Fascinated by the Dark Side: Black Mass (Movie Review)

This recipe of Irish Mob stew calls for the following ingredients:  Start with a batch of worthless punks, mix in half a dozen grizzly murders conducted onscreen so creatively they almost take on high-art form, season in lots of tough-guy talk muttered in make-believe accents, script in a couple of hundred derivatives of the word “fuck,” and then tell the entire story in flashback mode, and we’ve got yet another helping of a warmed up leftovers which makes for “Goodfella’s” plus “Donnie Brasco” plus “The Departed,” which all adds up to “Black Mass.”

At first, the notion of yet another glamour shot of the criminal underworld seems both redundant and repulsive.

We’ve been down this gritty city street so many times before.  Too many. The drab scenery has become way too familiar and even a bore.

This recipe of Irish Mob stew calls for the following ingredients:  Start with a batch of worthless punks, mix in half a dozen grizzly murders conducted onscreen so creatively they almost take on high-art form, season in lots of tough-guy talk muttered in make-believe accents, script in a couple of hundred derivatives of the word “fuck,” and then tell the entire story in flashback mode, and we’ve got yet another helping of a warmed up leftovers which makes for “Goodfella’s” plus “Donnie Brasco” plus “The Departed,” which all adds up to “Black Mass,” the latest in an cinematic assembly line of crime and violence based on real-life events.

Inspired by the life and times of Whitey Bulger, a maniacal killer and crime boss from South Boston who reigned over those working class Irish-American neighborhoods during the 1970’s and 1980’s, “Black Mass” pretty much sticks to events which reportedly happened and doesn’t take much creative latitude in the storytelling.  Martin Scorsese’s fingerprints might be all over the camera lens, but his trademark technique of casting larger than life, over-the-top film icons who crack open heads and and blast shotguns into the bellies of victims to the perfectly-timed pulsating bass of classic rock music is nowhere to be found.  To its credit, that does indeed make for greater realism.  Unfortunately, it also makes for a less compelling viewing experience and a movie that’s not up to par with the aforementioned classics in the organized crime catalog.

Directed by Scott Cooper (“Crazy Heart”) and written by Mark Mallouk/Jez Butterworth, the film is based on the book “Black Mass: The True Story of an Unholy Alliance Between the FBI and the Irish Mob,” penned by Dick Lehr and Gerard O’Neill.  But most moviegoers will recognize it much more as a major comeback vehicle for its star Johnny Depp, who seemingly hasn’t made a decent movie during this century after a hopeless string of cartoon-character disasters that have crashed his box office appeal onto the rocks of what now must be utter desperation.  Perhaps Depp finally headed the tearful pleas of his agent or faces a mountain of debt and realized whats left of his fans and following wants to see him acting rather than wearing clownish costumes and mugging for the camera in movies that bomb all the time.

Accordingly, Depp delivers here and then some, and reminds us all of the possibilities that still exist within Depp the actor, when he’s not distracted by fanciful film fantasy.  Branded with bad teeth and steely blue eyes that stare into victims like looming daggers of imminent death, Depp manages to convince us all that Bulger was a really mean dude, who became progressively more violent with the deaths of those who were closest to him.  This isn’t some lone opportunist delivering vices like gambling and prostitution.  Bulger trafficked in drugs (even to schoolchildren), engaged in several acts of extortion, personally committed at least 11 murders, and even financed acts of terror by the Irish Republican Army in Northern Ireland for a period.

I knew next to nothing about the real-life Bulger, so for me the film was a new eye-opening experience which provided both suspense and occasionally elements of surprise.  The final outcome of the film and what happens to Bulger won’t be revealed here, of course, but as the walls slowly begin to cave in and suffocate the tough Irish mobster, we become just as fascinated by the strong cast of supporting characters who were willing partners in crime, including even the FBI which used Bulger as an informant for 14 years and enabled the killer and gangster to grow his empire and wipe out rivals.  Supporting roles were played by Benedict Cumberbatch, Kevin Bacon, Peter Sarsgaard, and Dakota Johnson, who portrays Bulger’s emotionally-tortured wife.  The Boston accents seem way too thick, at times, but might be overlooked somewhat given the compelling narrative.

The dubious role of federal law enforcement in Bulger’s criminal enterprises is perhaps the most intriguing part of this depressing and somewhat predictable tale.  Without FBI protection, Bulger would likely have remained a small-time hood during most of his life, instead of rising to the top of the notorious Winter Hill Gang by 1997, when everything caved in and the charade finally came to a very public conclusion.

There’s not a single character in this film who’s even remotely admirable, sans perhaps a few very minor roles.  Moreover, the movie is completely devoid of any humor whatsoever.  It’s also a film without style, although the wacky fashions with fat ties and gas-guzzling cars from the period does manage to capture life on the streets of South Boston perfectly, which doesn’t exactly make for the best visual theatrics.  Don’t expect any Brando-esque wisdom or sophistication from Bulger or his capos.  There are no cozy chats in the Godfather’s office here, just a slew of profanity-laden exchanges between groups of slime balls standing beneath rusty bridges, whispers between huddled confidants over wooden bars loaded with shots of Jameson, and lots of yelling across desks buried beneath piles of paper.

Somewhere out there right now, there’s another criminal kingpin — much like Bulger — operating in another city who is doing lots of really bad things.  Eventually, he too will get caught or be killed, just as most so-called wiseguys all end up.  After it’s over, someone will write a book, which will later be made into a movie, which will cast a big star to play the lead character, who will be far more charismatic than the actual deviant who murdered and made many lives so miserable.

Our fascination with scumbags never ends.