Bacchus, Roman god of wine and debauchery, is alive and well and has been brought to raunchy life by Leonardo DiCaprio in Martin Scorsese's latest film "The Wolf of Wall Street". His human incarnation is Jordan Belfort, a fast-talking financial kingpin whose balls-to-the-wall lifestyle of sex and drugs and rolling in dough would make Gordon Gekko take a step back and reassess his lifestyle.
And for what seems to be the first time, Scorsese's decade-long collaboration with DiCaprio has finally paid off. Because "The Wolf of Wall Street", written by "Sopranos" scribe Terence Winter, is a far cry from the polished but lifeless films that Scorsese, master that he is, has been pumping out of late. It is perhaps his most energetic film since "Gangs of New York", his cleanest (in craftsmanship, though certainly not in content) since "Goodfellas". Instead of wise-guys and low-rent mobsters, "Wolf" is about the sharks that swam in the seas of the 1%, ripping into their prey with gusto while coming at them with smiles.
Set in the '80s and '90s, Scorsese depicts a glitz-and-chintz world ripe for the taking for any ambitious youth who wanted to make a name for himself. Enter Belfort, a fresh-faced twenty- something who starts on the bottom rung at one of the many firms in Lower Manhattan. He quickly becomes the acolyte of the head honcho (Matthew McConaughey, who in only a few short scenes manages to give one of the performances of the year), and in doing so learns the tricks of the trade, which involve indulging in any and all sins of the flesh.
But when the market goes belly-up, Belfort (not wanting to go out on his ass like all the other Wall Street schmucks) realizes that he can take advantage of "penny-stocks" that no one cares about, pitching them to anyone gullible enough to buy them. Soon, Belfort founds his own firm, Stratton Oakmont, with a merry band of miscreants, including his right-hand man Donnie Azoff (Jonah Hill). Soon, Stratton Oakmont becomes a major, major player in the stock world, luring huge clients in with the hopes of paying out big-time. Except all that Belfort, Azoff and the others care about is their own gain, and the more they make, the more they want. And of course, absolutely none of what Stratton does is legal, so obviously the feds (represented by a dogged Kyle Chandler) seek to rain on Belfort's parade.
But before that, the parade roars in full orgiastic force. Scorsese's film is an epic, three hours of every kind of cardinal sin short of murder, with characters both repulsive and entrancing, in a hysterically funny and painfully horrific saga of depravity as only Scorsese can bring. Thelma Schoonmaker's editing never once makes the film feel its length, and Winter's script is jam-packed with colorful moments and almost surreal hedonism. There are so many drug-fueled sequences that anyone who goes in sober will come out with a contact high.
Perhaps the most impressive thing about the film is that, at long last, DiCaprio has learned to loosen up. "Wolf" allows him to finally sink his teeth in a full-on comic role, and he makes it work impeccably. His energy crackles with every single actor, and he even shows an adeptness at physical comedy (there's a scene involving a 'luded-up Jordan trying to roll himself down stairs that might be the funniest moment of the year). But the rest of the cast is equally up to the task to match him. Jonah Hill is in rarest form here, giving an excellent performance and displaying grand chemistry with DiCaprio. There are guys like Rob Reiner, Jon Bernthal, even Spike Jonze in a small role that are absolutely wondrous to watch. And I do have to give special shout-outs to Jean Dujardin and Joanna Lumley, both of whom stole the show in playing characters that end up as part of Belfort's scheme to hoard his riches. (If "Wolf"'s cast has an Achilles heel, it's Margot Robbie as Belfort's bride, who I feel tries so hard to be on Lorraine Bracco's level but comes off as a second-rate Sharon Stone.)
Even as the film draws to its close, there's not a single moment where "Wolf of Wall Street" wants to relinquish its hold on us. We're in it for the long haul, as Belfort's protégés must have been. And for Scorsese and Schoonmaker, hardly spring chickens, to revive the decadence of the gods in all of its party-hearty glory is something to behold. "Wolf of Wall Street" had me flying high, and I'm still waiting to come down from it
And for what seems to be the first time, Scorsese's decade-long collaboration with DiCaprio has finally paid off. Because "The Wolf of Wall Street", written by "Sopranos" scribe Terence Winter, is a far cry from the polished but lifeless films that Scorsese, master that he is, has been pumping out of late. It is perhaps his most energetic film since "Gangs of New York", his cleanest (in craftsmanship, though certainly not in content) since "Goodfellas". Instead of wise-guys and low-rent mobsters, "Wolf" is about the sharks that swam in the seas of the 1%, ripping into their prey with gusto while coming at them with smiles.
Set in the '80s and '90s, Scorsese depicts a glitz-and-chintz world ripe for the taking for any ambitious youth who wanted to make a name for himself. Enter Belfort, a fresh-faced twenty- something who starts on the bottom rung at one of the many firms in Lower Manhattan. He quickly becomes the acolyte of the head honcho (Matthew McConaughey, who in only a few short scenes manages to give one of the performances of the year), and in doing so learns the tricks of the trade, which involve indulging in any and all sins of the flesh.
But when the market goes belly-up, Belfort (not wanting to go out on his ass like all the other Wall Street schmucks) realizes that he can take advantage of "penny-stocks" that no one cares about, pitching them to anyone gullible enough to buy them. Soon, Belfort founds his own firm, Stratton Oakmont, with a merry band of miscreants, including his right-hand man Donnie Azoff (Jonah Hill). Soon, Stratton Oakmont becomes a major, major player in the stock world, luring huge clients in with the hopes of paying out big-time. Except all that Belfort, Azoff and the others care about is their own gain, and the more they make, the more they want. And of course, absolutely none of what Stratton does is legal, so obviously the feds (represented by a dogged Kyle Chandler) seek to rain on Belfort's parade.
But before that, the parade roars in full orgiastic force. Scorsese's film is an epic, three hours of every kind of cardinal sin short of murder, with characters both repulsive and entrancing, in a hysterically funny and painfully horrific saga of depravity as only Scorsese can bring. Thelma Schoonmaker's editing never once makes the film feel its length, and Winter's script is jam-packed with colorful moments and almost surreal hedonism. There are so many drug-fueled sequences that anyone who goes in sober will come out with a contact high.
Perhaps the most impressive thing about the film is that, at long last, DiCaprio has learned to loosen up. "Wolf" allows him to finally sink his teeth in a full-on comic role, and he makes it work impeccably. His energy crackles with every single actor, and he even shows an adeptness at physical comedy (there's a scene involving a 'luded-up Jordan trying to roll himself down stairs that might be the funniest moment of the year). But the rest of the cast is equally up to the task to match him. Jonah Hill is in rarest form here, giving an excellent performance and displaying grand chemistry with DiCaprio. There are guys like Rob Reiner, Jon Bernthal, even Spike Jonze in a small role that are absolutely wondrous to watch. And I do have to give special shout-outs to Jean Dujardin and Joanna Lumley, both of whom stole the show in playing characters that end up as part of Belfort's scheme to hoard his riches. (If "Wolf"'s cast has an Achilles heel, it's Margot Robbie as Belfort's bride, who I feel tries so hard to be on Lorraine Bracco's level but comes off as a second-rate Sharon Stone.)
Even as the film draws to its close, there's not a single moment where "Wolf of Wall Street" wants to relinquish its hold on us. We're in it for the long haul, as Belfort's protégés must have been. And for Scorsese and Schoonmaker, hardly spring chickens, to revive the decadence of the gods in all of its party-hearty glory is something to behold. "Wolf of Wall Street" had me flying high, and I'm still waiting to come down from it