So, we went to see The Wolf of Wall Street last night. First movie of 2014. I thought the trailer was excellent. Leo looked smashing. Matthew McKnobblyknees sounded great and he seemed proper funny. And that pounding soundtrack (Kanye’s “Black Skinhead,” pop pickers). It was all so promising.
I’ve seen a bunch of Scorsese movies. Goodfellas was one of the great cinema-going experiences of my life. It was so bold, exciting. The Wolf? Not so much.
The Wolf of Wall Street is a three-hour tribute to tits and tablets. I don’t mean to sound like a prude but there’s only so many strippers, hookers and all round good-time gals I can stomach in an early motzash showing when I’m still in my shabbos shoes.
Performancewise, Leo is at the top of his game. He’s the actor of his generation as yet another hooker removes a lit candle from his bum. He’s the new Olivier as he quaaludes himself into hypertonia and then drives a Ferarri home. Really, Leo is aces. I’m heaping all my scorn for this movie on Mr. Martin Scorsese, the horny septuagenarian who just had to audition every one of those wannabe starlets to make sure they would fit in at a 90s orgy.
Too many drugs. Too many boobs. Scorsese’s movie has absolutely nothing interesting to say about greed or the criminal lengths some men go to in its pursuit. The movie’s philosophy goes no further than saying: People are dumb. Some dumb people take advantage of other dumb people and use the money they make to behave like pigs. Er… that’s it. Sorry Martin, we know you can do better than that.
Maintaining the theme of 30 years later, I went back to my diary to see what my first cinema visit of 1984 had to offer:
We went to see Trading Places. It was brilliant. Check last diary for previous comments on Eddie Murphy, but he is a real cool dude. I think Dan Aykroyd was a bit wrong. Anyways Jamie Lee Curtis is gorgeous and what a pair of whammers. I didn’t even consider her showing them after an interview with Gloria Hunniford. Really, it’s just too much.
And there you have it. I’m reasonably sure I have never used the term ‘whammers’ in any context before or since, but on Saturday, January 14, 1984 it seemed particularly apposite following what must have been quite a genteel interview with Ms. Hunniford.
Just for giggles, here’s a scene from Trading Places and just as I’m watching it, I’ve noticed that the guy standing to the viewer’s left of Billy Ray is none other than Gus Fring, Founder and Chief Executive of Los Pollos Hermanos. Hoorah!
Today’s stats:
- Currently reading – Harvest by Jim Crace (finished Sweet Tooth early this morning. Best McEwan since Atonement)
- Simchas attended so far this year – 2 (1 batmitzvah, 1 barmitzvah)
- Podcasts listened to – Edith Bowman and James King sitting in for Mayo and Kermode; Pop Culture Happy Hour
Guilty Feat 
Interesting. A lot of people share the same opinion as you on this movie. The only thing that I am left wondering is that even though the movie may be entirely boobs and drugs, what if it is 100% accurate to Jordan Belfort’s story? Then did Scorsese screw up? I still plan to see the movie and I expect to have a similar review to you, but I’m wondering if we can blame Mr. Martin. Because maybe he did exactly what he was given.
I saw the movie with someone who’d read Belfort’s book and he thought it was very accurate. I don’t think that matters. Just because something is true, doesn’t make it art. What works as biography may not be fulfilling as a movie. To sink $100+ million into an artistic endeavor which has nothing to tell the world other than “rich men spend some of their money with sex workers” is a disappointing decision from the man who made Taxi Driver.
An excellent point. Love it.