..Gary Dretzka
..Noah Forrest
..Leonard Klady
..R.J. Matson
..David Poland
..Douglas Pratt
..Ray Pride
..Michael Wilmington

The Departed
Directed by Martin Scorsese
Warner Bros

(****) FINALLY AND AT LAST MARTIN SCORSESE GIVES A SHIT about his indispensable moviemaking talent rather than the Oscars. The Departed is a departure from the muck of Gangs of New York and the moroseness of The Aviator, a welcome return to vulgar, vivid, visceral elegance for the 63-year-old director, and his serene, bloody confidence on the contemporary mean streets of Boston matches the exuberance he’s wrought in contemporary Manhattan settings. It’s the first picture of his I’ve fully admired since Goodfellas, a while back in the last century. Several of the major surprises in The Departed draw upon the sleek Hong Kong movie, Infernal Affairs (2002), and if you haven’t seen that film, it’s best to know as little as possible about the story’s twists and turns for full enjoyment.

But simply sketched, Scorsese takes on both cops and hoods in the duplicity-ridden plot. Irish Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson) runs Boston’s largest organized crime ring, and the Massachusetts State Police are determined to take him down from the inside. Southie rookie Billy Costigan (Leonardo DiCaprio) has to prove his bonafides to get into Costello’s crew while his double, Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon), is on the “right” side of the law, finding a spot in the state police’s Special Investigations Unit, and in charge of one of the sections assigned to topple Costello. But as we know from the first scenes, with Scorsese glorying in criminal bestiality from the get-go, the malefic Costello has groomed Colin since childhood. Scorsese understands beautifully, both in casting and performance, what each of his actors can do. Among the tremendous performances are, of course, Nicholson, who ranges from the most deliciously precise of line readings to the most manic of threats; Damon, charming and plausible in his darkest behavior; Di Caprio, capturing unanticipated terrors in his deep-cover character; Alec Baldwin, hilarious as Colin’s deadpan boss; Ray Winstone as Costello’s enforcer; Mark Wahlberg, note-perfect, as a commanding, fearlessly witty leader of another investigative team (“If you had an idea what we do, we would not be good at what we do. We would be cunts. Are you calling us cunts?”); and Vera Farmiga, of the extra large, blue, blue windows to the soul, as a therapist who winds up treating both Colin and Billy, unbeknownst to any of the trio. Scorsese boldly holds on her large sparking eyes of endless quickness and keenness in a way other directors might fear.

Opening to the strains of the Stones’ “Gimme Shelter,” The Departed’s alternation of portent and release, of rock and opera, of performance precision and actorly arias, seems suited to the schizophrenic patterning of the two cops with a father figure and a fuck in common. In a few conversations with colleagues in other cities who saw the picture sooner, the question of whether the movie has deeper resonance than its rambunctiously entertaining twist-filled plot came up more than once, yet a single viewing suggests that the transposed elements from the Hong Kong movies dovetail sweetly with Scorsese’s own great theme, the lacerating, internalized self-hatred and ultimate misanthropy at the heart of machismo. Scorsese’s gleaming craft is displayed in Michael Ballhaus’ gorgeous light and refined widescreen framings. Scorsese and longtime editor Thelma Schoonmaker work with a nervous, accelerated cutting style that’s cut to the quick, restive in a way that among recent movies I can only compare to the restlessness of Olivier Assayas’ Demonlover and Clean. his movie races along to several pulses, including intriguing sound editing that uses sudden silence and sudden music in equally jarring but similarly satisfying manner. (There are also the non-joke jokes, such as an impotence reference followed immediately by a Molotov’d vehicle rising skyward.)

Screenwriter William Monahan’s taut, terse script, minimizes explanations of the many characters’ backstory and conflicts, yet his brilliant dialogue crackles with savvy, as attuned to gangland lingo and cop terms of art as David Mamet, but in speakable, naturalistic cadence, for the earnest, as well as the venal and corrupt. The words sing with lusty gusto: “Who am I? I’m the guy who does his job; you must be the other guy’; Of the Irish? “Freud says we’re the only people impervious to psychoanalysis.” An Indian shopkeeper: “What is wrong with this country, everybody hurts everybody?” Baldwin’s gleeful “Patriot Act, Patriot Act, Patriot Act, I love it, I love it, I love it!” And Farmiga: “I have to say your vulnerability is really freaking me out right now. Is it real?”

Nicholson’s impersonation of a rat is a certain classic, and who else could do what he does with a line like, “’Heavy lies the crown’ sort of thing? And asking after someone’s mother and hearing, “She’s on the way out,” Nicholson’s genius is refined in his delivery of the tart, simple “We all are, act accordingly.” But he’s also riotous in abuse like Costello telling a table of priests, “Enjoy your clams, cocksuckers.”

Watch for a shot in a foot-chase scene on a Chinatown side street that holds on a lamp made from vertical fingers of mirror, capturing multiples of DiCaprio’s eyes in foreground while the figure of Damon runs into the distance, in perspective the same dimensions as the long strips of mirror. Dazzling. Just dazzling.

- Ray Pride