Martin Scorsese's "The Departed" began with the usual notes: the Rolling Stone's cool "Gimme Shelter," a favorite of Scorsese's, for it has also appeared in his "Goodfellas" and "Casino." The lyrics, about a coming storm, could certainly be seen as allegorical, but they would be more fitting here, in his "Shutter Island," because much of the film takes place during violent rain. How, though, could the Rolling Stones' music fit in this period piece set in the 1950s, a psychological thriller and mystery.
Instead, the opening notes are Ingram Marshall's "Fog Tropes." The notes are complicated but quiet, and fit not only with the ship approaching the island but also with the melancholic, dark and gloomy atmosphere of this movie. Wisely, Scorsese has opted for a soundtrack that lacks an original score but instead is one of modern classical music. Move over George Harrison, Eric Clapton and the Ronettes--here come Max Richter, John Cage, and Krzysztof Penderecki.
Scrosese's films have famously dealt with everything from gangsters, rock 'n' roll, and Jesus Christ. Here, his theme and mood is more closely aligned with "The Aviator" than it is with "The Departed" (save for the paranoia aspect). Both were made for visceral experiences in psychology, and both are spectacular. With the "Aviator," there are so many aspects of Hughes's story--his love life with many woman (and possibly men), his brief role in politics, and his giant empire. Instead, Scorsese started with Hughes as a filmmaker, and the film evolved into a story about Hughes as a psychological subject. In "Shutter Island," a similar route is chosen: it starts as a rather conventional thriller and mystery, then goes through a metamorphosis into psychological study. Psychology is an under-appreciated component of many films and never seems to get its fair share of discussion (such as the groupthink aspect of "12 Angry Men").
Leonardo DiCaprio (Howard Hughes in Scorsese's "The Aviator" and also the lead in his "Gangs of New York" and "The Departed" and probably many more to come) is Teddy Daniels, a U.S. Marshall sent to Shutter Island off the coast of Boston to investigate the recent escape of a patient. He is there with his partner Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo), and becomes aware that everything is not as it seems. The island hosts a hospital for the criminally insane, and one of their patients, or as Teddy repeatedly calls, "prisoners," has escaped, "as if she completely vanished." The man in charge, a sympathetic and progressive psychologist (Ben Kingsley), is not providing much help, and things are not getting better, especially as a tempest of a storm is coming in. Teddy himself seems to have recovered, but not completely, from the death of his wife, and his temper is easily sparked.
The primary flaw of the film is its conclusion, which is fairly simple to guess almost immediately and not clever or original. Indeed, it even seems to hurt the film slightly above being just a simple annoyance. But it is the details that matter and which are so attractive, with a crescendo of intensity and a perfectionist's direction. There is a hint of Cold War paranoia, possible Nazi allegories and the ethics of lobotomies. There is rain--constant rain--fire, rats, disfigured faces, loud music reminiscent of the old Hollywood era, with whispers and shouts in the dark. The intensity level is so high and there are hardly any moments of rest. When it is not raining, it is snowing, but surely nothing is more peaceful than it was before. There are obvious influences here, such as Hitchcock's "Psycho" and "Vertigo," Kubrick's "The Shining," and to a lesser extent Demme's "The Silence of the Lambs" and Michael Powell's "Peeping Tom." (Perhaps it would be an annoying reminder to point out that the late Powell's wife is Thelma Schoonmaker, Scorsese's frequent editor.) This level of Scorsese being influenced is quite striking, simply because it is usually Scorsese who does the influencing (like on the works of Paul Thomas Anderson and Quentin Tarantino), not the one who is influenced. Regardless, being influenced is hardly ever a bad thing, and the influences are appreciated.
And unlike some directors who have recently had their actors play make-believe in front of green screens, Scorsese always brings out the best in his performers, particularly DiCaprio, who has been better and better in each Scorsese film. His other actors--Ruffalo, Kingsley, Michelle Williams, Max von Sydow, Emily Mortimer, Patricia Clarkson, Jackie Earle Haley, Elias Koteas, Ted Levine and John Carroll Lynch--are all fantastic, as well.
