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The Wolf of Wall Street - 2

A hard lesson was learned this Christmas:  There are certainly ways to enjoy a day with your family, but if you spend three hours in silence, watching what can only be described as a ten-dollar soft core porno, you are going to have a bad time.

It is a family tradition of ours to spend our Christmas afternoon at the movie theater, but something terrible is taking hold in the film industry.

Martin Scorsese, the acclaimed director of Goodfellas and The Departed, has many critics in the palms of his clammy hands, and he has finally crossed the line that separates art and smut with his newest effort, The Wolf of Wall Street.

Don’t get me wrong.  The premise is enticing.  The story follows the greed-driven exploits of Jordan Belfort (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his rag-tag team of white-collar abettors as they move from selling “garbage to garbage men” to stealing from the richest investors in America.

In line with Goodfellas, there are no heroes in The Wolf of Wall Street; only seedy stockbrokers committing the worst imaginable transgressions, fueled by Quaaludes, misogynistic sexual exploitation, and money.

Aldous Huxley has once again foretold the abhorrent direction of our culture.  This movie marks the escalation of bloodlust and objectified erotic obsession in American cinema.  The dialogue is at best amateur and for the most part a relentless flow of “F*** you’s.”  I have never seen more exploitation of the naked female form as purely sexual eye candy in a film that isn’t officially classified as pornography.

I cannot express this enough.  This film epitomizes soft-core pornography and shameless drug promotion.  The worst part is that critics are deifying Scorsese for this.  The Wolf of Wall Street has already been nominated Best Motion Picture, Musical, or Comedy.

I think it is time for us to take an introspective look at what we want to represent our culture.  American entertainment is already in a steep moral decline, glorifying monetary excess, objectifying women, and promoting the use of hard drugs.  The last thing we need is for a smut film disguised as a cautionary tale to enrapture us.

If there is one lesson to be learned from The Wolf of Wall Street, and unfortunately this review is no exception, it is that no publicity is bad publicity. Martin Scorsese should be ashamed of promoting the vicious exploits of one of the seediest Americans of modern history in a comedic light.

Heed my warning and save your ten dollars, and spend it on a film actually worth seeing.

 

 

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