After the brief excursion into the magical and whimsical world of Hugo, Martin Scorsese wildly howls back to life with a film that could not be more different than his last. The Wolf of Wall Street sees him return to New York, diving straight into the corrupt world of Wall Street and the hedonistic life of Jordan Belfort. The split down the middle reaction to the film, those who love it and those who just see it as rank filth, tells you that Scorsese has crafted something equal parts special and confrontational.
Those who have subsequently been outraged by the highly graphic content seem to be forgetting this is a film by Scorsese, a filmmaker who made his name pushing buttons. Someone who has put his name to some of the most extraordinary transgressive films in American cinema. He’s doing it again here, fearlessly putting some of the most wild imagery you’ve seen on screen this year. It is graphic and outrageous but it is made with the same confidence and no bullshit approach that Scorsese has been respected and lauded for throughout his career. The film’s mantra seems to be: “if we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do this no holds barred,” which is to be applauded rather than assaulted.
It is also worth noting that DiCaprio and Hill have never been better, but the brilliantly assembled supporting cast (Matthew McConaughey to Kyle Chandler to Jon Bernthal) practically steal every scene they’re in. The film is big and brawny and supremely assured. Scorsese turns it up to 11 and the film is all the better and more fascinating for it.
