Little White Lies‘ Calum Marsh has absorbed the madhouse saliva insanity of Martin Scorsese‘s The Wolf of Wall Street and turned right around and injected almost the same kind of energy (on Scorsese’s part as well as DiCaprio/Belfort’s) into his review — the best way to respond to a film one really likes, no? Your review becomes the film and vice versa.
Marsh begins talking about the somewhat staid late-period films that acknowledged masters in their 70s or older have made.
“But there is another, less common variety of late period film, those which in their vitality and esprit defy the ageing of their maker — films whose history is either digested or divested, purged of its unwieldy weight, preferring instead to sprint lightly toward the new. The Wolf of Wall Street is one such film — perhaps even the such film: a nimble, impossibly jocund thing, it throbs and pulsates with life, eager to sop up the world’s generous excess. This is a film of extraordinary jejunity; its manner is raucous, sprightly, unhinged. It barrels through its 179-minute running time, spending scarcely a moment in repose, sprinting there and back without any need for breath or pause.
