This is Casino meets Goodfellas meets Wall Street meets Blow meets Glengarry Glen Ross meets Caligula. Whatever your opinion of those movies is, likely will determine how you judge this film. At its best, it’s Richard III heavily under the influence. At its worst, it’s Jersey Shore.
We’ve seen this story before. But never quite like this.
The Wolf of Wall Street is Martin Scorsese’s latest over-the-top orgy of excess. There’s so much sex and drug use in the film, other scenes of actors incessantly screaming f-bombs at each other seem downright pedestrian, by comparison. Eventually, you become desensitized to just about everything you see and hear.
Scorsese’s directorial trademark isn’t one of just gratuitous excess. Here, it’s an obvious attempt to extend beyond the customary cinematic boundaries that have been shattered repeatedly to the point where nothing comes as a shock anymore. Clearly, Scorsese’s intent isn’t to offend us. He just doesn’t seem to know how much is too much, or when and where to stop. Much like his coked obsessed out-of-control characters, he’s stuck permanently in overdrive with the pedal to the metal.
This is Casino meets Goodfellas meets Wall Street meets Blow meets Glengarry Glen Ross meets Caligula. Whatever your opinion of those movies is, likely will determine how you judge this film. At its best, it’s Richard III heavily under the influence. At its worst, it’s Jersey Shore.
The plot hardly matters and contains no surprises. A young hotshot stockbroker becomes wildly successful on Wall Street, makes a killing by screwing over the gullible, and then party his ass off along with his sycophant pals in a hedonistic display of debauchery that lasts nearly three hours. There are so many asses grinding, it’s about two cocks and cumshot away from being a porno movie. Unlike Scorsese, I’m only exaggerating a little.
At one of the Hollywood websites, someone recently did a “fuck count.” Okay, so that’s my term. The Wolf of Wall Street clocked in at number two ALL-TIME. That means in the entire 40-year history of every movie ever made since the censors lifted the ban on expletives, this movie is the Pele of profanity. By the way, the number one spot belongs to a comedy-documentary that focuses solely on the offensive word in question.
How to describe, how to rate, how to judge? That’s all a matter of perspective, I suppose. Some will love this movie. Others will hate it. There were even a few walk-outs during my screening of Wolf, and that’s here in Las Vegas where excess is pretty much taken for granted.
Here’s what we can agree on. Pretty boy Leonardo DiCaprio, who I’ve never regarded much as an actor, gives a riveting performance, undoubtedly the best of his career, and arguably the most stunning of the year in film. DiCaprio dominates the screen from start to finish and somehow manages to hold our attention for the entire duration. And that’s a real accomplishment since he’s not particularly likable nor sympathetic. In fact, he’s loathsome.
And therein lies Scorsese’s mission accomplished moment. Since his film career began some four decades ago with the then-shocking Mean Streets, the master of cinema has been the patriarch of creating the anti-hero, sculpting memorable movie villains we inexplicably root for over and over again — whether it’s Travis Bickle (Taxi Driver), Jake LaMotta (Raging Bull), Rupert Pupkin (The King of Comedy), Vincent Lauria (The Color of Money), Henry Hill (Goodfellas), or Ace Rothstein (Casino). Now, add Jordan Belfort (played by DiCaprio) to the list.
Several supporting actors give excellent performances too, most notably Rob Reiner (better known for his work as a film director) and Matthew McConaughey (coming off his superb performance in Dallas Buyers Club for which he lost 50 pounds to play an AIDS patient). But the real stand out here is DiCaprio’s comical frat-boy sidekick played by Jonah Hill. Rarely has any hedonist provided so many laughs.
One must wonder (especially those who haven’t seen the movie yet), what’s the point to all this? Is there a point at all? You know, a message? Why make a movie about some low-life scumbag who cons people out of their life savings, just so he can toss hundred-dollar bills at hookers like confetti and snort what’s leftover up his nostrils?
Easy answer. What makes all this intensely watchable isn’t the substance, and the ceaseless substance abuse contained therein, but rather the style. Fact is, there’s no substance to this movie whatsoever. This isn’t a rise and fall. This isn’t a kindhearted kid who goes wrong. It’s not even a cautionary tale. The story just is.
Scorsese’s unquestionable mastery of camera movement and the indelible characters he portrays is reminiscent of war photography. Think of the most iconic imagery seared into our collective consciousness, pictures of the innocent suffering moments of terror and grueling pain. For whatever reason, there’s a compulsion to look at those terrible images, even though they contain things we don’t want to see. It’s much the same here, only as a semi-fictional story on film.
The Wolf of Wall Street is a must-see film for people who are into movies and who take the Academy Awards seriously. As long as you know what’s in store, this film delivers a wallop of a punch, and then some. It’s not for every taste. But then again, what really happens on Wall Street and the things that go on behind closed doors aren’t always a pretty sight.
Sometimes life is a car crash. While we pass by, we can’t turn away. We simply have to look.
7 stars out of 10.
