Review: Shutter Island

Scorsese’s next step in his descent into the utterly obvious

By Colleen Glenn

Editor’s Note: spoiler alert.

Do you remember when watching a Martin Scorsese film was riveting? When you were transfixed by the intriguing plot and perhaps left stunned at the conclusion? To be clear, I am not suggesting Scorsese is known for surprise or “twist” endings. Rather, my point is that the Scorsese canon is filled with narratives that epitomize verisimilitude to such an extent that we are completely drawn into the world of the narrative, temporarily casting aside our own reality for the one he masterfully creates onscreen before our eyes.

Some have criticized Scorsese for being too concerned at creating (or re-creating) the world his characters inhabit. It’s not unusual to hear critics claim Scorsese is more concerned with costumes and set than plot, cinematography or editing, but this accusation has always seemed unjust to me. While it is true that he is notorious for elaborate, historically accurate sets, costumes, and props, these items are only part of the method Scorsese uses to create unforgettable, life-like narratives.

So skillful is he at conjuring this sense of realness that the endings to his films often leave one breathless. When the final credits run, the window to that alternate reality closes, and we are left with the somewhat disruptive feeling of waking from a vivid dream.

For proof, one need only recall the punch-in-the-gut ending to Taxi Driver when we are left wondering whether the psychotic Travis truly has been crowned hero for committing murder or if we are merely witnessing his delusions of glory. Or you might remember the unbearable sadness at the conclusion of The Age of Innocence, when, in the most crucial of moments, Archer inexplicably chooses the flawlessness of memory over the imperfection of reality, forever forgoing his chance to be with the love of his life. Both examples illustrate the grace and subtlety that exemplify Scorsese’s handling of stories and, perhaps more to my point, his inherent trust in the audience to comprehend the story he is telling.

But Scorsese, it seems, has lost his faith in us.

Which brings me to Shutter Island, Scorsese’s latest release from Paramount Pictures. Turning in super performances by Leonardo DiCaprio, Mark Ruffalo, and Ben Kingsley, the film teases us with suspense and mystery only to unmask the truth with all of the delicacy of a root canal.

Based on the 2003 novel by Dennis Lehane, Shutter Island tells the story of U.S. marshal Teddy Daniels’ investigation into the disappearance of a female inmate from Ashecliff Hospital, a mental asylum for the “criminally insane.” As Daniels (DiCaprio) and his partner, Chuck Aule (Ruffalo), enter the guarded gates of the institution, they are forced to surrender their firearms.

So begins the accelerated loss of power for Daniels, as he finds his investigation increasingly compromised by uncooperative staff and condescending doctors, who undermine his mission at every step. To make matters worse, the island is under siege by a severe hurricane, making it impossible to leave. Later, they will trade in their “civies” for orderly uniforms after being caught in the storm, yet another step in the transference of power from the marshals to the institution doctors.

In addition to dealing with unexpected obstacles in the investigation, Daniels is battling his own body, and losing. Even before arriving on the island, Daniels has been ill. Initially seasick on the boat, Daniels continues to feel badly, suffering from blinding migraines and nausea. He begins to hallucinate, seeing visions of his dead wife and suffering repeated flashbacks to the liberation of Dachau.

His memories of the concentration camp interrupt his thoughts, the gruesome images piling up in his head like the bodies of the prisoners at the camp. His guilt—for being too late to save many people—and for shooting German prisoners—motivates Daniels to get to the bottom of the mystery on Shutter Island.

Set in 1954, Shutter Island becomes a lens for contemplating and understanding the trauma of war, and specifically of WWII, a war that essentially ended any semblance of innocence the world may have possessed. In addition to the murder of six million Jews at the hands of the Nazis, an estimated 200,000 Japanese civilians were killed during the U.S. bombings at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The second statistic is particularly tenuous, as many bodies were never found. They simply incinerated into thin air.

These facts, of course, do not begin to describe the full extent of the trauma of the war, including huge death tolls around the world, with Russia topping them all at 20,000,000 casualties. Of relevance to this film is that as a WWII vet, Daniels is not celebrated, but suspect, as the doctors at Ashecliff (including an ex-Nazi played by the incredible Max von Sydow) continually suggest that it is not the war that necessitated Daniels’ violence but rather his violent nature that drew him to war.

The movie, in its broadest sense, grapples with the human attempt to reconcile memory with reality. Daniels’ repeated visions, as well as the fears the inmates have concerning the rumors they’ve heard of the H-bombs, prove that such a task—on an individual level, as well as a global one—is impossible.

As Daniels begins to place more trust in his partner, he confides that he requested this assignment for personal reasons. Ashecliff Hospital, Daniels has reason to believe, is conducting heinous experiments on its patients, the sort of atrocities the Nazis committed during the war. HUAC, the OSS, the CIA…the government is implicated at every level. Daniels plans to use this opportunity to gain proof of his suspicions and “blow the lid wide open” on the scandalous and horrific acts occurring on the island. Chuck’s response is chilling as he asks incredulously how Daniels could be so naïve as to think he was selected randomly for the assignment. If he’s been asking questions, then it’s possible that he was brought here…to be silenced.

The film, up to this point, and for a short while beyond it, is fascinating. The mistake the film makes, however, is when, at its climax, it shells out all vestiges of mystery and intrigue to close the book—definitively—on the heretofore captivating mystery. It’s an unfortunate choice because the narrative could easily have ended in a more restrained manner, an ending that would allow the audience to contemplate the sanity and fate of its main character. As it is, we learn that Teddy Daniels is really an inmate at the asylum, and the events of the last two days have been merely a progressive form of therapy, a hopeful experiment that allowing him to play out his delusional fantasy might help him snap back into reality. An interesting twist, but can we trust the reticent Dr. Cawley (Ben Kingsley)? Well, as it turns out, yes. A 20-minute flashback explains exactly how and why Daniels snapped, leaving no room for ambiguity or even a raised eyebrow.

This decision—to erase any shred of mystery to Shutter Island—is the cinematic equivalent of the final shot of the rat scurrying across the railing at the end of The Departed (with the gold dome of the Boston capitol building in long shot). Just in case we missed the 151 minutes of corruption and dirty business endemic to the plot of The Departed, Scorsese felt it was necessary to cast a rat as the final character onscreen to drive the narrative’s point home. It’s like the opposite of a rainbow…thanks, Marty. I wonder if he has lost his confidence in his audience to grasp abstract concepts, to be comfortable with uncertainty, and to appreciate a movie that makes us think.

The final shot of Shutter Island? The lighthouse. Where Daniels will be lobotomized to remove any last traces of original thought and intelligence, a process Scorsese began with his audience in 2006.

PULL OUT QUOTES

Set in 1954, Shutter Island becomes a lens for contemplating and
understanding the trauma of war.

The mistake the film makes is that it shells out all vestiges of
mystery and intrigue to close the book—definitively—on the
heretofore-captivating mystery.