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Scorsese's Stockbroker "Wolves" Deserve Rev. Jones Cynide Laced Kool-Aide, not Federal "Country Club"
Eagerly you rally at the dude’s fast talking and quick balanced brilliance depicting a sales psychology that readily shifts wealth from willing brain dead investors succumbing to an incredible high pressure “con” that strings victims into “sure thing” lottery risky gambles.
At first, the verbal and testosterone “buy” hype confiscates senses dulled by drug and sexual decadence which “reward” those who master the loot folly.
Brushed by director Martin Scorsese’s sordid sense of folly, associates sign on for a high charged Ponzi scheme of bringing in the bucks which reach a hypnotic turning point --- why do they keep needing more money? The desire for top of the market wizardry saunters from a “skill” to multiple addictions to excess.
Traveling through the mid-town Manhattan dreamland removes all caution, tosses logic aside, and convinces you not to question the gurus , ironically, drowning in their own avarice, sins, and unhappiness.
Scorsese and DiCaprio inoculate viewers into a stock brokerage disguised as nothing more than a group of $2,000 suited boys and girls lusting and foaming in their own adult fraternity house that masquerades as a passionate over the rainbow workplace, where everyone with an arm and a tongue finds success.
An early lesson from Matthew McConaughey --- perhaps, worth of best supporting actor consideration --- illustrates the recklessness of orgy of penguins marching triumphantly into a sauna, their senses baked in a manner similar to a charismatic Rev. Jim Jones relieving followers of “free will” who gleefully drink their cups of cyanide laced gluttony .
Charged with constant thrill debauchery deems as a guilt free reward for jobs well done, the break out strip and kiss eye openers begin as mass casual lose your inhibitions shockers gradually escalating beyond wild office and airline laced peek-a-boos into the folly of public decadence displays.
“Wolf” skirts the NC-17 realm through increasingly hot wider camera angles and longer frozen close ups that leave nothing to the imagination, except illustrating that which needs no further detail.
On the other hand, the pill poppin’ potato chip cravings introduce extended mind altering under the influence contortions and slobbering that send a ding-ding wake up call --- if the rewards of affluence are so cool, why do the C.E.O.’s require nightly relaxing, recreational and dry heaving pass out sessions to “enjoy” their spoils?
At three hours, “Wolf of Wall Street” eventually snakes into a weary assembly of obvious conscience catching up scenes which test hallucinogenic credibility particularly the fast and furious descent as the main office continues to rake in cash for Swiss laundering.
Score Scorsese an A minus or B plus along this high stakes executive suite of iniquity. Cut some slack trash excessive “F” and “S” words and rely more on irony, such as the wrap for statements. You didn’t have to spell it out in “Taxi Driver” and Coppola’s mob family caught the murderous vice grips through two or three shocks amidst the brutal normalcies. His Wall Street partiers fall off the balcony so often they deserve flopping on the dark side far earlier. Point made. Like back at the monthly American Express “expense” account for hookers, nose candy, and rock ‘n’ roll behavior at its worst.