Good and Bad Fathers as Moral Rhetoric in
Wall Street
JOHN W. JORDAN
University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee
This essay reads the narrative dynamics between the “good” and “bad” father
personas in Oliver Stone’s Wall Street as arguments seeking to persuade audiences about the morality of the father/son relationship. Specifically, the film
develops an argumentative logic advancing one patriarchal ideology above,
and at the expense of, others. An analysis of the film on the theme of fathers
and sons reveals how contemporary ideas about what it means to be a “good”
father are made culturally sensible and desirable.
Keywords: fathers, masculinity, film studies, patriarchy, rhetoric, Wall Street
Oliver Stone’s Wall Street opened in December of 1987, just seven weeks after the
“Black Monday” stock market crash and shortly after the director’s father, a Wall Street
stockbroker and inspiration for the film, passed away. These sad coincidences provided
gravitas to Stone’s film about two crisis points in modern America: family and money.
As the “old guard” faded away, concerns about how to safeguard the next generation’s
moral sensibilities emerged and continue to be of concern (Jeffords, 1994; Jenkins,
2006). Stone’s Wall Street entered this scene as a moral parable about generational conflict, masculinity, and fathers. The film tells the story of Bud Fox, a young stockbroker who initially rejects the teachings of his good and true father, Carl Fox. The son is
seduced and betrayed by the corrupt father figure of Gordon Gekko, and ultimately is
redeemed by accepting Carl’s ideology. Thus, Wall Street provides an opportunity to examine how masculine familial relationships are employed as moralistic rhetorics for
film audiences, and their significance to our larger cultural perspective on patriarchy.
The film’s enduring popularity and the frequency with which such “paternalistic
choice” narratives appear in popular media makes deciphering the rhetoric of Wall
Street an important task for understanding representations of fathers in the media.
In the sections that follow, I engage Wall Street’s cinematic and social significance,
situating it within a broader understanding of paternalistic masculinity and the media.
John W. Jordan, Department of Communication, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee.
Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to John W. Jordan, Department of Communication, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, Milwaukee, WI, 53211. Electronic mail: [email protected]
Fathering, Vol. 7, No. 2, Spring 2009, 180-195.
© 2009 by the Men’s Studies Press, LLC. http://www.mensstudies.com. All rights reserved.
fth.0702.180/$14.00 • DOI: 10.3149/fth.0702.180 • Url: http://dx.doi.org/10.3149/fth.0702.180
180
MORAL RHETORIC IN WALL STREET
Following this, I analyze the film and its related discourse to reveal the ideological
thrust of the film’s paternalism and how it encourages audiences to view father-son relationships. Critiquing the film’s representations of fathers as symbolic rhetoric calls
into question the narrative purpose behind playing “bad” and “good” fathers off each
other as a means for conveying moral principles, and enhances our understanding of
how popular narratives work to help audiences negotiate ideological crises. Ultimately,
the film is more effective in explaining to the audience why the “bad father” is bad
than why the “good father” is good; thus providing audiences with a clear sense of the
difference between the two, but a far less clear accounting of the good father’s moral
virtue.
The Paternal, Masculine and Cinematic Contexts of Wall Street
Wall Street is a typically blunt Oliver Stone film, meaning that it is all but impossible to miss the father-son connections in the narrative. Not only are Bud and Carl
Fox played by real-life son and father actors, Charlie and Martin Sheen, but Stone dedicated the film to his father and cast his own toddler son in the film. Both at the time
of its release and on its celebrated 20th anniversary, Stone emphasized his father-centric focus, citing his own father as his “main motivation” because he wanted to “tell a
story that would resonate” with him (Demos, 2007a; see also Garcia, 1987; Neumeister, 2007). Stone’s paternalistic message in Wall Street is embodied by the film’s fatherfigures who represent the ethical choices confronting young men today (Demos,
2007a). Viewed in this light, Bud Fox’s cinematic journey reflects Stone’s own arguments about the choices fathers and sons must make to safeguard the American family
and society in general.
Previous studies have examined Wall Street from various perspectives, including
its portrayal of evil (Stone, 2000), its interpretation of the American Dream (Winn,
2003), its depiction of stockbroker culture (Arsenault, 1998), and the politics of the
film’s visual style (Boozer, 1989). Each analysis speaks to the film’s influence on how
audiences perceive their everyday realities, and the present study extends this analysis
by focusing on Wall Street’s representations of the moral obligations of fathers. “In a
mass-mediated image culture,” Kellner (1995) argues, “it is representations that help
constitute an individual’s view of the world…. Ideology is thus as much a process of
representation, figure, image, and rhetoric as it is of discourse and ideas” (p. 60). Meaning in society is contingent upon rhetorical language, which “gives shape to social reality and, in so doing, makes sense of it” (Herman, 1999, p. 6). The values embodied
by Wall Street’s parental characters become rhetorical arguments about what differentiates good and bad fathers, and why these differences matter. But the film cannot present its perspective as simple fact; it must instead argue its point of view. This is due to
masculinity as a cultural ideology being both “socially and psychologically insecure;
and its insecurity produces the need for its constant reachievement” (Fiske, 1987, p.
202). Wall Street explores the question of how sons are persuaded to “reachieve” their
fathers’ sensibilities. Analyzing Wall Street, then, necessitates exploring the rhetorical
181
JORDAN
valorization of one notion of “father” above others. I begin by addressing the contemporary relationship between masculinity and fatherhood.
Masculinity, Fathers, and Films
Perhaps the quintessential duty of fathers is instructing their sons about what it
means to “be a man”; to raise their sons through an exemplary form of masculinity.
