Shutter Island

Martin Scorsese is one of the greatest directors to have ever emerged in the history of film, and it is a joyous miracle that such a legend is still working today. Not only that, but these last few years Scorsese has really reached the peak of his career: he finally won an Oscar and his last few movies have been the most financially successful of his entire career. As a direct result of his legendary status and lengthy career, Scorsese has definitely earned the right to make whatever movies he wants to – If he shot excrement for an hour-and-a-half I would probably watch it. Luckily for us, though, his advanced years and many films, some of which are masterpieces of modern cinema, have not hampered or decreased the quality of his filmmaking in any way – in fact, his last few films were made with uncharacteristic energy and vitality for a director nearing his 70th birthday. His latest film, Shutter Island – his first narrative feature since his Oscar win for The Departed four years ago – is perhaps a bit of a departure from his usual fare and style. But it is still undeniably a Scorsese picture, as it transcends its genre and features many of the characteristics that identify his previous films. It’s just a little harder to find them this time.

Before delving into the more debatable aspects of the film, I first want to mention its undeniably successful aspects, which are mainly cosmetic but are most prominent indeed. Scorsese’s visual language has always been highly stylized, but this movie puts even Goodfellas and The Aviator to the test, and serves to be one of Scorsese’s most hyper-stylized films yet. And with the aid of one of the greatest and most unique cinematographers working today, Robert Richardson, it also becomes what is ultimately probably Scorsese’s best-looking film. Richardson’s trademark style of direct-from-above spot-lighting, diffusion lenses and overexposure work overtime on this film as we drift between reality and dreams with a wink of an eye. But it’s not just the cinematography that’s at work here: we are treated to fedoras and trench-coats, characters puffing on cigarettes every chance they get, dripping sewers, rusty iron gates, flickering lights, creaking wood: This is Scorsese’s ode to the old film-noir mystery thrillers from the 40’s and 50’s that he probably meticulously studied and analyzed at film school and that no doubt influenced his filmmaking from the beginning. Accompanied by an impressive collection of creepy and ominous musical selections, the whole thing plays out like a grand old-fashioned, highly stylized detective movie. But that’s too simple for Scorsese, and the film quickly reveals itself to be far more than just that.

Another greatly impressionable element of the film is its acting, specifically the lead performance by Leonardo DiCaprio. Leo was always talented – there’s no need to look any further than one of his earliest film roles in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape for a testament to his abilities – but he has truly blossomed as an actor under Martin Scorsese’s wing. His performance in Gangs of New York was a little uneven, but no less than two years after that film came out he delivered the finest performance of his career, in The Aviator. This is his fourth collaboration with Scorsese and in it he delivers one of the finest performances of his career: it is a ferocious, bombastic and intense performance that despite its grandiose is still filled with subtlety and finesse: DiCaprio has a complex character to play and he nails every gesture and every motion. Like his other recent films, Shutter Island is blessed with an incredible ensemble cast filled to the brim with famous names as well as lesser-known but immensely talented character actors who really bring an extra quality when Scorsese lets them go all-out. In terms of the major supporting performances, both Mark Ruffalo and Ben Kingsley do a fantastic job at playing simple but crucial characters whom we learn know more than we may have thought, and who keep that knowledge subtly under wraps all throughout. There are also a number of character actors who only have one appearance but who really stand out and totally steal their individual scenes, including Jackie Earle Haley, Patricia Clarkson and Elias Koteas.

It seems like a big waste to review this film without discussing its plot, and it is impossible to discuss its plot without also discussing the ending. Or is it? I have to admit that I had a pretty rocky reaction to the film’s plot, and my opinion fluctuated multiple times over the past few days until I finally settled on what I really felt. Like many, I caught on to the “twist” ending fairly early on in the film – things the characters said, the way they reacted to Teddy, the fact that, pretty much from the beginning, we are never quite sure what Teddy is dreaming and what is really happening. The hints are just so heavy and obvious, and the “twist” so predictable, that I immediately started thinking that perhaps Scorsese never intended for this surprise ending to be much of a surprise at all. Indeed, he certainly doesn’t treat the “revelation” scene as most other directors do: In the film, we don’t see flashbacks to all the hints that were dropped throughout the movie, Teddy doesn’t seem convinced at all and the reveal isn’t very dramatic, quite the contrary: it is told in a very straightforward and matter-of-fact manner. We are quite positive that the characters are telling the truth, because it is such an obvious and fitting solution – but Teddy, the protagonist, remains unconvinced. All this and more led me to thinking that, unlike many other examples I can think of, Shutter Island doesn’t hinge on its twist. Rather, its ending reveals a crucial piece of information that leads us to finally understanding the character of the protagonist, whom had remained mostly a mystery throughout the film. It’s nothing more than the logical conclusion of the events that unfolded. But what keeps me thinking is why Scorsese had the first two hours of the film so stylized? Most of the movie still plays out like a pretty straightforward mystery/conspiracy-thriller, with conviction, and only at the end does the tone really change. Perhaps the theatricality is merely another part of the elaborate role-play the psychiatrists ran in order to finally rid Teddy of his split personality? Perhaps the psychiatrists watched too many conspiracy thrillers from the 50’s (when the movie is set), and they directly influenced how the role-play played out?

At first, my initial reaction to the ending was that it was a cop-out. But the more I thought about it, the more and more I likened it to the ending of Memento, whose revelation is a direct and logical result of the protagonist's mental illness, and the less I likened it to the ending of, say, Identity, which relies on its big reveal to provide a cheap “shock” to the audience to make them feel like what they watched is worthwhile. Perhaps what was missing from Shutter Island is a further exploration of Teddy's mental illness: I think that Scorsese could have strived to reach for more of a balance, like in A Beautiful Mind, which has its big “reveal” somewhere in the middle of the film, when we realize that Nash is not caught up in an espionage conspiracy but is rather a paranoid-schizophrenic, and the rest of the movie depicts his dealing with the illness which prevents the movie from completely revolving around the big twist.

At first glance, Shutter Island seems like an excuse for Scorsese to demonstrate that he is also capable of delivering highly stylized genre cinema: A good, old-fashioned, moody, atmospheric psychological thriller in which the fedora-and-trench coat-wearing detective finds himself caught up in a massive conspiracy. But fairly early on, when the World War II flashbacks begin to kick in, we already start to feel that there is something more at work. At first I was a little turned off by the film's finale, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it served a greater purpose. Scorsese is too good to have his film revolve around a "twist" ending: rather, it becomes a direct continuation of and sheds important light on the nature of the main character. So ultimately, what starts out as a particularly thrilling and stylish piece of genre fiction, eventually reveals itself to be a fascinating and resonant character study. I knew I could count on Scorsese to deliver something more profound than just another exercise in style. And while not quite on the level of his most powerful films, it’s still good, and definitely better than any other director could have done with the source material.