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THE WOLF OF WALL STREET (2013)

FILM DETAILS

RELEASE DATE: December 17, 2013

WRITTEN BY: Terence Winter

STARRING: Leonardo DiCaprio, Jonah Hill, Margot Robbie

RUNNING TIME: 180 minutes

ABOUT THE FILM

For all his pictures featuring unsavory characters operating on the wrong side of the law, depictions of pure, unadulterated, gleefully malicious greed are surprisingly rare in the Scorsese filmography. There is a light kiss of it in GoodFellas, but Henry is motivated more by the high of being a mobster than he is by the money. Greed is written all over Casino, yet Robert De Niro’s character, “Ace,” is more concerned with running a tight operation than he is squeezing dollars out of it for himself. The power is the draw, not the money. The scammers of The Color of Money do it for the hustle, not the cash. Even billionaire Howard Hughes in The Aviator was motivated more by a sense of adventure and accomplishment than he was by accumulating more wealth. Then along comes The Wolf of Wall Street, which dives headlong into a subject that had previously only been on the periphery of Scorsese’s most common themes.

Based on the real-life story of stock scammer Jordan Belfort, who chronicled his rise and fall in an autobiography of the same name, The Wolf of Wall Street follows Belfort (Leonardo DiCaprio) as he and his cohorts at disgraced firm Stratton Oakmont—right-hand man Donnie Azoff (Jonah Hill) chief among them—rip off investors, take copious amounts of drugs, sleep with prostitutes, and generally engage in every form of debauchery imaginable before their whitecollar crimes eventually catch up with them. After ripping off countless millions from investors on penny stocks, FBI investigator Patrick Denham (Kyle Chandler) takes Belfort down, shattering the young con man’s marriage to Naomi Lapaglia (Margot Robbie) and toppling a firm that in just a few short years had earned one of the seediest reputations in an industry already known for immoral levels of greed.

Much like The Aviator, The Wolf of Wall Street was a pet project brought to Scorsese by DiCaprio, who won a bidding war against Brad Pitt for the rights to the story.¹ The film kicked around Hollywood for a few years, attached to several other directors (including Ridley Scott) before finally coming back to DiCaprio’s first choice.

Ironically, given the subject matter of the movie, production company Red Granite was caught in a financial fraud scandal, allegedly moving around billions illegally. The story is still unfolding as of this writing and threatens to implicate a number of global high rollers. In addition to producers Joey Mc-Farland, Riza Aziz, and Jho Low, the “globe-spanning investigation also has implicated a former Malaysian prime minister, employees of a prestigious Wall Street investment bank, a member of the Fugees rap group and a top Republican fundraiser.”² Though DiCaprio was gifted a Picasso painting by Low, which he has since returned, “It is believed DiCaprio, Scorsese and others involved in the film did not know the source of Red Granite’s money.”³ And for their part, in 2017, Red Granite representatives insisted none of the funding for the film “was in any way illegitimate.”⁴ Still, when life imitates art…

ANALYSIS

Is it possible to sympathize with the unsympathetic? And is there anything to be learned from someone as deeply selfish as Jordan Belfort? “Greed, for the lack of a better word, is good. Greed is right, greed works. Greed clarifies, cuts through, and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit. Greed, in all of its forms; greed for life, for money, for love, knowledge has marked the upward surge of mankind,” said Gordon Gekko (Michael Douglas) in Wall Street (1987), Oliver Stone’s morally gray examination of 1980s’ Wall Street culture that inspired just as many people to pursue a career in finance as it did repulse them.

There is not much gray in The Wolf of Wall Street, which examines some of the same ideas but in a much different way. Jordan Belfort makes little effort to justify or explain his pursuit of wealth and the voracious appetites it feeds. The film is presented in the same whirlwind, episodic, narration-driven style of GoodFellas and Casino but without the moral complexities of either. Belfort is, for lack of a better term, a dirtbag. Whereas Henry Hill is put off by the violent depths his colleagues will sink to and Sam “Ace” Rothstein struggles to maintain an air of respectability in his operations, Belfort cares for nothing beyond his next Quaalude or sexual encounter. Hill has little remorse in ripping people off, but he doesn’t appear to take much joy in it, either. Rothstein knows he’s manipulating high rollers in his casino, but that’s the cost of doing business in an industry where both sides are knowingly playing one another. Belfort, on the other hand, knowingly targets vulnerable people down on their luck, gleefully takes their money, and flips them off as he does it. He seems to enjoy running people into the ground. He measures his value as a human being by his wealth. “Money doesn’t just buy you a better life, better food, better cars, better pussy,” he says. “It also makes you a better person.”

