Shutter Island

Martin Scorsese (arguably our greatest living filmmaker) has an unparalleled knowledge and reverence for film and it's history. To wit, earlier in his career Scorsese got accused of trying to cram too many different genres into his work. Then came Mean Streets, Taxi Driver and Raging Bull. These movies had the personal stamp of a filmmaker who had embraced where he came from; the immigrant-laden working-class streets of New York City. Although it took many years for Scorsese to get the plaudits he so richly deserved, most critics agreed that 1990's GoodFellas was one of best, if not the best, American movies ever made. Scorsese quickly became that rare kind of director who was a box-office draw unto himself, which did not prevent him from turning out several more excellent pictures (The Age of Innocence not withstanding, because as I'm sure everybody knows, Michelle Pfeiffer's hair alone was enough of a reason to hate that movie). In the last ten years, Scorsese has chosen to stretch his artistic talent to an almost catholic degree. He seems to be interested in so many genres and topics that it's become impossible to paint him with any one brush. There was the superb biopic The Aviator, The Departed, which was essentially a re-make of Hong Kong director Alan Mak's Infernal Affairs, and now Shutter Island. The film was adapted by Laeta Kalogridis from Dennis Lahane's (Mystic River) book. Shutter Island begins in 1954 with U.S. Marshal Teddy Daniels (Leonardo DiCaprio) on a Boston ferry bound for Shutter Island, a mental institution for criminals. Daniels meets his first-time partner Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo) with whom he is tasked with investigating the disappearance of a female patient from the institution. There is a foreboding and ominous air about the island as the two men approach it, further solidified by their introduction to head psychiatrist Dr. Cawley (a suitably creepy Ben Kingsley).

As Daniels and Aule delve deeper into the mystery of the missing woman, Daniels slowly reveals traumas from his past that begin to wend their way into the present. We soon discover that Daniels is tormented by the death of his wife Delores (played weakly by the usually good Michelle Williams) and believes her killer may still be imprisoned on the island. As Daniels becomes more and more paranoid, Shutter Island takes on a panopticon-like prison atmosphere where he is always being watched and soon feels like a prisoner (or patient) himself. Soon Daniels realizes he cannot trust anyone, nor can he outrun his own demons, including his liberation of the Dachau concentration camp. These realizations produce some horrific images as Daniels attempts to unravel the enigma that is Shutter Island.

Shutter Island is interesting and is, like all Dennis Lahane stories, refreshingly original. But there is something missing from the film. Nearly all of Martin Scorsese's movies have one thing in common; a flawed male protagonist locked in a struggle against others. Jake LaMotta, Henry Hill, Travis Bickle, Howard Hughes and even J. Christ all fit that model. Teddy Daniels does too, but the story those characters find themselves in never became gimmicky the way that Shutter Island does. Leonardo DiCaprio does his usual excellent job of mining his emotions and coming up flush with dramatic gold, and while not much is asked of him, Mark Ruffalo is good as well. I would have liked to have seen more of the viscerally spooky Max von Sydow as Dr. Naering, but I can always re-watch Hannah and Her Sisters to catch him playing his best character ever, the dour Frederick. By the way, I feel that Scorsese's casting of von Sydow in this role seems like an homage to Woody Allen's homage to Ingmar Bergman. That might be just me though. Shutter Island is doing a brisk business, with some of the more positive reviews proclaiming it "the best thriller in years". Well it may be, but that doesn't mean it's great. I wonder if Scorsese ever allows himself to fear the feeling of not being able to live up to his past masterpieces. There's a bit of a catch-22 operating, in that people didn't respond to Scorsese's work until he began making his films intensely personal. But once an audience falls for your most personal work, it's a sonofabitch of a situation trying to get them to stay with you as you move away from that. My Comment in a nutshell is precisely that conundrum. How does an artist grow and evolve without losing the fans who fell in love with her original art? Humans usually hate change, and I am one of those humans. I think it's the brave and brilliant artists that say to hell with the change haters. I applaud Scorsese for always trying to branch out, to try different things with film. Although Shutter Island is no Taxi Driver, it is still a fine example of one of history's best directors staying relevant.