Killers of the Flower Moon Review

Martin Scorsese’s Killers of the Flower Moon is a sweeping and harrowing epic, an unflinching dive into the systemic horrors inflicted upon the Osage Nation in 1920s Oklahoma. Adapted from David Grann’s meticulously researched book, the film chronicles a chilling tale of greed, betrayal, and exploitation, all centered around a series of murders committed for oil wealth. It’s a masterclass in storytelling, combining Scorsese’s signature precision with a profound sensitivity to historical injustice.

At the heart of the narrative is the complex relationship between Ernest Burkhart (Leonardo DiCaprio) and Mollie Kyle (Lily Gladstone). Ernest, a World War I veteran with limited ambition or moral fortitude, returns home to work for his manipulative uncle, William “King” Hale (Robert De Niro). King is a charismatic and calculating figure who orchestrates a reign of terror against the Osage people, marrying into their wealth only to systematically eliminate them. Encouraged by Hale, Ernest courts Mollie, an Osage woman whose family holds significant oil rights. Their union becomes the focal point of the story, a tragic and intimate lens through which the broader atrocities are viewed.

DiCaprio’s performance as Ernest is a revelation, marking a departure from his usual roles. He fully inhabits the character’s confusion, weakness, and eventual complicity, embodying a man whose good intentions are perpetually undermined by his moral cowardice. His every expression and hesitation reveal layers of inner turmoil, making him a compelling, if deeply flawed, protagonist.

In contrast, Gladstone’s Mollie is the film’s emotional anchor. Her quiet strength and determination shine through as she grapples with the loss of her family and the growing realization of Ernest’s betrayal. Gladstone’s nuanced performance, filled with subtle shifts in expression and tone, captures both the resilience of her character and the devastating weight of her circumstances.

De Niro delivers one of his most menacing performances as King Hale, a character who embodies the casual, calculated evil at the heart of the story. His charm masks a ruthlessness that is both chilling and captivating, making him a deeply effective antagonist. The supporting cast, including standout moments from Jesse Plemons as the investigating BOI agent and Cara Jade Myers as Mollie’s fiery sister Anna, rounds out a deeply immersive ensemble.

Technically, the film is a marvel. Rodrigo Prieto’s cinematography captures both the vast, desolate beauty of the Osage Nation’s landscape and the suffocating intimacy of its tragedy. The score by Robbie Robertson thrums with unease, amplifying the tension that builds throughout the film’s considerable runtime. The editing by Thelma Schoonmaker, while deliberately paced, allows the story to breathe, drawing viewers into its characters’ lives and the broader implications of their actions.

At nearly four hours, the film’s runtime may test some viewers’ patience, and there are moments where the narrative’s languid pacing feels indulgent. Yet, the deliberate structure underscores the weight of the story being told, refusing to rush through its exploration of systemic violence and complicity.

Scorsese uses this tale to delve into themes of power, greed, and the dehumanization of those deemed “lesser.” The violence depicted is methodical and unflinching, presented not for shock value but to emphasize the chilling banality of the atrocities. Through meticulous attention to detail, the film crafts a devastating portrait of how deeply injustice was — and remains — embedded in the foundations of wealth and power.

Killers of the Flower Moon is both a love story and a chilling account of betrayal, a personal tragedy set against the backdrop of one of America’s most shameful chapters. While its length and density may not suit all audiences, the film’s power lies in its refusal to look away from the truth. It’s a haunting reminder of the wolves that have lurked — and continue to lurk — in plain sight.