I’m a little late to the party. This was released quite a while back, wasn’t it?
I hoped, desperately expected, a relevant and insightful glimpse into American greed, that voracious monster that gobbles up our cultural dream and vomits out a bland, monetized culture of insignificance; or maybe, a wise dissection of America’s soulless national idiosyncratic consumerist culture topped with sugary toppings of conspicuous consumption.
Instead, I find myself sitting through the longest, most droll piece of crap I’ve seen in ages.
Rather than using the cinematic format to create a pointed observation about financial American entropy, director Martin Scorsese and scriptwriter, Terence Winter, have joined ill-fated forces to mold an excessively long vapid superficial examination that is so bad, so vague and meandering, that I keep losing track of what the theme is. And why is this sound on this movie so loud and grating that it requires me to turn the volume down to levels I usually avoid because of my middle-aged, heavy-metal-damaged hearing?
I hate the movie for what it fails to tackle, and for its smug self-assertion about what a grand statement it is making about American greed when in fact, it only manages to shed a dim glow that approaches the subject from a disconnected, moronic level of non-interpretation.
The movie is rolling right now, as I type, and Leonardo DiCaprio is giving a robotic performance dictated by the Scorsese Manly Formula, but lacking in charm or ingenuity. Movies like this, seeking to self-importantly conjure a culturally damning commentary, instead do more harm by being chickenshit vehicles of mass media inanity than biting examinations of a subculture they do not apparently have the energy nor intellectual fortitude to tackle.
I expected “Wall Street,” but got a haltingly narrated rote knock-off of Goodfellas seeking to make a sophomoric sociological statement.