Billionaire Boys Club

Cox has managed to recruit great actors only to elicit bafflingly melodramatic and stilted work. Emma Roberts, as an aspiring artist and the only female character with more than a couple speaking lines, is particularly wasted.

It should... be avoided like a contagious rash.

Cox finds himself doing a poor imitation of Martin Scorsese, channeling the manic hedonism of both "Goodfellas" and "The Wolf of Wall Street," minus the seductive magnetism of either film's central performance.

It's a derivative bore, all popped collars, douchey bros and hand-me-down psychology, that gets its characters up to their necks in borrowed money just long enough to have it really hurt when the accounts run dry.

The movie delves into a weak exploration of Hunt's private life.

As Hunt's life unravels, so does the movie, though the story maintains a certain baseline of interest just by virtue of being sordid.

While this version may actually be closer to the real-life incidents that took place, it is still a bit of a draggy affair.

This is bargain basement stuff that deserves to be treated as such.

Why a director would try so hard to clean up the image of an inhuman convicted felon beggars belief.

It has all the ingredients but everything is half-baked.