![]() The Wolf of Wall Street is easily one of the best (if not THE best) films of 2013, and it kicked BNAT15 off in grand style. But what I will say is that Scorsese is having too much fun to call it quits. There’s an embargo on fully reviewing the film, so I can’t go into too much detail. The results are one of the greatest “drug movies” ever made a cinematic distillation of what it feels like to be riding high on an eight ball of blow or creeping in slo-mo as the Quaaludes kick in. Only instead of adding satirical elements, Scorsese simply lets the insane tale of Jordan Belfort (Leonardo DiCaprio, in possibly the best performance of the year and the actor’s career) unfold in its entire coked-out, pill-popping glory truth being stranger than fiction once again. While many will be rushing to make Goodfellas comparisons (and there are certainly many parallels to draw between the two pictures), the film feels much more in league with Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Glengarry Glen Ross and Oliver Stone’s Wall Street. The Wolf of Wall Street isn’t just great - it’s a comedic masterpiece. What I propose is that we kidnap him, find a way to keep his brain stimulated and able to communicate its brilliant cinematic ideas, and let him make movies until the end of time. Terence Winter)Īfter nearly fifty years worth of feature length films, Martin Scorsese is considering retirement. And once I settled into my seat (which was front and center, three rows back), the reality of the situation finally dawned on me… All I could do was continuously thank Kristen as she walked us through obtaining our badges. Minutes later, she was flipping through badges and motioned for us to come over - turned out we were all going to get a seat! But Kristen Bell, the always-awesome event coordinator for the Drafthouse, told those of us who remained to stick around, as she might be able to squeeze a few more in. But as the numbers were called, I felt my hopes sink, until all fourteen were granted entry and the tickets were seemingly gone completely. By my calculations, that gave me over a fifty percent chance of getting in. A half hour later, the standby denizens were all called down into the empty lobby, where the cinema sweepstakes were set to be held.įourteen seats. After most of the attendees arrived, pillows and blankets in hand and PJs covering many legs, raffle tickets were handed out at eleven. The first film was scheduled to roll at noon. Fortunately, the Ritz was kind enough to let the line of hopefuls wait in the well between its two theaters, where it was far warmer than twenty-eight degrees. So I suited up, down vest and all, ready to stand in the cold for a solid two hours with no guarantee of getting in. But now that I knew there was even a remote chance of attending, there was no way I wasn’t going to give it a go. Phil emailed it to me late Thursday night (I’m bad at Twitter sometimes). This led to Harry announcing on Twitter that there were going to be a minimum of nineteen seats available to those willing to brave the cold and hang standby. Flights were cancelled and the roads were a mess, rendering travel for certain long distance attendees impossible. But a cold front ran through Texas, dumping snow and sending these warm weather lizards into a panic. If it weren’t for the wonderful Phil Nobile, Jr., I probably wouldn’t have even attempted my first crash of the single-day film festival until next year - applying proper with everyone else. Now that I was going to be in the area full-time, I figured it was foolhardy for me to not pursue my own personal chair at this shindig. But the event was happening so far away from my tiny suburban town that it almost didn’t feel real. The annual birthday celebration for Harry Knowles, mastermind behind AICN, the mix of classic cinema and secret premieres sounded like a near perfect party. I’ve wanted to attend Butt-Numb-A-Thon since I first read about it in high school. Texas beer and barbeque are great, but nothing beat the constant cinematic inundation a relocation to the town promised. The move was Fantastic Fest’s fault, as we had traveled down for vacation two years ago and completely fell in love with the city. Four weeks ago, my wife and I packed up the car and drove three days, from Philadelphia to Austin (OK, well, we stopped in Kentucky to hang out with her dad and brother for a week and in Memphis to see Graceland and devour some BBQ spaghetti).
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