Belfort gets his start under the tutelage of Mark Hanna (Matthew McConaughey), an eccentric Wall Street broker who waves away the idea that it’s mutually beneficial for broker and client alike to make money on their investments. The only goal, he says, is to move money from your client’s pocket into your own. Belfort takes this notion to heart. When he learns about the huge commissions generated by selling penny stocks—high-risk, low-cost stocks often associated with unproven new companies—he begins to build a firm focused entirely on pushing these highly profitable (for him) investments. Initially, he’s not bilking the rich with these deals. The focus is on working-class people who can’t afford to lose money on a bad investment. His first wife, Teresa Petrillo Belfort (Cristin Milioti), calls him out on it:

“Wouldn’t you feel better if you sold that stuff to rich people who could, like, afford to lose all that money?”

“Of course, but rich people don’t buy penny stocks. They just don’t.”

“Why not?”

(in narration) “Because they’re too smart, that’s why not.”

This utter lack of respect for the people who provide a living for Belfort is evident from the start of the picture to the end. He pumps his fist when he hears a potential client’s spouse has passed away, knowing that vulnerability makes them a good mark. He flips people off or feigns sexual assault while on the phone with them. The suicide of former employees gets but a casual, dismissive mention. When he breaks the fourth wall to explain to the audience how an IPO (initial public offering) works, he interrupts himself and says the details don’t matter; all that matters is that they were making money hand over fist. He later interrupts another fourth-wall-breaking explanation when telling the audience how his scams worked. The clear message—and it’s one that doesn’t change throughout the picture—is that Belfort doesn’t care about anything other than getting his. “There is no nobility in poverty,” he tells his employees. “I have been a rich man, and I have been a poor man, and I’ll choose rich every fucking time.”

Typically, Scorsese films contain some kind of insight into the people on-screen, an examination of the human condition. Even if seen through the lives of deplorable people, he depicts themes that apply to all of us in some way. He has a talent for making us empathize with horrid people. The Wolf of Wall Street contains none of that. Belfort (or at least the Belfort we see on-screen) has no layers. His inner life is as shallow as his public persona. Debauchery is certainly nothing new in the Scorsese catalog—drinking, violence, sex, drugs, and rock and roll are as essential to his work as trees are to Christmas—but rarely are these traits presented as being so much fun. Typically, such lifestyles come laden with their own problems. In Mean Streets, Charlie’s street life leaves him wracked with unfocused guilt. The weight of impending violence weighs on Henry Hill’s soul. Drug use in Bringing Out the Dead leaves people empty shells of what they once were. Jake LaMotta’s attraction to violence comes in part through a deep sense of self-loathing and insecurity. And so on.

So what does Wolf tell us about Belfort? What drives his greed-over-all philosophy? Is there a more complex morality underlying his actions or an inner turmoil or conflict that leads him down this ugly road? Not really. He’s a shallow man focused on shallow pursuits. And while it would be unfair to suggest that his pursuits are depicted as being without consequence—he does lose it all in the end, after all, and along the way he ruins his family, crashes cars, and has embarrassing drug overdoses—the presentation is that these events are zany and hilarious. Belfort pops Quaaludes while his luxurious yacht sinks. He overdoses and only manages to save Donnie from choking to death thanks to a dose of cocaine (and taking it is likened to Popeye eating spinach), the punch line of the entire sequence being that Belfort crashed on his way home after driving in a drug-induced stupor. And on and on. Scorsese pictures don’t judge their characters. His focus has always been to depict unsavory people in ways that allow us to see them as human beings rather than clichéd crooks and criminals and scumbags, to understand that these are people as layered and complex and nuanced as the rest of us.

Scorsese’s filmography is filled with depictions of sleazy characters, but perhaps none is as sleazy as Leonardo DiCaprio’s take on stock scammer Jordan Belfort. Paramount Pictures/Photofest

But there is no nuance in Jordan Belfort. This is a picture that probably wouldn’t work without DiCaprio’s charm. As sleazy as the character is, there are moments when he’s undeniably entertaining. When FBI agent Patrick Denham interviews Belfort on Belfort’s yacht, for example, their cat-and-mouse verbal sparring is pointed and funny. His frustration at being cut off from sex by Naomi is also humorous, as is the moment when he turns it around on her thanks to a hidden camera. And when he decides to renege on his deal with the FBI and stick with his company, it’s difficult to avoid feeling some degree of pity for him. That’s all thanks to DiCaprio.

