In the commonly understood sense of violence, “Killers of the Flower Moon” is not Martin Scorsese’s most violent film. It does contain what may be regarded as trademark Scorsese elements, such as a flap of skull on the back of a victim’s head coming loose, but compared to many of his other films, in terms of explicit violence, it is restrained. Yet, the theme from the beginning to end is one long act of violence and the whole film is unremittingly pervaded by it. This is not a criticism, as the subject matter upon which this film is based is grim, and the film, correctly, deserves to have this portrayed in its presentation. But it does make it an ordeal to watch.
The main theme is one of the main themes of American history itself – the exploitation by white men of the original inhabitants of the continent. The story of the film is a tiny coda to the long drawn-out genocide experienced by the native peoples of North America from the arrival of the first settlers from Britain on the continent at the beginning of the 17th century, and greatly intensified under the American Republic in the 19th century. Yet, in belonging to the twentieth century, the events of this film reflect certain differences in detail, if not the fundamental scenario. It reflects the economic shift that had increasingly come to dominate the world then and is still with us today – that of the shift in the concept of wealth from farmland to that of money as a means of exchange in a complex economy. Oil has played a key role in creating such an economy and, as such, is referred to in the film as “black gold.”
The film covers the fate of the Osage people, whose expulsions from the more expansive lands of North America in earlier generations have driven them onto an apparently unpromising part of Oklahoma. However, it unexpectedly turns out that the land they are on is, in fact, rich in oil, which turns the Osage wealthy almost overnight. This transformation in the valuation of land is symbolically depicted in the film by the neighboring farm of the character of William Hale, played with understated brilliance by Robert De Niro. His land has proven to be barren in terms of oil, and as such, his farm is still replete with huge herds of cattle, while the neighboring land is covered instead with the early types of oil rigs. Later in the film, Hale even sets his farm aflame in an attempted act of insurance fraud, strongly suggesting that it is simply not economically viable.
The newfound wealth of the Osage inspires greed and, as such, draws in white migrants wishing to partake of the bonanza, and the scenes in the film at the train station echo those of the various gold rushes of the preceding century. In this case, however, oil is not to be had by staking claims to land. The Osage already controls ownership of it. Thus, the whites feel the need to wrest wealth from them cunningly, and how this is done makes the story of the film, in spite of its running time of approximately three and a half hours, very simple – a tale of exploitation. The murderous greed that their wealth has brought upon the Osage is summarised by the statement that “this blanket is a target on our backs.” Their hopeless situation is most poignantly rendered when they put lights outside of their homes to ward off the murderer among them. This is made even more pathetic by the fact that the figure who explains the reason for the lights as they are being driven past is the main killer himself, who is, of course, completely undeterred by them.
Most improbably, though, the film is also something of a love story, albeit a warped one. The character of Ernest Burkhart, a simpleton of weak character brilliantly portrayed by Leonardo DiCaprio, at one point, reveals that his love of money is only slightly less than his love for his Osage wife, Mollie Burkhard, played by Lily Gladstone. That might not sound like much of an endearment, but contextualized with his regular exclamations of how much he loves money and what his love for it brings him to, this indicates that his feelings for Mollie run deep.
This sense is heightened by the contrast with other white men who seem to marry Osage women purely out of greed. Indeed, it is Ernest’s feelings for his wife that leave the viewer with some sense of uncertainty as to how events will play out. It ought to be noted, however, that Ernest lacks any real degree of self-awareness or understanding. Thus, his love for his wife does not prevent him from committing deeds that directly cause her great harm.
Mollie herself stoically internally buries the increasing emotional pain she is suffering. Externally, this is expressed by her increasing withdrawal into her own language as the horrors around her unfold. And, on occasion, these horrors are so overwhelming that she lets out a cry of pain, all the more poignant for her prior superficial imperturbability. She is also the character that wins the sympathy of the audience. For me, there came a point in the film when all its relentless horror left me with one thought – please don’t let Molly die.
The film cleverly explores the complex relationship between race and class. Through their newfound wealth, the Osage have a newfound rank in the class system, allowing them to act in a self-confident manner that, in the racist climate of the time, would otherwise be impossible for them and for which the Tulsa Massacre, depicted in newsreel in the film, aimed at preventing African-Americans from doing. For instance, the relationship between Ernest and Mollie begins with him exhorting her to use his taxi. Mollie initially establishes an air of superiority over him, meaning that, at least temporarily, a “Driving Miss Daisy”-like situation is inverted. The Osage also have white servants. Yet, the picture is complex, for at the same time, old-fashioned racism is ever-present in the murderous exploitation and certain disturbing comments.
The cultural differences between the two peoples are also made manifest. There is a scene in which Ernest and Mollie, before their marriage, are at her home and a powerful storm breaks out. Ernest wants to use the window to shut it out, while Mollie wishes to experience it, symbolizing their approaches to the natural world. She also desires to be quiet, while Ernest is constantly fidgety and unable to remain still.
In some respects, this film, like earlier Scorsese work, resembles a mob movie. There is a meeting of a group of white men in the film, which recalls that of a mob planning session in a film like "Goodfellas." Here, however, it is far more disturbing because, in "Goodfellas," the mobsters are patently criminals, whereas here, they are the supposed pillars of the community with their civilized veneer.
Most of the film is shot in dull, dark tones that suit its theme. The main score mirrors this with its pounding style as if it is the sound of a drum of doom. There is little humor to puncture the mood occasionally. However, on the rare occasions that it appears, it is all the more impactful, such as the brilliant first exchange between Ernest and Tom White, played by Jesse Plemons.
