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It’s Black Monday in Peter Travers’ “Wall Street”

In response to Peter Travers’s 324‑word review of The Wolf of Wall Street on Rolling Stone

By ,

Peter Travers is a legend in the world of film critique. There aren’t many who would argue that (except, of course, the purveyors of That’s what makes his latest, “The Wolf of Wall Street” such a baffling piece of work.

The transgressions here are legion: It’s poorly written. It’s much too short. It’s cloyingly cutesy. It’s self-indulgent. It’s rambling. And, worst of all, it’s downright lazy.

Travers’ opener packs all the emotional impact of The Thong Song; there’s a regrettable—and, frankly, incomprehensible—attempt at levity that fails so miserably, all it manages to evoke is a wince and a bout of sympathy.

The critiques fall somewhere between vegetative and comatose. Travers loves the film (it was no small feat to suss this out amidst the detritus here—you’re welcome). His reason? “This is Scorsese, people.” He seems to think that if Scorsese makes a film, his work as a critic is done and that attitude infects every festering nook and cranny of this review. It’s arrogant, it’s lazy, and it smacks of a critic resting on his laurels (and, by proxy, those of Mr. Scorsese).

Here’s hoping this is but a brief freakout and that Travers’ work will return to glory. Until then, avoid this one like MySpace stocks.    

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