This is a disappointing movie from the world’s greatest
living director. Watching The Wolf of
Wall Street was like listening to a lazy three-hour jam from Miles
Davis. Sure, its Miles Davis, so moments
of it are great. But, overall, you’re
still bored and wonder what the point was.
The same is true here. Scorsese
is incredible, as always. He knows how to frame a shot and move the
camera. Certain scenes, like when Coach
Taylor and Leo are on the yacht, or when Coach breaks in arrests people in the brokerage
house, are perfectly executed. (The latter even uses “Mrs. Robinson” by the Lemonheads
as some kind of meta-joke, I think.) Marty
knows when to let his camera linger, like in an early scene with Matthew
McConaughey, or when to use his signature camera sweeps, like in the crazy
bachelor-party scene.
And not just Marty came to play: Leonardo DiCaprio is a
force of nature. He is one of the greatest actors of his generation, and he
knows it. This performance was
stunning. He really captured the strange
emptiness of this character. Leo is just
compelling to watch. Jonah Hill is also
interesting as DiCaprio’s cousin-marrying right-hand-man. Despite solid performances from the whole caste, the movie belongs to Leo.
But in service of what? This movie was three hours: Three
hours! And it is three hours of one tone.
Even the most exciting drug use and fucking gets boring after three
hours. Who cares? And, while we are at
it, who cares about the victims of the crimes here? This movie doesnt care. Who cares about an American system teetering
toward Babylon? Not this movie! Look, I am the last person to say a movie needs to have a “message.” (The message of every movie should be “this
is a good movie.”) But Wolf stopped being fun because it didn’t even begin to grapple with these
issues. Hence, I could never forget
them. I kept thinking about the American
Hustle—a much better film in nearly every way—and how that film wrestled
with themes of identity and wealth in the U.S.
American Hustle also poked at
the American dream and our ability (or inability) to re-invent ourselves. But whereas AH is constantly questioning this reinvention, while also showing
us why some people need it, The
Wolf of Wall Street does not grapple with these complexities at all. Why worry about these issues, you whiny Don
Draper, when you can snort cocaine out of a woman’s ass?
And speaking of women:
My lord this movie hates women! This is also a contrast
with American Hustle, which featured
women with their own agency, identity, needs, and personality. In Wolf,
the women are merely cum receptors for men.
They have no agency or identity. (And, ironically, one of the few
ethical moments in movie comes from DiCaprio’s first wife.) Women are things that consume men’s penises
and money. After the relatively
interesting women in Raging Bull,
Goodfellas, Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore and Casino, the women in Wolf are
a Bechdel nightmare.
Maybe this is commentary about the corrupt nature of
American capitalism. If it is, it is a shallow one. And maybe that is the point. It didn’t work for me. You know what movie I wanted to see? I would
have loved a movie focusing on Coach Taylor chasing after Leo. I would have watched that film, but even
then, maybe not for three hours.