This is a film in which the ending--that sometimes make or break moment--was not so satisfying to me, but Scorsese's craftsmanship is so perfect as it always is that I seldom thought of the ending. Instead, I remembered everything I liked about it--its thrills, its noir approach and its effect. With a director as terrific as Scorsese, who really cares about the endings? There is no buyer's remorse here.
Instead, the opening notes are Ingram Marshall's "Fog Tropes." The notes are complicated but quiet, and fit not only with the ship approaching the island but also with the melancholic, dark and gloomy atmosphere of this movie. Wisely, Scorsese has opted for a soundtrack that lacks an original score but instead is one of modern classical music. Move over George Harrison, Eric Clapton and the Ronettes--here come Max Richter, John Cage, and Krzysztof Penderecki.
Scrosese's films have famously dealt with everything from gangsters, rock 'n' roll, and Jesus Christ. Here, his theme and mood is more closely aligned with "The Aviator" than it is with "The Departed" (save for the paranoia aspect). Both were made for visceral experiences in psychology, and both are spectacular. With the "Aviator," there are so many aspects of Hughes's story--his love life with many woman (and possibly men), his brief role in politics, and his giant empire. Instead, Scorsese started with Hughes as a filmmaker, and the film evolved into a story about Hughes as a psychological subject. In "Shutter Island," a similar route is chosen: it starts as a rather conventional thriller and mystery, then goes through a metamorphosis into psychological study. Psychology is an under-appreciated component of many films and never seems to get its fair share of discussion (such as the groupthink aspect of "12 Angry Men").
Leonardo DiCaprio (Howard Hughes in Scorsese's "The Aviator" and also the lead in his "Gangs of New York" and "The Departed" and probably many more to come) is Teddy Daniels, a U.S. Marshall sent to Shutter Island off the coast of Boston to investigate the recent escape of a patient. He is there with his partner Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo), and becomes aware that everything is not as it seems. The island hosts a hospital for the criminally insane, and one of their patients, or as Teddy repeatedly calls, "prisoners," has escaped, "as if she completely vanished." The man in charge, a sympathetic and progressive psychologist (Ben Kingsley), is not providing much help, and things are not getting better, especially as a tempest of a storm is coming in. Teddy himself seems to have recovered, but not completely, from the death of his wife, and his temper is easily sparked.
The primary flaw of the film is its conclusion, which is fairly simple to guess almost immediately and not clever or original. Indeed, it even seems to hurt the film slightly above being just a simple annoyance. But it is the details that matter and which are so attractive, with a crescendo of intensity and a perfectionist's direction. There is a hint of Cold War paranoia, possible Nazi allegories and the ethics of lobotomies. There is rain--constant rain--fire, rats, disfigured faces, loud music reminiscent of the old Hollywood era, with whispers and shouts in the dark. The intensity level is so high and there are hardly any moments of rest. When it is not raining, it is snowing, but surely nothing is more peaceful than it was before. There are obvious influences here, such as Hitchcock's "Psycho" and "Vertigo," Kubrick's "The Shining," and to a lesser extent Demme's "The Silence of the Lambs" and Michael Powell's "Peeping Tom." (Perhaps it would be an annoying reminder to point out that the late Powell's wife is Thelma Schoonmaker, Scorsese's frequent editor.) This level of Scorsese being influenced is quite striking, simply because it is usually Scorsese who does the influencing (like on the works of Paul Thomas Anderson and Quentin Tarantino), not the one who is influenced. Regardless, being influenced is hardly ever a bad thing, and the influences are appreciated.
And unlike some directors who have recently had their actors play make-believe in front of green screens, Scorsese always brings out the best in his performers, particularly DiCaprio, who has been better and better in each Scorsese film. His other actors--Ruffalo, Kingsley, Michelle Williams, Max von Sydow, Emily Mortimer, Patricia Clarkson, Jackie Earle Haley, Elias Koteas, Ted Levine and John Carroll Lynch--are all fantastic, as well.
This is a film in which the ending--that sometimes make or break moment--was not so satisfying to me, but Scorsese's craftsmanship is so perfect as it always is that I seldom thought of the ending. Instead, I remembered everything I liked about it--its thrills, its noir approach and its effect. With a director as terrific as Scorsese, who really cares about the endings? There is no buyer's remorse here.
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