Another significant change from the nineteenth to the 20th centuries is in the role of the U.S. government. Whereas earlier, it had facilitated land expropriation from the Native Americans, it is depicted as a potential and eventually actual protector of the Osage. The FBI coming in over the head of the corrupt local justice system that will not provide justice for non-white people provides clear echoes with a much earlier film, though one set later in time – Alan Parker’s 1988 “Mississippi Burning.” As such, and for all its brilliance otherwise, this film is marred by being yet another “white savior” film. However, it could not be otherwise, and to explain why, I must contextualize a little.
The dominant racial mindset amongst white people as they increased their domination of the globe from the Renaissance up to and into the twentieth century can be summarised by reference to the eighteenth-century Scottish philosopher David Hume. He avers that “I am apt to suspect ... all other species of men ... to be naturally inferior to the whites” and that “there never was a civilized nation of any complexion than white, nor even any individual eminent either in action or speculation” – that Hume, in other respects one of the greatest thinkers of his time, could spout such patently pernicious and blatantly falsifiable nonsense demonstrates the degree to which such thinking had taken hold.
With this mindset, regarding themselves as being the exclusively civilized race, white men were beholden to bring their civilization to the other supposedly benighted and naturally inferior races of the earth, who themselves were riddled with moral failings. Thus, the dispossession of the Native Americans could, and was, depicted as an expansion of civilization and the misery caused put on them as a naturally unworthy people. Since the later 20th century, however, this vile outlook has been replaced with its polar opposite. Now, the expansion of white people across the world is regarded as one in which this race uses its superior technology and deceitfulness to steal the land and resources and enslave or exploit the native peoples of the Americas, Africa, Asia and the Pacific, the peoples of which are, in utter contrast, naïve innocents of the “noble savage” type. As such, it ironically continues with the concept of naturally superior and inferior peoples but places it on a moral plane and completely inverts the typology of Hume.
It is likely that as the 21st century advances and people formally subject to white domination who have not already done so continue their rise to equality of power within and with the West, the noble savage concept will be exposed for the myth that it is. Indeed, the noble savage myth ironically reflects something of the original myth of non-white savagery it was created in reaction to, in that it, too, sits upon a white racist idea. For in regarding themselves as belonging to what is now seen as being the exclusively iniquitous race, white advocates of the new myth betray their belief in their self-importance, albeit through the egoistical self-deprecation that may also be seen on an individual level in certain types of self-centered depressive people. By viewing themselves as the root of all evil, white advocates of the noble savage myth infantilize the majority of the world’s population by patronizingly denying them their agency and concomitant complexity as human beings.
It is with this mindset of the noble savage that “The Killers of the Flower Moon” has been made, and the main flaws in the film result from it. This is a film about white men created by a white man. Despite its condemnation of white Americans, this film is very much told from their perspective. While mostly malevolent, they are still flesh and blood human beings with motives, however dark, that the viewer can at least comprehend, despite their revulsion of them. In this, the white characters are similar to those in other Scorsese films. The Osage, on the other hand, are almost blank canvases on which the deeds of the whites are painted. This leads to the suspicion that the aforementioned inner closing off of Mollie may be a ploy on the part of a director who cannot grasp her as a real person and, therefore, presents her to us superficially.
The point I have made becomes obvious on the subject of greed. The “killers” of the title are not trope movie psychopaths who take life for the pleasure of it. Rather, they are motivated by greed and are willing to do whatever is necessary to obtain their desire. In short, they are corrupted by wealth. Also, at the film's beginning, the Osage are clearly depicted as having been changed by the sudden influx of wealth into their community, causing them to become wasteful and ostentatious. However, the corrupting influence of wealth on them is not investigated much beyond that, save that the characters of Anna Brown and Henry Roan, in particular, are depicted as victims of it. In other words, wealth is so attractive to the whites that it makes them murderously greedy and it is also attractive to the Osage, but it instead turns them into victims, the reason for the difference seeming unclear.
That is until it is realized that the Osage are portrayed as noble savages and, as such, lack agency – they are simply passive victims to their fate. As genocide is underway within their midst, save for some vocal complaints, the aforementioned erected lights and a plea for help to Washington, they do nothing about it. A wholly passive and innocent victim of crime renders its perpetrator, in contrast, even more evil and, with his focus on the perpetrators, this is undoubtedly Scorsese’s motivation in depicting the Osage this way. But in doing so, he renders the latter as caricatures and not real people, and as such, though for different reasons and far less culpable, of course, dehumanizes them as the killers themselves do.
This also explains why a white savior is necessary. As a people with no agency and an innocence that cannot even seem to detect guile, either they are to succumb entirely to their predators or an outside force is required to rescue them. The fact that a member of this force is a Native American does not save this from being a “white savior” movie, as the rest of the FBI agents and its leading figure are all white. The point I wish to stress is that it is not consistent to decry white savior movies and insist at the same time on having native peoples depicted as noble savages. The latter necessitates the former.
What is necessary is to humanize native peoples in the cinema and that means breaking from this depiction of childlike innocents and representing them as real human beings. I am aware that the fear accompanying such a change is that it will somehow justify the oppression used against them. It should not, though, for I agree wholeheartedly with Steven Pinker when he states that “it is unnecessary to paint a false picture of a people ... to condemn the great crimes against them as if genocide was only wrong when the victims are nice guys,” which in the case of this film takes the form of childlike innocents.
Review: 3½ out of 5.
