I’ve probably said all I must say about The Departed, and should move on to Marie Antoinette, The Prestige, or Running with Scissors, but I happened to see the film again, at a terrific theater in Vancouver, Washington, called Cinetopia, and it inspired some further thoughts about the film. And also it’s a Martin Scorsese movie, AKA, one by “our “greatest living director,” which merits as much comment as possible. But I’ve been surprised at how cool my enthusiasm for the film has turned, and I’ve been intrigued by anti-Scorsese backlash articles, such as Tom Scocca’s in the New York Observer (not on line for free, but page 8 of the October 9 issue), in which he asserts that Scorsese is not really the grand old man of movies but rather more a master of scenes rather than the whole, and at David Bordwell’s blog and the response at Jim Emerson’s site. Bordwell maintains that The Departed is sloppily edited — and bear in mind that Scorsese started out as an editor. But all this commentary and a second viewing got me to thinking about it again, and that led to a series of unrelated observations. [By the way, the “errors” of continuity that Bordwell points out — a dancing desert, an appearing and disappearing can of beer — are on second viewing not errors at all. ]
Where does the title come from? There is a small card among the flora on Billy Costigan’s mother’s catafalque, saying “Heaven Holds the Faithful Departed.” The card is from Costello. I’m guessing that the title refers to how the dead hover over us and guide our present. But in general this movie is death obsessed, much more so than Infernal Affairs, wrongly accused by everyone from Ballhaus to the Nation‘s Stuart Klawans, who obviously hasn’t see it, of being crude, non-stop violence. That movie was about identity. This one is about playing parts. But in the face of death. I accused it originally of going “a body too far” in its climax, but that actually just a measure of Scorsese’s morbidity. The most famous exchange in the film is a guy saying to Costello that his mother is “on her way out,” with Costello replying, “We all are. Act accordingly.” Costello’s behaviour in the face of death is to act like a hedonistic nut.
This is the gayest Scorsese film since Raging Bull. There are numerous gay subtext and sub-themes in the film, but the most obvious concerns the snazzily dressed Sullivan’s homophobia – impotence. He calls the members of the Boston firemen rugby team homos, can’t get it up with Madolyn Madden (why does Vera Farmiga almost always play characters with alliterative names: she was also Jocelyne Jordan in The Manchurian Candidate), and resents being mistaken for gay by the guy selling him a condo.
It may be that Sullivan is more interested in power than sex. I didn’t really follow why he was always looking at the gold Boston state house dome so covetously. But I read in a blog somewhere that it’s a measure of his ambition. Why stop at being a cop? Why not go all the way? DA (he’s taking night classes in law)? State senator? Governor? This aspect of his character isn’t fully fleshed out, however.
The first time I saw the film I was a little irked that they had condensed the two women in Infernal Affairs into one. Then, after the film opened, I read in Variety that to the surprise of Warner Bros., the film was tracking very well with women viewers. At that point I realized that this was probably a cunning move on the part of Scorsese and Monahan. What woman could resist identifying with a character who had both Leonardo DiCaprio and Matt Damon fighting over her?
I’m baffled as to why Vera Farmiga has received such a drubbing from the reviewers. On one level she looks cute and professional in her three piece suit; at the other end of the scale, she does things with her part that I don’t feel like I’ve seen before, behavioral choices that seem fresh and original, the way Brando’s approach did in the 1950s. She veers from sternly professional and vulnerable, grappling with the differing pulls of honesty and the necessity to lie, which is one of the themes of the film. I feel that she is being terribly underrated.
This time around I noticed the red-lettered book Violence in the Streets on the shelf behind Madolyn’s desk. Should I be impressed with the attention to detail or dismayed at the obviousness (and blankness) of that plant?
Nicholson’s Costello is in the tradition of Scorsese characters who don’t communicate well. Think of the incoherent diner chats in Taxi Driver, or the misunderstandings in Mean Streets. No one ever really seems to understand what others are saying, and Costello confuses his auditors, who grow to think he is crazy.
I’ve read that Scorsese had to be convinced to make this movie, as he has so many others in the past. Plus, he reportedly hasn’t seen the source film. And the film is set in Boston rather than New York, and concerns Irish gangsters instead of Italians. Do these elements account for the patina of frostiness and lack of invention in the film?
The graveside scene at the end of the film is obviously influenced by a similar scene in The Third Man, which is a devastating judgment on a mediocre “good” man who has brought down a charismatic bad man. Costigan’s remark that his hand is steady no matter how tense he may be within is clearly influenced by a key moment in The Godfather.
The Departed is on the road to being Scorsese’s most popular film. Isn’t the reason obvious? It is chock full of stars whom people want to see, and the visual technique doesn’t get in the way of the story. It’s just stylish enough. With this film Scorsese has made almost half as many films with DiCaprio (three) as he did with the other “D,” De Niro (eight). You’d think that the younger actor would invigorate his films, but instead these newer films feel stuffed and embalmed, like the late films of Ford and Hitchcock. Still, the presence of DiCaprio brings audiences to see his films.All that being said, I still like The Departed.
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