Big. Loud. Fast. Vulgar. Cheap. Depressing. Flashy. Pathetic. Ambitious. Empty.
Yes. I saw The Wolf of Wall Street. And yes, it was all that and more.
Late last summer when I was looking for new books to read, I decided to check out those due out soon as movies. Wolf was one such book. But when I read a few reviews of the book (I’ll do that sometimes for books but rarely for movies), I knew it wasn’t for me: most reviewers panned it as a self-absorbed blend of bad writing of bad stories. But the movie had been teased fiercely for MONTHS, and this was Scorsese. So I went.
The movie itself scores high on the in-your-face-wow scale. I’m not saying the “wow” factor of the movie is good, necessarily. But it is a wow factor. To be fair, DiCaprio shines unlike I’d ever seen him, and the supporting cast fabulously supports (other than Kyle Chandler who always to me seems like the same guy who gets tomorrow’s news today). Scorsese clearly knows how to do big scenes—-one after another after another. And *that* wow factor leads to greatness. But the other wow factor comes in the utter sadness of this man’s life and his absolute disregard for people—from those he scams to women to wives to even his children. That wow comes in his classic addict-manipulator role in the lives of all those around him.
After all, the most successful addicts are so because they are master manipulators.
Until they aren’t.
The story itself, while “glamorous” to some was shake-your-head-cannot-look-away-tragic-fatal-trainwreck to me—-that kind of story that nauseates and befuddles you all at once. There is a lot of sex. (Even though I missed the gay orgy scene, there was duality of nudity (not exactly equal in offering, but still, a rarity for mainstream movies).) There are even more drugs. And there is yet more opulence and ostentatious waste.
But it’s the movies, right? And Scorsese did it big. And he did it well. So yes, from the movie, I was entertained. The *movie* is good. But the story behind the movie is what I just cannot get past. I was sad that Belfort’s fraud seemed to bedazzle some in the theater, with giggles instead of groans coming from behind me. (I hope with all I have that those folks did not know this was based on a real person.)
More than that, though, I was angry. I left the theater feeling duped cheaply by someone who knows just how to get money from others.
A former student just yesterday posted a fascinating take on TED talks—and on the racket that exists in getting people to listen to you speak. Jordan Belfort’s doing it too. And we’re being duped. When does it transition from being defrauded to being naive to being, well, stupid?
After all, I paid to watch his story under the guise of entertainment. And he, a master manipulator and scammer, earned more money.
And so it goes.