There is a glee to the proceedings that makes Wolf a black comedy rather than a character profile or drama. It may use many of the same techniques and approaches Scorsese perfected in GoodFellas, but unlike that film, Wolf doesn’t ask to be taken seriously—quite the opposite. Even if the stories in it are true—Belfort is hardly the most credible of sources, after all—they are often so preposterous that it’s hard to believe they reflect reality. Though many of the techniques are familiar, Scorsese does try a few new things. In several scenes, rather than narration we hear the characters’ thoughts, listening as they say one thing and think another. There is also a surprising amount of CGI enhancement in the picture. Fresh off the production of Hugo, Scorsese abandoned the tangible, tactile approach to set construction he took in Gangs of New York and instead relied heavily on digital set extensions. These effects are largely seamless, so invisible that, even when you know where they are used, they’re difficult to spot.

After three hours of sex, drugs, and ripping people off, Belfort’s schemes finally collapse underneath him. His tiny empire crumbles. He is shamed, loses it all, and ends up in prison. The picture asks no sympathy for Belfort from the audience, nor would he get any if asked. Here, Scorsese’s often-nonjudgmental approach to depicting heels means this is all presented matter-of-factly. There is no condemnation, nor is there sadness in his downfall. It just is.

In the film’s final moments, the real Jordan Belfort makes an appearance to introduce his fictional version, who now gives presentations on sales techniques. For a brief moment, the aspect ratio of the picture changes, subtly suggesting that Belfort is lesser than he was: smaller, shrunken, less significant. He has been diminished. Then, in a callback to an earlier scene, Belfort—DiCaprio’s Belfort, not the real one—begins asking attendees to sell him a pen. There, in his element and talking about selling, the aspect ratio opens up again. These shifting aspect ratios tell us something important about him: Jordan Belfort isn’t really alive unless he’s selling someone something they don’t need. So in a way, there is pity for Belfort after all: pity that he had such an empty inner life; pity that such unfocused greed drove him; pity for him, but no sympathy. Not even Martin Scorsese could manage that trick.

CONCLUSION AND IMPACT

Today, the real-life Jordan Belfort is still paying restitution to his many victims. He pushes a sales training program online and gives motivational speeches. Leonardo DiCaprio even endorsed his program, saying, “Jordan stands as a shining example of the transformative qualities of ambition and hard work.”⁵ And unsurprisingly, he continues to be a lightning rod for controversy.

As for the movie, The Wolf of Wall Street ended up being a huge success, raking in close to $400 million worldwide, making it Scorsese’s highest-grossing film to date (not adjusted for inflation). It received largely positive reviews from critics, too, who likened it to GoodFellas on Wall Street. It received five Academy Award nominations, including yet another nod for Best Picture and Best Director, as well as acting nominations for DiCaprio and Hill.

Wolf received its fair share of criticism, too, however, especially for its uncritical portrayal of Belfort. In an open letter to Scorsese and DiCaprio, Christina McDowell, daughter of Belfort associate Tom Prousalis, said the movie celebrated “our national obsession with wealth and status and glorifying greed and psychopathic behavior” and that the pair of moviemakers “successfully aligned yourself with an accomplished criminal, a guy [Belfort] who still hasn’t made full restitution to his victims.”⁶ The Wall Street Journal called it a “hollow spectacle,” among many similar criticisms in other outlets.⁷ For his part, DiCaprio said, “I hope people understand we’re not condoning this behavior, that we’re indicting it. The book was a cautionary tale and if you sit through the end of the film, you’ll realize what we’re saying about these people and this world, because it’s an intoxicating one.”⁸

In some ways, The Wolf of Wall Street was Scorsese doing what he’s often had to do in his career: making something familiar in order to earn him the luxury of pursuing a more personal project next. And that’s exactly what happened here. Following the huge financial success of this picture, the director finally settled in to make a picture he’d been trying to get made for decades, a slow, meditative examination of faith set on the island of Japan. Like his previous two films focused on faith, it would be a financial failure, but at this juncture of his career, how much does that really matter?