'Killers of the Flower Moon' Review: Lily Gladstone Is Devastatingly Brilliant

Never before, to my recollection, have I opened a review by appreciating a performance. That is not to say that actors haven’t delivered exceptional performances before but with Killers of the Flower Moon, I left the theatre transfixed by one.

Nothing can truly capture the effect Lily Gladstone has in the film – any words, of encouragement, of appreciation or awe even, feel too small. Definitely feel inadequate. 

As Mollie, an Osage woman most of the story focuses on, Gladstone’s performance is a revelation; she is the spirit, the heart, and the anchor of this film. But I digress. 

Killers of the Flower Moon, written by director Martin Scorsese and Eric Roth is the adaptation of the non-fiction book of the same name by David Grann. In his book, Grann chronicles the way Osage landowners were exploited and murdered for their oil rights in the twentieth century (the time is often referred to as the Reign of Terror). 

Scorsese’s film opens with scenes of the Osage people attempting to safeguard their heritage (a running theme) and cuts to an incredibly crafted scene of Osage men dancing as oil from their land showers upon them. It’s a scene that radiates joy and hope and predictably, success for the Osage people follows; we’re informed that the Osage Indians became the ‘richest people per capita in the world’ after the oil was discovered. 

It isn’t explicitly mentioned but white guardians were soon appointed to oversee the way the Osage people managed their wealth, especially since each member whose land had oil would get headrights that led to royalties from oil companies. So for context, when Mollie introduces herself as “Mollie, Incompetent,” this is what she is referring to. 

Somewhere else, a newcomer to the town Ernest (Leonardo DiCaprio) meets with his wealthy and wily uncle William Hale (Robert De Niro) who he hopes to learn from and grow with. “I am strong,” Ernest proclaims with a thick accent after his uncle questions his ability to survive in the town and it’s an interesting foreshadowing into Ernest’s fate. That entire conversation foreshadows a lot of the film, to be honest. 

Whenever we see De Niro in a Scorsese film, it is difficult to not have an inkling about where the story might go. But Scorsese himself removes much of the suspense from the story unlike Grann’s book. The lack of suspense does affect the film; making it rather boring in spots. But it’s the skill that Scorsese possesses to set the mood of an entire piece so well that even when you’re bored, there is still a feeling of dread gripping your chest. 

There’s also this particular offering from Leonardo DiCaprio. The most captivating thing about DiCaprio as an actor, for me, has been his boyish charm. Somehow, even though this role leaves little space for ‘charm’, it’s something similar that makes his role captivating – it’s the fact that he comes off as a pitiful character, almost childlike in both his insolence and his trust.

When Mollie asks him to stay still for a while, he is restless but soon obeys. With an almost puppet-like frown on his face in the later scenes, it is difficult to find anything redeeming about Ernest and that is where the actor’s act truly shines.

Another powerful performance is that of Cara Jade Myers as Mollie’s sister Anna – she is all force and righteous rage, her skepticism reflected through indignant accusations. Even in the scene (one of my favourites) where the sisters sit together discussing the white men captured in moments of revelry, away from them, Anna stands out because of her powerful demeanour. 

But I find myself swiftly returning to Gladstone. Every time she laughs or chides someone playfully, it’s like her voice booms through the speakers. “Coyote wants money,” she half-jokes of Ernest’s courtship – Mollie isn’t naive; her only ‘crime’ perhaps is being hopeful. Her eyes capture the toll that grief and loss can take on a person; it’s a subtle and immeasurable act.

In Killers of the Flower Moon, there is an attempt to center the Osage people in their story. There are multiple vintage stills of the Osage decked in their finest outfits or standing next to their luxury vehicles; always looking straight into the camera in a gaze dripping with confidence and dominance. Scorsese then juxtaposes this with scenes of the Osage people who have died as a voiceover constantly repeats, “No investigation.” Forget finding the culprit, nobody even bothered to look. 

Killers of the Flower Moon is a story of greed and exploitation, of a culture of apathy towards indigenous lives, of strength in adversity, and of how often evil can exist in your own backyard. The makers treat the Osage people with dignity and with respect (the least of what they deserve) but there is still the unshakeable feeling of being an outsider to their story – of still viewing the tragedy through the actions of the white men instead of its consequences. 

But one cannot ignore the Scorsese effect (bolstered admirably by Rodrigo Prieto’s camerawork and muted colour palette). I could drone on and on about the film’s visual nature – it’s heartbreaking beauty.

It would be remiss to not extend kudos to editor Thelma Schoonmaker. Her work here isn’t surprising, considering what she did with The Irishman but the film is made stronger by her presence at the table. 

To wrap things off, the film’s ending is one of Scorsese’s most, dare I say, reflective. The language of film or the art of telling a story, no matter how well-thought-out or intricately produced, is always going to be just that, a retelling.

There is perhaps no real way to capture the horrors of human suffering or the darkest consequences of evil. Maybe that’s what Scorsese attempts to close his film with– an attempt to recontextualise the fact that we are watching a piece of entertainment about the aforementioned. That, we as viewers, have a responsibility to step out of some films not viewing them merely as pieces of entertainment but as conversation starters. 

Because it is cinema, at the end of the day, that reaches such a wide audience and can always, at its most imaginative or even most banal, have an impact.