W. Kandinsky: "There are no 'musts' in art." T.S. Eliot: "There is no freedom in art." Dostoievski character, after the ancient Middle East epigram: "Everything is permitted." (R-rated weblog. Since one has been advised there is no Literature anymore, or even literature, only writing, one proceeds on the premise that this weblog qualifies as not-meaningless, since it is, or appears to be, a form of "writing." Image: Banksy.)
Sunday, February 8, 2015
The Wolf of Wall Street / T. Winter
The characters in this 2013 epic-runtime adaptation of Jordan Belfort's Wall St. memoir are massively disgusting, fascinating to watch, hilarious in their anything-goes vulgarity and depravity--but the next day one feels as if one has been swimming through a cesspool. I suppose it aspires to be a Citizen Kane, but what it delivers is Citizen Sleasebag. Leonardo's performance is essentially flawless, but his Jordon B. is so contemptible one is overcome by a feeling of talent going down a drain. The cinematic Jordan Belfort is someone to be reckoned with--as one would reckon with a dog foaming at the mouth.
Posted by Richard McNally at 1:30 PM
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
Post a Comment