Martin Scorsese finally got his Oscar for The Departed. It’s a masterpiece of tension, back-stabbing, and Boston accents that range from "actually local" to "vaguely Irish." But for nearly two decades, one specific shot has haunted the film’s legacy. You know the one. After Frank Costello’s empire has crumbled and Billy Costigan is dead, the camera pans across a balcony to show a literal rodent scurrying along the railing. The Departed rat has become a shorthand for everything people love and hate about high-concept symbolism in cinema.
Honestly, it’s a bit on the nose.
The film is a sprawling 151-minute epic about informants—rats—in both the Massachusetts State Police and the Irish mob. We’ve watched Leonardo DiCaprio and Matt Damon sweat through shirts and lie to everyone they love for two and a half hours. Then, in the final seconds, Scorsese decides we might have missed the theme. He gives us a furry little reminder. It’s polarizing. Some see it as a cheeky nod to 1930s gangster flicks, while others think it’s the most ham-fisted moment in an otherwise sophisticated thriller.
What Martin Scorsese was actually thinking
Film school students love to argue about this. Was it a mistake? A joke? A stroke of genius?
To understand why The Departed rat exists, you have to look at the tradition of the genre. Scorsese didn't invent the "rat" metaphor. He grew up on movies like Scarface (1932) and White Heat. In those old-school noirs, directors often used visual puns or heavy-handed metaphors because they were working within the constraints of the Hays Code or just a different era of storytelling.
The shot is a deliberate homage. It’s Scorsese winking at the audience. It says, "Yeah, I know you know what this movie is about." It’s a classic B-movie trope injected into a prestige Hollywood production. The rat appears right as we see the gold dome of the Massachusetts State House in the background. It’s about rot. It’s about the fact that no matter how many people you kill or how many "rats" you eliminate, the cycle of corruption in the city just keeps spinning.
The animal isn't just a metaphor for Matt Damon’s character, Colin Sullivan. It’s a metaphor for the entire ecosystem of South Boston and the legal structures meant to protect it.
The "Fixing The Departed" movement
The internet is a strange place. In 2019, a fan named Adam Sacks launched a Kickstarter campaign with a very specific goal: he wanted to raise enough money to buy a 35mm print of the movie and digitally remove the rat.
He called it a "blatant and unnecessary" metaphor.
The campaign actually gained some traction, raising thousands of dollars. It tapped into a weirdly specific vein of cinematic frustration. People felt the movie was 99% perfect, and that one-second shot was the "stain" on the carpet. Of course, Warner Bros. wasn't exactly going to hand over the master files to a guy on the internet to edit a Best Picture winner. But the fact that the campaign existed at all proves how much that tiny rodent sticks in the collective craw of film buffs.
Most people missed the point of the joke, though. If you remove the rat, you lose the irony. The movie is cynical. It’s bleak. The rat is the final punchline to a very dark joke about human nature.
Why the rat matters for the characters
Think about Billy Costigan. He spent his entire adult life trying not to be a rat, even though that’s exactly what his job description was. He died in an elevator before he could ever really clear his name or find peace. Then you have Sullivan, who was a rat for the mob inside the police.
By the time Mark Wahlberg’s character, Dignam, shows up in the plastic booties to execute Sullivan, the "ratting" is over. Or is it?
When The Departed rat scurries across that railing, it’s the only thing left alive in the frame besides the distant government building. Everyone else is dead. All the maneuvering, all the wiretaps, and all the "citizen of the year" awards didn't matter. The rat remains.
A nod to Infernal Affairs
It’s worth noting that The Departed is a remake of the 2002 Hong Kong film Infernal Affairs. If you haven't seen it, go watch it. It’s tighter, shorter, and arguably more tragic.
In Infernal Affairs, there is no rat on a balcony. The ending is more philosophical and focuses on the Buddhist concept of "Continuous Hell." Scorsese, being a kid who grew up in the church and on the streets of Little Italy, swapped that Eastern philosophy for something a bit more visceral and, well, Catholic.
He replaced the internal spiritual struggle with an external, physical symbol of betrayal. It’s less subtle, sure, but it fits the "loud" energy of his Boston. Everything in Scorsese’s movie is dialed up to eleven—the swearing, the violence, the Dropkick Murphys soundtrack. Why wouldn't the symbolism be dialed up too?
The technical side of the shot
People often ask if it was a real rat.
Yes, it was a trained animal. Scorsese has talked about the logistics of getting the rodent to move exactly how he wanted it to along that railing. It’s a composite shot, meaning the rat was filmed and then layered into the scene with the background of the State House.
From a technical standpoint, the lighting on the rat has to match the late-afternoon sun hitting the balcony. It’s a high-effort shot for something that lasts about three seconds. That tells you it wasn't an afterthought. It wasn't something a bored editor threw in during post-production. It was planned. It was scripted. It was a choice.
What critics said then vs. now
Back in 2006, the reviews were mostly glowing, but a few critics pointed out the ending as a rare moment of weakness. Roger Ebert gave it four stars but didn't spend much time on the rodent. Others felt it was a "student film" move from a master.
Fast forward to today, and the conversation has shifted. In an era of "elevated horror" and movies that hide their themes behind ten layers of ambiguity, there’s something refreshing about The Departed rat. It’s honest. It’s not trying to be "smart" in a way that requires a two-hour YouTube video to explain. It’s right there.
You either get it or you don't.
The legacy of the rodent
You see it everywhere in meme culture now. Whenever a movie has a slightly too obvious metaphor, someone brings up the rat. It’s become a benchmark for "directorial flair."
But honestly? The movie wouldn't be the same without it. That final shot provides a release of tension. The whole movie is a pressure cooker. After the shock of Billy’s death and the satisfaction of Sullivan’s execution, the rat allows the audience to exhale. It’s a "the end" flourish, like the final note of a chaotic jazz performance.
It’s Scorsese saying, "That’s all, folks."
How to watch The Departed like an expert
If you’re going back for a rewatch—and you should, because it’s currently streaming on several major platforms—keep an eye out for the "X" imagery. Long before the rat appears, Scorsese is signaling who is going to die.
Just like in the original Scarface, an "X" appears in the frame whenever a character is marked for death. You’ll see them in the windows, in the architecture, on the walls behind people.
- Look at the windows in the hallway when Billy is leaving the psychiatrist’s office.
- Check the tape on the windows in the building where the final showdown happens.
- Notice the structural beams in the elevator scene.
The rat is just the final "X" in a movie full of them. It’s the period at the end of a very long, bloody sentence.
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Take action: Rethinking the rat
Next time you’re debating movies with friends, don’t just bash the ending of The Departed. Instead, look at it as a piece of meta-commentary.
- Watch the original: Stream Infernal Affairs to see how the story works without the heavy symbolism. It provides a fascinating contrast.
- Study the "X" motif: Go through the film and count how many times Scorsese hides an "X" in the frame. It turns the movie into a grim game of "Where’s Waldo?"
- Accept the camp: Recognize that Scorsese is a fan of pulp cinema. The rat is a pulp move. It’s supposed to be a little bit cheesy.
The beauty of cinema is that it doesn't always have to be subtle to be great. Sometimes, you just need a rodent on a balcony to remind you that in a world of lies, the truth is usually scurrying around in the dirt right beneath your feet. It’s not "bad" filmmaking; it’s a master filmmaker having a bit of fun at the end of a long, dark road.
If you can't handle a three-second rodent after 150 minutes of DiCaprio’s best work, you’re probably overthinking it. Just enjoy the ride—and the rat.