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The lizard in the realm of bulls, and the puppy who wants in. (Hal Holbrook's lesson of character in the abyss is a feint on Hemingway, the true mainstay is Odets.) The junior stockbroker (Charlie Sheen) spends his days begging clients for five minutes of their time, the blue-collar principles of Dad (Martin Sheen) wither in the ruthless Eighties, "there's no nobility in poverty anymore." A box of Cuban cigars gets his foot in the door of big-time investment banking, Gekko the Great (Michael Douglas) can't help recognizing himself in the rookie "sharking your way up." Loosen those morals and yuppie treasures shall follow, from sushi machines to robot butlers to statuesque blondes. (A Manhattan golden princess, Daryl Hannah's art connoisseur gazes at a seaside vista and sighs: "If I could have anything... this would almost do.") From one jungle to another, Oliver Stone's transposition of Platoon's father figures and surplus aggression to the marketplace's cult of profit. Takeovers and liquidations and inside trading and offshore accounts, "trench warfare," a plate of raw meat dissolves to charts on a computer monitor. "I create nothing. I own," declares Mephistopheles with suspenders and slicked hair, the rotting Douglas charisma in full flight. (When he heralds greed as "the essence of the evolutionary spirit," it's in the scarily seductive voice of someone who's learned to survive and prosper in a degraded system.) Capra agitation down on the trading floor, Tashlin décor up in the East Side penthouse. Morality play meets cartoon fantasy, Sun Tzu and the Book of Exodus are quoted, glittering surfaces are duly condemned and secretly coveted. "It's all about the bucks, kid. The rest is conversation." Stone's belated sequel fumbles mellowness, Scorsese's kamikaze revision (The Wolf of Wall Street) floors the pedal. Cinematography by Robert Richardson. With Terence Stamp, John C. McGinley, Sean Young, James Spader, Saul Rubinek, James Karen, Sylvia Miles, Josh Mostel, and Millie Perkins.
--- Fernando F. Croce |