The
one man James “Whitey” Bulger truly regrets not killing is radio host Howie Carr. Of course, it was not for a lack of trying. Yet, there is no mention of
Carr in Hollywood’s first take on the Bulger case. In many ways, it is a
kitchen sink movie, but its inclusions and exclusions are each significant.
However, there is no denying the gangster’s fierceness in Scott Cooper’s Black Mass (trailer here), which opens
today nationwide.
Bulger
hated to be called Whitey, preferring to be called Jimmy by friends and low
life associates. Whitey was the leader of the Winter Hill Gang, his brother
William was the Democrat president of the Massachusetts State Senate, and John
Connolly was the hotshot FBI agent returning to the South Boston neighborhood
of his youth. Whitey had once interceded when a group of bullies were battering
Connolly and he had idolized the unstable Bulger ever since. It seems that he
still does.
According
to Mark Mallouk and Jez Butterworth’s adaptation of Dick Lahr & Gerard O’Neill’s
book, Connolly hatched the idea of an FBI alliance with Bulger out of misplaced
hero-worship. Whether that is psychologically accurate or not, the upshot
remains the same. Connolly used FBI resources to protect Bulger and facilitate
his brutal expansion in exchange for information on the Italian mafia. Just how
much information Bulger provided is the subject of great contention, but Black Mass portrays his reluctant scoop
as the turning point in the mafia investigation.
Essentially,
Black Mass jogs through the sad criminal
epic, hitting the major bases and giving viewers of grab bag smattering of
perspectives on Whitey. There is the Southie folk hero who helps old Mrs. Cody
with her groceries. There is the psychopathic Whitey, who would take you out
and shoot you for saying the wrong thing. There is also a smidge of the
co-conspiring Brothers Bulger, whom Carr castigated for robbing people blind—one
using the force of the Winter Hill Gang, the other using the force of the
government.
The
problem is Cooper and company clearly bought into Whitey’s self-invented
mythology to some extent, in order to portray him as a Cagney-esque figure.
Yet, Whitey is the man who forced Stephen Rakes to sign over his liquor store,
simply because he was stronger and he wanted it. That’s not Robin Hood. That’s
the Sheriff of Nottingham. Whitey terrified South Boston in that manner, but it
is completely absent from the film.
On
the plus side, the Johnny Depp we have been missing for years finally decided
to show up. He captures Whitey’s erratic intensity, venomous rage, and wiry
power. Although small in stature, he is a physically intimidating presence. One
look at him says bad news. That was how Whitey kept the town under his heel for
so long.
Joel
Edgerton is suitably awestruck and ultimately quite pitiable as the Connolly.
However, while FBI special agent Robert Fitzpatrick was the hero of Joe
Berlinger’s documentary WHITEY: the United States of America v. James J. Bulger, he is relegated to the
background of Mass and played by the
inconsequential Adam Scott, who looks far too young to be the agent that busted
James Earl Ray (disclosure: my house published Fitzpatrick’s book, but we have
never met).
Similarly,
Benedict Cumberbatch is obviously proud of his Boston accent, but he does not
radiate adequate villainy as William Bulger. Still, Jesse Plemons and Rory Cochrane
are totally credible as Whitey’s trusted inner circle, but their most
substantial scenes come in the first twenty minutes during the interrogation
framing device.
