Fuckin’ excessive in four letter expletives, pharmaceutically profligate and big bladder testing in its running time, THE WOLF OF WALL STREET is cinema onomatopoeia as it becomes its own subject, seduced by what its depicting, a Faustian bargain of a film which loses its own soul in the end.

Being a Martin Scorsese picture, THE WOLF OF WALL STREET offers a wealth of pleasures, yet its heavyweight aspirations are undone by a welter of padded scenes that are not only excessive but extraneous.

At a three hour dead running time, it’s a shame it didn’t shed some of its less sharp scenes – a lack of story editing added and abetted by adlibbing by Jonah Hall, apparently applauded and encouraged by Marty.

But hey, the Academy has bought it, three of the picture’s five Oscar nominations go to Hill, Scorsese and scribe Terence Winter.

The other two nominations are for Best Picture and Best Actor in a lead role, Leonardo DiCaprio for his performance as Jordon Belfort the Wolf of Wall Street.

Graduating on the very day of the October 87 crash, Jordon Belfort capitalised on people’s greed gene, their gullibility to get rich quick schemes. His guile plus their gullibility creates a cash flow for him and his millionaire minion and a crash blow for the fools that fork out their money. Belfort ratifies Gordon Gekko’s Greed is Good and amends it to Greed is Great.

Belfort binges on blow and blow jobs, – lewd behaviour and ‘lude behaviour- brought on by their quest for wealth.

The one singular sensation of this picture occurs at the beginning with a stand out, knock em dead performance by Matthew McConnaughy as Belford’s mentor in the bear pit. It’s breath taking ball breaking bravura bull by the horns turn and I can only think that Oscar was late for the screening.