Watched it earlier today. I will say first that I believe it could be a little tighter in the editing but it was so well paced and did not feel like 3.5 hours at all. As far as the rest, I enjoyed it immensely. Knowing nothing about the book or the tragic events beforehand, I was really expecting more violence and basically a war breaking out but it wasn’t that at all. The whole movie was a showcase in suspense with every moment never knowing who was safe. The score with it’s just constant drum and bass beats amplified the suspense so much. I wouldn’t say it was tense a la the border scene in Sicario, but there was this sense of dread the whole time.

The movie is beautiful. Rodrigo Prieto’s cinematography is fantastic here and it shows why Scorcese uses him so much. The whole film has this look of a colorized black and white photo. This subtle pastel look really made it have this kind of documentary feel to me. Like it was actual footage from the 1920s. Funny that Prieto also did Barbie as well. He’s having a hell of a year.

The story is very well told and the trauma Molly had to go through constantly is just so depressing. Lily Gladstone was so good especially because most of her scenes were her barely holding in all the emotions. Leo is great as always and this should be a record for the most frowning in one film. He was just constant stinkface. De Niro has one of his best performances ever in his long career. At 80, he doesn’t miss a beat.

I do love how there’s this kind of moral ambiguity about most of the characters actions. Or maybe more accurate to say theres a similarity to the concepts of ingorance and evil. I feel like Earnest is torn across this stupidity and complicity. He’s trying to do mostly right by his family but also seems very naive to the consequences of his actions. But ultimately it ends up in the same place.

I also loved the dichotomy between Whites and Indians, especially in the opening scene when Earnest gets off the train tells so much with no dialogue at all. So strange seeing the White men falling over themselves to help the Indians however they can to get a chance at their money.

Final thought, as a person with depression, I want to start calling it the “melancholy”. Sounds much more interesting to say I’m “melancholic”.