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In 1954, two deputies senators Chuck Aule and Teddy Daniels were assigned to investigaete the disappearance of women who had killed three children, Rachel Solando - a patient of the hospital for the mental crime - Ashecliffe on Shutter Island - Boston.
It comes on strong, but in its bloody heart of hearts it's no more resonant than one of those old Vincent Price-Edgar Allan Poe contraptions - and less entertaining, too.
Scorsese keeps the tension at a pitch of near-constant hysteria. Yet when the solution to the mystery is finally revealed, you're left with a sense of disappointment
Umberto Eco wrote, "Two clichés make us laugh but a hundred clichés move us, because we sense dimly that the clichés are talking among themselves, celebrating a reunion." Shutter Island is that reunion, and that shrine.
As hard as Shutter Island works to convince you that is a dumb but flashy thriller when it is actually a fairly smart one, it may well be as hollow as any magic trick.
Story quibbling aside, Shutter Island is high on atmosphere, in large part due to the visuals, and the collaboration between Scorsese and (Cinematographer) Robert Richardson actually feels like the two men having a blast with their craft.