as a huge surprise, the heartache of watching it unfold in what feels like real time is agonizing. Sometimes the killings are less subtle, especially when it comes to the male Osage who stand to inherit part of an oil claim; they are knocked off quite violently and graphically, and though it’s made to look like a suicide or accident, Scorsese spares us none of the details, either with the killings or the motives.
Ernest is one of the few white men in town who genuinely loves his wife, but even he is convinced to give his diabetic wife newly discovered insulin with a side dose of some mystery injection that is supposed to make her better, but is clearly killing her. He’s also talked into arranging for the deaths of people close to Mollie, all the while claiming he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. And Ernest’s guilt and shame is worn entirely on his face, with DiCaprio delivering what has to be a career-best performance. His is only made possible by Gladstone's supremely intelligent take on Mollie, a woman of few words, though when she does speak, everyone else (including her husband) must listen. Their chemistry is undeniable, which means when they are eventually pitted against each other, the crumbling of that bond shakes the earth.
Killers of the Flower Moon is certainly an important film for many reasons, but being important doesn't make a movie great. What makes it superior is the depth of its storytelling and the complexity of its central relationship. By the time the FBI shows up (led by Jesse Plemons’ Agent Tom White and a worthy sidekick played by Chicago’s own Pat Healy), we’re almost disappointed that the focal point of the story being told won’t be this magnificent love story. Scorsese's love of musicians is still on full display, with folks like Jason Isbell, Jack White, and Pete Yorn showing up for cameos or supporting roles (not to mention the minimalistic, yet highly effective score by the recently departed Robbie Robertson); and legendary indie genre filmmaker Larry Fessenden makes a very amusing appearance at the end of the film.
An entire section of the film is devoted to Hale being tried for murder, which sees the prosecutor (John Lithgow) pitted against a wily defense attorney (Brendan Fraser). But one of the most original ideas comes to fruition at the very end of the film in a coda that must be seen (and heard) to be believed. We’re fortunate enough to live in a world in which Martin Scorsese still makes movies that matter—films of scale, vision, purpose, clarity, and full-bore emotional depth. There’s nothing like them, except other films by Scorsese, and Killer Moon is so quintessentially American that you can almost smell the spilled blood and gunpowder. It’s an ugly truth spread across the screen using beautiful images and some of the best actors imaginable. I’m desperate to see it again, especially on a large screen.
The film is now playing in theaters.
Did you enjoy this post? Please consider supporting Third Coast Review’s arts and culture coverage by making a donation. Choose the amount that works best for you, and know how much we appreciate your support!