18, 150 mins



. This time he is Frank Costello, the psychotic boss of an Irish mob in Boston, and the cornerstone of Martin Scorsese’s vertiginous thriller The Departed. True, the film is a virtual remake of Andrew Lau and Alan Mak’s cult Hong Kong hit, Infernal Affairs (2002). But this is a clever steal by Scorsese, and a flamboyant return to the kind of testosterone-soaked drama he pioneered in Mean Streets and Goodfellas.

The title is a quaint reference to the legion of souls Costello has brutally dispatched on his way to the top of the pile, and Nicholson’s unsavoury grin and seedy menace are a joy to behold. He is the architect of a cynical world in which everyone — including the police — is forced to operate. “I don’t want to be part of the environment,” he drawls, drifting past knocking shops in South Boston in the 1970s. “I want the environment to be part of me.”

His wish is granted in 2006 by Scorsese, who builds a baroque empire around this hellish whimsy. The brilliance of his film is that the town itself has become an infernal extension of Frank’s warped personality, and the main reason why the crime lord is so difficult to bring down.

The silver bullet is Billy Costigan (Leonardo DiCaprio), a police rookie in the Special Investigations Unit. He is desperate to prove himself, and dirty enough to infiltrate Frank’s tough-as-nails mob. Costigan’s initiation into the gang’s inner circle, conducted by Ray Winstone’s stony enforcer, is a ghastly, eyewatering ordeal.

DiCaprio is marvellously understated in this panicky role, but as resourceful in the moment as Nicholson is wildly unpredictable. It’s worth noting how much DiCaprio’s credibility has flourished since he deposed De Niro as Scorsese’s muse. He was arguably too green to front Gangs of New York, but he came of age in The Aviator, and he’s matured into the genuine tortured article in The Departed in which he learns silently to bottle his fears to stay alive.

When traps designed to capture Costello fail to spring, it rapidly transpires that an equally slippery traitor is working on Frank’s behalf in the police. Matt Damon’s crooked officer, Colin Sullivan, is the mirror opposite of DiCaprio’s loner. He has bags of rude sex appeal and fistfuls of flashy punchlines.

The visceral thrill is the way the film stalks these two high-flying moles in a nerve-shredding race to expose each other. Each man is gradually consumed by his double life and sympathies are blurred to the point where it’s impossible to take sides. It’s no coincidence that these Hamlets look eerily alike, and almost inevitable that they should fall for the same girl, a shapely psychiatrist (Vera Farmiga) who specialises in schizophrenics on both sides of the law.

The romance, though, exposes the Achilles heel of Scorsese: a career reluctance to engage convincingly with confused females while revelling in the anxieties of damaged and dangerous men. The greater surprise is that this is Nicholson’s first tango with Scorsese despite a mutual admiration that stretches back 30 years. It should be the start of another beautiful relationship.

The mordant sense of humour in William Monahan’s Oscar-worthy screenplay is tailor-made for a star who grows more paranoid and comically grotesque by the second. Costello smells rats everywhere, and muses about the nature of trust while waving a severed hand in a clear plastic bag over his breakfast. It’s a priceless scene.

But it’s the meticulous care the director invests in every frame that gives the film such a fabulous reach. The supporting cast of snakes is lovingly indulged, notably Mark Wahlberg’s hard-boiled officer in charge of the Special Investigations Unit. It’s a blistering performance that redeems a wealth of acting sins.

The flurries of unspeakable violence — as much implied as seen — are vintage Scorsese. The way his film plays tricks on the senses long after the final credits roll adds another thoughtful dimension to the gripping magic.

JAMES CHRISTOPHER