At the beginning in Martin Scorsese's new film The Wolf Of Wall Street, Belfort (Leonardo DiCaprio) gleefully describes earning profits as being like "mainlining adrenaline. " Belfort, the real-life fake trader who create "pump-and-dump" Long Island stockbroking firm Stratton Oakmont, is portrayed below as a reckless hedonist with an appetite for cocaine and hookers.
While The Wolf of Wall Street slavishly apes the look and structure of Goodfellas, the extraordinary magnetism that created Ray Liotta's Holly Hill so watchable is sorely missing. This is not a criticism of DiCaprio, whose full-throttle performance will be both tightly nuanced and insanely OTT. Rather, it's a issue with the subject, whose reptilian repugnance and vacuum-sealed amorality Scorsese along with screenwriter Terence Wintertime fail to crack. For all those his motivational Gordon Gekko speeches and beamingly boisterous delicatesse, Belfort remains since impenetrably alienating as the human impersonator in the middle of Cronenberg's ice-cold Cosmopolis, a studiedly austere arthouse endeavour that was at least purposely boring - form of. As for The Wolf of Wall Street, you find yourself realising that there's a very good reason why no common movie ever exposed with the words: "As far back web site can remember, I always wished to be a stockbroker…
