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Date: 12/12/2023
Going to the movies every week often provides a mixed-bag experience. I either find myself lucky enough to stumble into one or two well-composed features or ensnare myself in a perilous trap — wasting time witnessing instantly forgettable content.
Thankfully, Apple Original Films is delivering the goods, although not through their traditional streaming model. The media conglomerate has allocated resources to finance theatrical releases for two lavish, adult-oriented period pieces crafted by illustrious directors (Ridley Scott and Martin Scorsese). I cannot applaud Apple enough for this decision. Far too often, streaming services do not give their films a chance to shine on the big screen, often relegating marquee titles like “Prey” to an unceremonious small-screen platform.
Theatrical releases showcase respect towards the creative talents involved and award box office grosses for films guaranteed to receive no revenue from streaming. I also endorse Apple for using its ample resources to greenlit niche adult fare in a marketplace driven by blockbusters and easily digestible content. Films like our subjects today, “Napoleon” and “Killers of the Flower Moon” deserve a seat at the Hollywood table.
New to Theaters: “Napoleon”
Applauded for his military brilliance yet admonished for his crude arrogance, French leader Napoleon Bonaparte charts an indelible journey through history in “Napoleon.”
Historical epics are a signature calling card for acclaimed director Ridley Scott (“Gladiator,” “The Last Duel” and “Kingdom of Heaven”). When challenged with unwrapping Napoleon’s ubiquitous persona, Scott rises to the occasion in ways that fit comfortably within his skill set and stretch boldly into invigorating new territory.
Few exhibit Scott’s eye for visceral grandeur. Even at 86, the poised auteur still conjures bludgeoning battle scenes and sweeping vistas with emphatic command. The hard-hitting realism driving Scott’s grisly battle scenes has always struck a chord, but including Napoleon’s perspective incorporates an ominous layer of subtext. We witness hundreds sprinting into the fiery infernos of war, likely being sentenced to their demise in the process. As countless soldiers perish, Napoleon stands static behind the battlefield, maneuvering different commands with an oppressively apathetic expression. We see that war’s purpose and the ample losses it achieves never matter much to Napoleon; it exists only as a forum for him to display his stature as an accomplished general.
Searing indictments like this are prevalent in Scott’s insightful biopic. He and screenwriter David Scarpa slice through Napoleon’s flaws and insecurities with a razor-sharp cutlass, leaving no stone unturned in showcasing a man consumed by status and power at the cost of his own happiness. The screenplay occasionally suffers from the all-too-common Wikipedia storytelling trope of highlighting every bullet point in a figure’s life. Still, Scott and Scarpa energize these segments with more vigor than most biopic contemporaries.
Perhaps the best surprise buried within “Napoleon” is its cunning humor, mainly expressed through the relationship between Napoleon and his lover, Empress Josephine. While Napoleon dominates all who oppose him, Josephine stands as his one foil — a voice of reason who often plays on his emotions like an instrument.
The contentious yet ultimately loving connection between the pair is the film’s beating heart, showcasing equal levity and pathos as the two flex their authority over each other. This cat-and-mouse game of hubris exposes many of Napoleon’s inadequacies, with the film cleverly taking form as an exceedingly relevant satire on the misguided nature of ego-driven politicians. Dynamic performances from Joaquin Phoenix as the cruel and buffoonish Napoleon and Vannessa Kirby as Josephine also inject gravitas into roles that would feel one-dimensional in lesser hands.
After sifting through an onslaught of voiceless biopics, “Napoleon” delivers a refreshing breath of fresh air. Scott and company have composed a pointed affair that recontextualizes an iconic figure with intellect and impact.
Also in Theaters: “Killers of the Flower Moon”
When oil is discovered in 1920s Oklahoma under Osage Nation land, Eli Burkhart and his uncle William Hale hatch a devious plan to extract riches from the native population in “Killers of the Flower Moon.”
What is left to say about “Killers of the Flower Moon,” the latest accomplished endeavor from America’s best director of all time, Martin Scorsese? I leave the discerning dissertations on the film’s ruminations on white supremacy and its poisoning of Native American culture to the experts. For me, I want to focus on how the film develops a fascinating subversion of Scorsese’s sensibilities.
Scorsese continues crafting a career from the dredges of amorality. With iconic features like “Goodfellas” and “The Wolf of Wall Street,” the director walks a finite tightrope. He initially lulls viewers into the criminal underbelly’s allures, capturing the glitz and glamor deriving from a life of endless luxuries and carefree behaviors. Shortly after indulging in these splendors, Scorsese pulls the rug out from under his characters and the audience, exposing nefarious figures to the karmic justice earned from their amoral actions.
In “Killers of the Flower Moon,” Scorsese ditches this duality entirely and, in a fascinating late-career maturation, reflects on this approach’s limitations. The film is oppressively somber, never batting an eye at exposing the traumatic horrors that the Osage population faced due to the insatiable hunger for stature and wealth by nefarious figures. The actions of Eli and William are never sensationalized, and their impact on Mollie Burkhart, Eli’s Osage wife, who is used as part of his schemes, is deeply felt in the material’s bleak undertones. The transgressions committed against the Osage sledgehammer viewers throughout the film’s sprawling three-and-a-half-hour runtime, rarely letting up in its sincere yet painful reflections on the casualties stemming from greed and white nationalism.
Once the film builds towards its third act crescendo, Scorsese reveals a thought-provoking ace up his sleeve. Shades of overly theatrical notes appear from the shadows, with a crucial court case and subsequent media reports transforming the first two act’s complexities into an almost farcical affair. There is no definitive gavel of justice to rectify the misdeeds, and emotional solace ultimately remains more elusive than ever for the Osage population.
Through these choices, Scorsese acknowledges that, despite noble intentions, his craft can never comprehensively articulate the tragedy endured by his Osage subjects. In fact, any historical retelling from an outsider’s perspective will always be encumbered and risk sinking into exploitative territory. Reckoning with this fact is a valiant self-critique that few other stalwart directors would even dare to attempt. I cannot admire Scorsese enough for challenging the notion of what historical retellings can actually accomplish artistically. Can maturation be discovered by illustrating the trauma of a minority population by a cultural outsider, or is it all just a pointless act of insincere altruism?
“Killers of the Flower Moon” is also accomplished outside its challenging subtext. Scorsese’s elegant yet flare-free camerawork seizes a stronghold on viewers’ attention, while his intricate eye for period details helps create a fully inhabited world. Leonardo DiCaprio and Robert DeNiro deliver remarkable performances as grimey figures hiding under their slick veneers, yet Lily Gladstone as Mollie Burkhart leaves the most profound impact. Her insular performance work simmers under the surface, conveying the weight of generational pain that further intensifies with each misdeed.
To no one’s surprise, “Killers of the Flower Moon” is a masterful work. It is saddening to think we might only have a few new Scorsese films left. I hope audiences savor these opportunities while they still last.