After nearly three and a half hours of bloodshed, betrayal, and tangled relationships, Killers of the Flower Moon ends not with a gunfight but with a quiet, devastating revelation. Martin Scorsese's historical epic about the systematic murders of Osage Nation members in 1920s Oklahoma is a dense, challenging work that forces audiences to confront the director's own celebrated filmography. Fans of Taxi Driver and Goodfellas might find themselves implicated in the film's final moments, which feature a startling cameo by Scorsese himself as a radio play presenter. In a movie packed with powerhouse performances from Leonardo DiCaprio, Robert De Niro, and breakout star Lily Gladstone, it's Scorsese's own line—"there was no mention of the murders"—that lands with the most force, serving as a damning indictment of how crime has been romanticized on screen, including by Scorsese himself.
A Chilling Epilogue
The film's final set piece is a jarring shift from the preceding 200 minutes of dread and death. After the Osage community has been decimated by William Hale (De Niro) and his hired killers, and with Mollie Burkhart (Gladstone) ailing and Ernest Burkhart (DiCaprio) consumed by guilt, a lively radio adaptation of the events feels almost grotesque. But Scorsese's epilogue takes a sharp turn when his character reads Mollie's obituary aloud. The omission is staggering: "There was no mention of the murders," he announces, referring to the killings of Mollie's family and friends. The film then closes on an unbroken overhead shot of a present-day Osage gathering, their song and dance a poignant reminder of resilience. It's a finale that cements Killers of the Flower Moon as perhaps Scorsese's most emotionally resonant work.
Scorsese Turns the Lens on Himself
Scorsese's cameo is a bold formal choice, blurring the line between narrative and documentary. By shifting focus away from the FBI investigation—the core of David Grann's book—to the personal dynamics between Ernest, Mollie, and Hale, the film emphasizes the victims over the perpetrators. This approach avoids the inherent glorification that comes with centering the criminals. The Osage people, with their rich culture and economic prosperity, are given the dignity that history denied them. Mollie's obituary, like the historical record, whitewashes the truth, and Scorsese's line forces us to reckon with that erasure.
Critics might argue that Scorsese is throwing stones from a glass house, given his career-long fascination with the criminal underworld. But Killers of the Flower Moon is a self-reflective turn, acknowledging his own role in romanticizing crime. The final line, delivered by Scorsese himself, carries a weight that wouldn't be possible otherwise. It's a wake-up call not just to audiences but to the industry, suggesting that perhaps white filmmakers should step back from telling Indigenous stories. As Scorsese continues to work, this moment stands as a powerful capstone to his recurring themes, a reminder that some legends are built on buried truths.
For those interested in more crime epics, check out our list of the best crime miniseries or explore epic war films that tackle similar themes of violence and memory.
