The Wolf of Wall Street (2013)
So much has already been written about Martin Scorsese’s ostensible tribute to 80s Wall Street hotshot Jordan Belfort, that a regular review seems to me rather redundant. But – never one to refuse to write a bunch of words that nobody wants to read – I’ve decided that my time would be far better spent responding to the views of others on The Wolf of Wall Street.
– It’s too bloody long
Considering that I have the approximate attention span of a particularly recalcitrant toddler, trust me when I say that no matter the scenario, I find the prospect of a 3 hour film a galling one. Yet WOWS (an acronym I care for so deeply, I’m completely comfortable with the fact that it’s slightly erroneous) rattles along at such a breathless pace, its running time poses no problem.
On the contrary, owing to the extreme gulf in emotions that Jordan experiences through the film, the marathon length contributes to the immersion. From the rapidity of his rise to the toast of the New York Stock Exchange to that of his status as number one target of baying FBI agents; from the narc-fuelled, whore-laced, dwarf-degrading dizziness of Belfort’s office parties to debilitating, spasticating drug trips gone wrong; from being seduced by stunning models to the lows of divorce papers, absented children and domestic abuse: the result is thoroughly exhausting. In a good way.
– “Bloated piece of shit or wot?”
Say what you want about Joseph Blakey’s eloquence and/or spelling, he runs the marvellous Hellfire Video Club and so is worth sitting down and listening to.
Yet I (entirely dis)respectively disagree with his opinion on this one. Whether you watch WOWS as a biographical window into the nut-house that was 1980s Wall Street, or a hilarious fantasist comedy jam-packed with caricatured gargoyles, then the film rifles a thunderbastard into both goals. Continue reading →