For political bloggers who can't resist the more glamorous pull of (incompetently) blogging about cinema, the beauty of finding a simpatico film critic is that the blogger can save himself much critical embarrassment by simply blogging: See so-and-so, he or she's an expert, and on this movie I quite agree with the critic, which sort of makes me a critical expert, too--and all without me bumbling my way through an inexpert review.
Hence, as for the "The Wolf of Wall Street," see A.O. Scott.
Before seeing Martin Scorsese's latest yesterday, I barely skimmed Scott's review, so his take on the film wasn't mentally present as I watched it. This morning I reread his review with more care, and I found it as vitally ambivalent about Scorcese's "message" as I was upon leaving the theatre.
[T]he movie is likely to be the subject of intense scholarly debate: Does it offer a sustained and compelling diagnosis of the terminal pathology that afflicts us, or is it an especially florid symptom of the disease?
Is this movie satire or propaganda?
Does "The Wolf of Wall Street" condemn or celebrate? Is it meant to provoke disgust or envy?
If you walk away feeling empty and demoralized, worn down by the tackiness and aggression of the spectacle you have just witnessed, perhaps you truly appreciate the film’s critical ambitions. If, on the other hand, you ride out of the theater on a surge of adrenaline, intoxicated by its visual delights and visceral thrills, it’s possible you missed the point. The reverse could also be true.
I had already placed myself in the first of those two camps--not for a moment did I envy any of Jordan Belfort's (Leonardo DiCaprio) excesses--which meant to me, as I left the theatre (and here I emphatically agree with Scott), that it was possible that I had missed the point. Morality plays (and this goes for politics as well as cinema) are not only too easy, they suffer from that most unforgivable of inartistic crimes--they're too obvious. And anyone emptied out by Scorsese's 145 uninterrupted minutes of "Goodfellas"'s human vulgarity, only to find oneself villainously commiserating in the 146th minute--"I get to live the rest of my life like a schnook"--knows that Scorsese doesn't do morality plays.
So. Is it worth seeing?
Posted by: Peter G | December 30, 2013 at 11:15 AM
Absolutely, Peter. Any film that makes you think is worth seeing.
Posted by: PM | December 30, 2013 at 12:43 PM