A film about excesses that, very quickly, becomes background noise. Marty's tread all of this territory before, occasionally with higher stakes, but never with this much exhausting joviality. The film whirs and buzzes and spits out a barrage of disgusting anti-heroes with the seeming intent of translating the druggy highs of greed and gambling into "Laurence of Arabia", but it can't really sustain it's own foul-mouthed hubris long enough to become vital, or even wise like, say "King of Comedy", "Goodfellas," or "Casino" - all of which with it shares a heap of themes. It's all just bluster and pretension - the idea that these con men deserve three hours of your time. After all, they already have your money.

But here's the rub: if you aren't impressed with cocaine, testosterone, and bodily fluids, will you have any patience for the ten minutes of the film that is actual story? Marty seems to be impressed by these guys and their top-heavy world which is essentially a pornographic variation on the Marvel Universe Marty has found to be so damaging to cinema culture.

If you can manage to watch 24 uninterrupted hours of Scorsese's late-career efforts (all bloated, all questionably artful), you may just die of boredom. I guess that it's a question of which masterpiece is more boring - the caterwauling boy's-night of "Wolf" or the somnambulant self-seriousness of "Irishman" or "Silence"?