Where nobody can sell a pen

I have long been a huge fan of Martin Scorsese. However, this is not entirely unqualified; like any director his work is uneven and classics such as Goodfellas can be followed in time by failures (in my view) such as The Departed. Nevertheless, I personally owe him a debit of gratitude for directing The Last Waltz, which many consider the greatest of all live concert films.

Mr Scorsese is known for his consistent collaborators. One is Robbie Robertson from The Band who is the music director on many of Scorsese’s films; the other is Leonardo DiCaprio. Scorsese and DiCaprio have collaborated on five films; none, in my view, of great quality, though The Departed won a Best Picture Oscar.

However, I remain a fan of both Scorsese and DiCaprio.

At least I did until last night.

And that was with the stroke of a pen.

Last night I watched The Wolf of Wall Street, which is directed by Scorsese and stars DiCaprio. It is the “true-life” story of the rise and fall of erstwhile Wall Street stockbroker Jordan Belfort. At his height, Belfort attained incredible levels of income, expenditure and decadence—all of which are captured in the film by the incredibly gifted writer Terence Winter of The Sopranos and Boardwalk Empire fame.

Where Winter and the film fail for me, though, is not in the portrayal of Belfort’s fame but in his fall. And this is where it gets personal and it involves a pen.

You see, early in the film when Belfort/DiCaprio/Winter are boasting that Belfort can sell anything, Belfort invites stockbroker recruits to sell him a pen. Of those asked, only one succeeds by, after taking the pen from Belfort, asking him to sign his name. Of course, Belfort cannot and has to buy back the pen.

Simple, but brilliant. And we will come back to that pen.

Roughly all but the final five minutes of the film is about Belfort’s success in duping naive and not so naive investors and making millions doing it.

Scorsese and no doubt DiCaprio revel in portraying the resulting decadence—it is omnipresent and explicit. It is when they turn to showing Belfort’s contrasting fall from grace (after a prison term) that the film fails for me.

Why? Because, as the film shows it, Belfort’s fall from grace and consequent disgrace is, in the view of the film-makers, best portrayed by Belfort conducting an investment seminar in Auckland, New Zealand.

Yes, I know Belfort did in fact do that. But he also conducted those seminars in numerous sleepy hollows of the United States, and Australia (where he now lives). Why could the film have not used some of those places to portray the depths to which Belfort has fallen? Why treat Auckland as a financial backwater—as the very obverse of Wall Street and New York?

Has Scorsese/DiCaprio/Winter even been here? And if they have, did they not visit Hamilton?

Now, let’s get back to the pen. In the final scene Belfort/DiCaprio use the same device/question, inviting “Auckland” investors—four of them, and only one with a distinguishable Kiwi accent—to sell him a pen. None can. So, the implication that can be taken from this one scene that plagues the entire film for we New Zealanders is that not only is Auckland a backwater, it is also inhabited by morons.

Thanks Martin.

Incidentally, DiCaprio won a Golden Globe for his acting performance in this film. I personally would have given it to that one American extra who managed a kiwi accent.

Corker, mate!