The Wolf of Wall Street, a review by Kathleen Carroll


Martin Scorsese has always been attracted to men who behave badly. So it’s hardly surprising that his newest blast of a movie, “The Wolf of Wall Street,” is a gleefully sordid tale about a real life stockbroker who firmly believes that greed is good in that it pays well enough to buy such upper class perks as a Long Island mansion, a sea going yacht, and an endless supply of beautiful women and expensive drugs.
The stockbroker-turned-motivational speaker (this after he was ordered to serve time for his crimes against his clients) who is the centerpiece of this volatile movie is Jordan Belfort.  Belfort began his dubious career by rounding up a group of Long Island schlubs who deal strictly with penny stocks until he transforms them into a highly motivated force of brokers who never take no for an answer.  
Belfort is played with a certain amount of rakish charm by Leonardo Di Caprio who admittedly gives the most dynamic performance of his career. But the one performance that ultimately sticks in the mind is an amusing, all too brief turn by Matthew McConaughey who is electrifying as an ever-so-slick wizard of Wall Street.
Still, after three hours of hyper scenes one feels numb from sheer exhaustion. In one scene, Belfort, after knocking back quaaludes, drags his limp body into his car, doing what looks like an homage to the loose-jointed screen antics of Jerry Lewis. He then proceeds to drive his 3 year old daughter, who remains unbuckled, through a garage door, a cringe-worthy scene if ever there was one. Ultimately it feels as if the viewer has just been taken for a fast and furious roller coaster ride for no real purpose.
*– Kathleen Carroll



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