‘The Departed’ marks Scorsese’s return to modern gang genre
By A.J. Fox, The Dartmouth Staff
Published on Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Jack Nicholson and Matt Damon star in Martin Scorsese's latest gritty urban crime drama, "The Departed."
In Martin Scorsese's new movie "The Departed," Jack Nicholson parades around the screen wearing a leopard-print bathrobe while women half his age hang off each arm. He growls out strings of unspeakable profanity, pausing occasionally to sing a rousing Irish ballad or two. He eats bugs, sticks his hands into melon-sized bowls of cocaine, waves around an enormous black dildo, and boasts a haircut that looks like it hasn't been washed since the Clinton administration.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered that "The Departed" is not an Ozzy Osbourne biopic, but a gritty crime drama set on the mean streets of South Boston. Nicholson plays Frank Costello, an Irish mobster with a lust for power and a somewhat eccentric personality. The movie opens with Costello, understandably wary of law enforcement, embedding one of his most loyal henchmen into the ranks of the Massachusetts State Police to act as an undercover saboteur. The henchman is Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon), a man whose intelligence and chiseled jawline allow him to rise with alarming speed to the highest ranks of the department.
As Sullivan burrows deeper into the State Police administration, his fellow officers dispatch one of their own to infiltrate Costello's syndicate in the hopes of putting the crime lord behind bars once and for all. They choose Billy Costigan (Leonardo DiCaprio), a hungry-eyed kid who has joined the force in an effort to outrun his family's criminal past. As it turns out, Billy's deceased father was once a business associate of Costello's -- and so, after a brief screening process consisting of a little more than small talk, Billy is welcomed into the fold. If only all job interviews could be so easy.
Once all the players are in position, "The Departed" becomes a slow and dreadful dance between Colin and Billy as the two men slowly close in on each other, first becoming aware of the existence of a rat in their respective organizations, then gradually inching toward the discovery of each other's identity. Meanwhile there's some vague business involving stolen computer chips as well as a romantic subplot between Colin, Billy and their mutual mistress Madolyn (Vera Farmiga). The love triangle between these three quickly becomes the film's most tedious element.
The best moments in "The Departed" are those in which the filmmakers jettison the excess plot baggage and focus instead on the slow implosions of Colin and Billy. Between Farmiga's vacuity and Nicholson's hammy glee, the momentum of the proceedings is left in the hands of Damon and DiCaprio, and together they drive the movie home. Damon is relaxed and nimble, his speech unencumbered by the use of the letter "r." DiCaprio, his handsome features coiled tight as a spring, matches him step for step. When the two men first cross paths in the back alley of a porn theater, the silent tension of the scene feels like the stuff of film legend.
Much of the credit is due to Scorsese, whose moral curiosity and careful direction have found a jagged beauty in what is essentially genre material. "The Departed" is a return to the sort of lean urban drama that Scorsese was making back in the '70s with films like "Mean Streets," but this time he's imposed a change of setting, abandoning New York City's Little Italy for the Irish-Catholic slums of Southie. Indeed, "The Departed" is so immersed in its Beantown vibe that you can practically smell the chowdah (most of the film was actually shot in New York, but it's damn-near impossible to tell). There's a scene early on in which a couple of Italian hitmen from down the coast try to strong-arm a local grocer. Bursting with Irish pride, Billy knocks the teeth out of them. The mobsters go slinking home, and we know that the torch has been passed.
"The Departed" gets some extra mileage from the hard work of supporting players like Martin Sheen and Mark Wahlberg as police administrators, and Ray Winstone as Costello's near-silent hatchet man. But ultimately it's hard to take our eyes off Nicholson, who presides over the film with a wolfish, almost demonic air. As events begin to spiral out of control, Nicholson's performance grows more and more unhinged, allowing Costello's paranoid psychosis to carry the film into its ultra-violent conclusion.
By the time the credits roll, the screen is littered with mangled bodies, and, as an audience, we are left with an incalculable sense of defeat. There's nothing much to learn from this ocean of blood, no gemstone of meaning buried beneath the piled corpses, just a profound sense of loss at having watched a series of compelling characters destroy themselves one by one.
Predictably, the gritty urban angst of "The Departed" has garnered near-orgasmic early reviews, but I suspect the initial critical elation may not stand the test of time. I liked the film a whole lot without ever really loving it -- it feels like a long and violent journey on the road to nowhere. It is not so much the movie itself as the talent and care invested in it that makes the journey one worth taking.
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