There's a huge dollop of conventionality at work in Martin Scorsese's "Shutter Island" — but it's hard to say whether that emanates from the story's particular backdrop (suit and fedora-hatted mid-1950s) or Scorsese's own, atypical lapse into connect-the-dots storytelling. Not to say that conventionality is bad per se. In this case it works in the story's favor (adapted from a novel by Dennis Lehane), enhancing the dank creepiness and tinging the atmosphere like the smell of bad sewage on a rainy day.
Despite the Scorsese brand logo, the unveiling of "Shutter Island" took an awfully long time — even in the United States, the actual release date did a sizably lengthy skid from the originally announced October 2009 date to just last month. Though the wait didn't do any damage to box-office sales, the reviews from the U.S. were generally unfavorable, even harsh — echoing perhaps, the feel-bad tones of the whole package.
"Shutter Island" plunges the characters (and the audience) into a relentless slushy vortex of guilt, regret and night sweats, and there's not one moment of relief. If you happen to have low blood pressure, the very effort of sitting through the 130-plus minutes of such tension could result in an emergency trip to the nearest masseuse. In fact, make a booking now — you're gonna need it.