THE problem with Oliver Stone's Wall Street (World, 9.35pm) is that it is about horrible people who Stone expects us to admire. Stone's father was a broker and the film is dedicated to him, so perhaps the goo is understandable. That does not mean it is forgivable.
The most despicable of the characters is the one played by Michael Douglas, who won an Oscar for his performance. He is a high-roller who goes around spitting out absurdities like 'lunch is for wimps'. Charlie Sheen is the young gun who wants to get to the top and doesn't mind how he does it. Daryl Hannah is the vacuous blonde he beds along the way.
Martin Sheen (Sheen senior) is about the only likable personality, but even he is a cliche; the Incorruptible Working Class Hero whose job it is to cure Sheen junior of his avarice, vanity and general obnoxiousness. He is cured and there is the moral: greed is not good. It hits you between the eyes like a brick.
This does not make Wall Street an especially bad movie. It simply means it could have been much better. Stone - and I blame this on his father - seems seduced by the frantic energy of these ghastly characters.
You can catch a glimpse of Stone and of James Spader, who went on to nearly become famous in sex, lies & videotape.
KATHARINE Hepburn, to borrow a phrase, really stuffed it to them when she made The Philadelphia Story (World, 2.25am).
She had been branded box-office poison by the critics and was reduced to looking around for a Broadway show she could star in. Playwright Philip Barry wrote The Philadelphia Story especially for her. She covered 25 per cent of production costs and took no salary, shrewdly opting for 45 per cent of the considerable profits.
