Well, it’s here. The time has finally come. Martin Scorsese’s latest, Killers of the Flower Moon, is in theaters, which means two things: 1. You should go see it, and 2. I can review it.

Filmed in and around Pawhuska, Oklahoma, Killers of the Flower Moon is the story of the Osage Murders in the 1920s. After black gold is discovered on Osage land, the entire Nation becomes rich beyond their wildest dreams. In an opening cinematic meant to look like an early newsreel, Osage women are shown flashing large jewels and furs, men are in suits and hats, and they’re driven around by their lowly white cabbies. From there, we’re introduced to Ernest Burkhart (Leonardo DiCaprio), a World War I vet fresh off the train. He’s a simple man, and cowardly, and his uncle, “King” William Hale (Robert De Niro), can smell the loyal dog in him at their reacquaintance.

Ernest makes his living as a cabbie. That is, until he meets and falls in love with Mollie (Lily Gladstone), a local Osage woman taking care of her ailing mother. Mollie is two very important things to Ernest: beautiful and rich. Hale encourages his nephew to marry the woman, and soon, there’s a wedding, and little Burkharts running around not long after. The couple are in complete marital bliss, despite the rampant death surrounding them. But then, the murders start hitting closer to home. One by one, Mollie’s mother and sisters die, and even she is starting to show signs of the “wasting death”. Believing her illness is related to her diabetes, she takes insulin shots paid for by Hale. Though the book the film is based on took its time to reveal the masterminds behind the murders, the film makes it clear early on that Hale is not the guy you want providing insulin for your sick wife.

After an explosion of dynamite kills her cousin, Reta, and Reta’s husband, Bill, Mollie is tired of waiting on the local authorities to do anything and goes to Washington D.C. to plead with the president to investigate the murders. A former Texas Ranger, Tom White, is sent to Osage country to get to the bottom of it, and thankfully, he’s good at what he does. The murderers are brought to justice, and finally, William Hale’s reign of terror is ended.

A lot has already been said about how this film shifts focus from Tom White and the creation of the FBI to the relationship between Ernest and Mollie. Just to throw in my two cents, it was the right decision. Not only does it avoid the White Savior trope that a lot of these movies can fall into, it also gives the story a much-needed emotional core and depth. We should all be able to look back at these events in our country’s history and be appalled, but when you connect it to these people that we care about and fear for, we’re once less removed from their horror. Scorsese has never shied away from terrible violence in his films, and that remains true in Killers of the Flower Moon. Wide shots of the murders come quickly and without warning. We are made to witness it all.

Despite some of these scenes, the film is beautiful to look at. Oklahoma rarely gets recognition for its dazzling landscape, but its here for all to see. Gorgeous horizons, rolling hills, and golden fields of tallgrass fill the frame and paint a vibrant picture of the plains. The camera is always at work and rarely static. There’s not a dull shot in the film, but there are some that stand out from the rest. One that comes to mind is a scene where Hale is burning the fields around his house for the insurance money, and the images become distorted and dreamlike as the camera focuses through the flames. One of the earliest shots in the film is a group of young Osage men dancing in a field beneath a geyser of oil as droplets rain down on them in slow motion.

Another high point of the film is the score from the late Robbie Robertson, guitarist and songwriter for The Band. Robertson, who was of Native American descent, has collaborated with Scorsese on multiple films, but Killers of the Flower Moon might be his best work. Being a Scorsese movie, it’s very blues-heavy, but there’s a major emphasis on percussion that drives it along and keeps it close to its Indigenous roots, most notably in that aforementioned scene with the men dancing under the spraying oil. There are blues, gospel and Native American songs from the time sprinkled throughout as well, adding to the authenticity of the film.

Killers of the Flower Moon boasts incredible talent in front of the camera. It’s only the third collaboration between Robert De Niro and Leonardo DiCaprio, despite both of them working with Scorsese for decades, and they are both true to form. I’m sure both of them will be strong contenders come Oscars season. However, the performer I want to draw special attention to is Lily Gladstone. Gladstone’s entire filmography can be counted without taking off your shoes, and she is a demanding presence even when sharing the screen with someone like DiCaprio. It probably helps that Mollie is the analog for entire Osage Nation that we’re supposed to care for and sympathize with, but regardless, this woman can act. True to character, she says very little, but in that silence, she says so much. There’s a fortitude and intelligence behind her eyes.

SPOILERS FROM HERE ON OUT

Is everyone who is trying to avoid spoilers gone? Okay, good. Back to Lily Gladstone. Before the film transitions to its coda, Gladstone’s Mollie confronts her husband on his involvement with the murders. She tries to get Ernest to admit to poisoning her, but he can’t bring himself to do it. She’s known for some time that he was involved, but she gives him one last chance to come clean and prove that there’s still honesty between them. When Ernest refuses to admit to anything other than insulin, Mollie gets up and walks out on him without another word. She doesn’t have to say anything. Her face says it all. The scene is particularly heartbreaking, in no small part due to Gladstone’s performance.

Now, about that coda. From this scene, the movie transitions into a radio show. A recreation of an early Lucky Strike Hour radio program acts as our epilogue in lieu of title cards explaining where the characters are now. It explains that both Hale and Burkhart were sentenced to life in prison (and both got out early on good behavior), and in a very poignant moment, Scorsese himself makes a cameo to give us Mollie’s obituary. He explains that she died at 50 from complications with her diabetes, and was buried next to her family that preceded her. The very last words of the film are his: “The murders were never mentioned.” There’s a duality going on here. On the one hand, there’s a critique of Scorsese’s own actions as a filmmaker – taking a tragedy and turning it into entertainment – but on the other hand, there’s an argument for the need and value of storytelling. Without David Grann’s book and without Scorsese’s film, how many people would even know about these murders?

The film is wisely bookended with two Osage ceremonies. The very first scene is a burial of a pipe as the Osage people mourn the loss of their culture as new laws demand that they learn the history of White Men. They cry for the loss of their language. They cry for the loss of their history. The very last shot of the film is a modern drum ceremony shown from a bird’s eye view. As the kaleidoscopic image fades to black, we realize that Osage history is not lost, as long as there are people with the power to tell it.