An overlong, way-too-costly leviathan of a film that (a) nobody wants to re-watch, (b) will go down in history as the only Martin Scorsese movie that represented a total capitulation to woke identity politics (and in so doing jettisoned the legendary vitality of the Scorsese brand) and (c) provided a springboard for an unfortunate identity campaign for Best Actress that we all had to tolerate for months on end, despite the effort being doomed to fail on Oscar night because the performance was obviously supporting. What a drag all around.
Only now can the tragic embarrassment of Killers of the Flower Moon be fully comprehended.
If only Marty and Leonardo DiCaprio hadn’t pussied out and had stayed with Eric Roth’s original take on David Grann’s 2017 novel…alas.
