The Wolf of Wall Street, directed by Martin Scorsese and
starring Leonardo DiCaprio, is a polarizing movie. Mick LaSalle (SF Chronicle)
and Peter Travers (Rolling Stone), among others, absolutely loved it; David Denby (New Yorker), Richard Corliss
(Time) and Lawrence Toppman (Charlotte Observer) did not. I am in the latter camp. As I wrote to a
friend in dis-recommending The Wolf of Wall Street, this picture “glorifies avarice, fraud, misogyny and
sexual objectification, excess drug use (cocaine and quaaludes), alcoholism,
and boorish behavior generally in the name of humor and entertainment.”
So there you have it.
To be fair,
the movie is about a real guy, the boorish, avaricious, quaalude addicted,
skirt-chasing scumbag and felon, Jordan Belfort, convicted in 1998 of
securities fraud and money laundering. After serving his time he wrote a
self-indulgent, best-selling memoir of his wild and crazy life, called (of
course) The Wolf of Wall Street, and went on to become, of all things, a
motivational speaker. Although Belfort is quite the rogue (despite around $2
million in income from book sales and the movie rights, he has not paid most of
the court ordered restitution to his victims), he was and seems still to be quite the salesman.
And so is Leo
DiCaprio, who gives an all-in, over-the-top performance portraying Belfort as a
clever, amoral, narcissistic, occasionally charming creep, who takes in a lot
of people, becomes impossibly rich, throws lavish parties that would make Hugh
Heffner jealous, indulges in all kinds of hubristic behavior,
and eventually gets caught. DiCaprio’s
work is one reason to see this movie. Indeed, the acting throughout is pretty
good.
Matthew McConaughey, in a brief
appearance as Belfort’s mentor, Mark Hanna, is hilarious (as is DiCaprio much
of the time). Jonah Hill, as Belfort’s acolyte and buddy is, well, Jonah Hill. Kyle Chandler, as the FBI agent
who’s chasing Belfort, gives a nice, nuanced portrayal of a bright, dogged guy
who’s alternately amused, bemused and disgusted by the shenanigans of his prey;
and indeed, one of the highlights of this low movie is a scene in which his
character meets Belfort on the latter’s yacht, and we can see the power
relationship between them shift before our eyes.
But subtlety is not what this motion picture is about. Instead
we are given a steady diet of wild parties, speeches, more wild parties, more
speeches, heavy death-defying drug use glorified as humorous escapades (and some
are funny), lots of bacchanalian sex, mostly with gorgeous hookers, exotic
automobiles, and beautiful trophy wives
(notably the very lovely Margot Robbie as Belfort’s wife #2), for most of the
three hours running time.
Now, a movie about a bad guy, even a shallow, rich greedy
guy like Belfort and/or a picture about the excesses of such a guy or the era
he lived in could be instructive or worthwhile. But The Wolf of Wall Street has
nothing to say, except “Look at this!!” No
truths are revealed about the characters, about the human spirit, about the
financial world (guess what: it’s about making money). It’s not a character
study; all we really learn about Belfort is that he is venal. We don’t really
get to know any of the other characters, other than as cardboard cutouts of
certain recognizable types. Belfort and his cronies don’t have much, if any,
humanity at the start, and they are no different by the end; we see no growth,
no lessons learned no motivation other than greed and carnal pleasure. The movie pays scant attention to the victims
who are damaged or ruined by the actions of the protagonists, other than to
mock them in passing. The women are pretty much all objectified sex objects.
Even Robbie’s character, Naomi Belfort, seems primarily interested in looking
hot and having sex.
Quality movies need not be moralistic, but they need to tell
us something, reveal something. What was
Scorsese trying to say or at least show us? He’s been quoted as suggesting the
movie is intended to reflect who we are. Di Caprio has said that they were
trying to “create the sense of a modern day Roman Empire, with everyone giving
in to every temptation.” That, in fact
does seems like what they did. In this
way, Wolf is a bit like another
expensive crap movie – 1979’s Caligula, produced by Penthouse magazine’s Bob
Guccione. Three hours of debauchery is supposed to be a reflection of who we
are as a nation, as human beings? How? Why?
The movie makes no effort to answer those questions. 
For me at least, The Wolf of Wall Street is little more than
showy, dumbed down bit of titillation, dressed up with a big movie star, high
production values and a pretentious, trumped up premise. It is a well crafted
movie – it’s by Scorsese, after all - and it treats its subject with a light,
humorous touch. Some of it is
entertaining, up to a point. But like any carnival, when it’s over you’re left
with little, except the sickly aftertaste from too much cotton candy or
popcorn, and the dull headache from sensory overload.
In wide release.
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