Such instruction often comes from media examples that provide audiences with smooth
narratives of virtuous fathers (see Gunn, 2008; Jeffords, 1994, 1997; Tripp, 2005; Trujillo, 1991). But these narratives ignore too many tensions inherent to masculinity itself. “The closer we come to uncovering some form of exemplary masculinity,” one
critic contends, “the clearer it becomes that masculinity is structured through contradiction: the more it asserts itself, the more it calls itself into question” (Segal, 1990, p.
123). These contradictions make it impossible to confine masculinity to a single definition. As such, when analyzing mediated representations of masculinity, it is important to look at if and how these contradictions are addressed in the text and what
resolutions are offered to audiences.
Films like Wall Street convey ideas about appropriate masculinity by navigating audiences through the moral ambiguities of familial ideologies, going beyond simply stating how things should be to also include arguments as to why things should be that
way. Assumptions about familial identities can no longer be taken for granted, as scholars demonstrate that it is insufficient to assume masculinity as the unproblematized status quo (Horrocks, 1995, p. 8; Macdonald, 1995, p. 15; Neale, 1992; Smith, 1999, p.
15). Such universalizing blinds us to the fact that men “live the dominant myth of masculinity unevenly, often resisting it” (Easthope, 1990, p. 2). Put differently, addressing
patriarchal masculinity without also analyzing how its dominance is established reaffirms, rather than critiques, its power and privilege (Jordan, 2003; McPhail, 1998;
Vance, 1995). Other scholarship has proven the utility of critical approaches to studying representations of masculinity in familial contexts (see Clarke, 2006; Hanke, 1990;
King, 1999; Reser, 2005; Tripp, 2005; and Trujillio, 1991). It notes that mediated images of fathers in the media change to accommodate shifting cultural attitudes, but do
so without ever truly threatening fathers’ dominant status within families. These accommodations may seem excessive but are in fact necessary to the dominant ideology’s self-perpetuation. As Jeffords (1997) notes, “to say that masculinity is excess is
then to argue that the gender system of American culture cannot fulfill the motivation
of a patriarchal system to establish itself as exhaustive.” To defend its status, the patriarchal narrative “requires ... constant reproduction” (pp. 1049-50). Each generation’s
media contains representations of father-son dynamics because this is how the patriarchal ideology is passed down. But in each iteration, the ideology must adapt to and defend against social counter-currents. Consequently, fatherly representations are
understood best as productive rather than reductive arguments that renew the meaning
of father in contemporary society.
182
MORAL RHETORIC IN WALL STREET
The warrant for analyzing cinematic fathers derives in part from the “masculinityas-signs approach,” which states that audiences view male characters as reflecting ideological positions (Saco, 1992). This was particularly true of films from the Wall Street
era, when the father-son dynamic was identified as “the key issue for manhood in the
1980s” (Jeffords, 1994, p. 64), the fear being that the moral legacy of the father’s generation would not take root in the son’s. By the end of the 1980s, young men’s rebellion against their fathers’ traditions constituted “one of the central crises of
contemporary masculinity,” and remains so today (Segal, 1990, p. 100). Born out of this
crisis was a film genre depicting the struggles young men encounter in negotiating their
ascent to manhood, typically represented through father-type and son-type characters
whose interactions help to chart the myriad images of “father” resonating throughout
contemporary media.
Wall Street remains a significant example of how fathers are used to represent ideological positions, joining other films that also utilize this narrative strategy, a few of
which are worth mentioning specifically. Perhaps the most well-known examples of
this genre are Episodes 1-3 of the Star Wars saga, which trace Anakin Skywalker’s
transformation from innocent child into the villainous Darth Vader. His story revolves
around his having fallen prey to a “bad father,” Emperor Palpatine, and his rejection of
the “good father,” Obi Wan Kenobi. Anakin’s mother dies early in the story, making his
life choices almost entirely dependent on, and reflective of, his fatherly role-models; a
common trope in the genre. The father-son theme is reinforced in the second Star Wars
trilogy, when Darth Vader redeems himself by vanquishing the evil emperor and saving his own son. Other notable films adapt the basic theme while maintaining the larger
ideological perspective. Deserving particular consideration would be the recent Oscarwinning drama, The Departed, which features both good and bad fathers, as well as
good and bad sons, fighting each other. The film ends with the surviving good son
killing the remaining bad son, a tragic yet morally consistent resolution in the genre.
Numerous other examples – National Treasure, Big Fish, Miller’s Crossing, There Will
Be Blood, Platoon, the X-Men trilogy, as well as the television shows The Simpsons and
Smallville – demonstrate how the good/bad father-son dynamic remains a popular narrative device post-Wall Street. What makes Wall Street particularly worth revisiting,
however, is its intense focus on the father-son dynamic which provides both historical
and textual insight into mediated representations of fathers. In analyzing Wall Street’s
rhetorics of patriarchal masculinity, we gain an improved understanding of why this
theme persists in popular media and what it says about current patriarchal crises.
Wall Street as Cultural Text
Wall Street has not faded from the cultural imagination since its premiere, due in
part to the richness and continued relevance of its characters and their symbolism. Wall
Street’s twentieth anniversary provided commentators with occasion to revisit the film
and its iconic characters, particularly Gordon Gekko. The film’s continued popularity
spurred reports of plans for a sequel which would depict a newly paroled Gekko’s attempt to reunite with his estranged son, thus continuing the father-son narrative from
183
JORDAN
the original (Demos, 2007b; Torpey-Kemph, 2005, p. 32). Audiences apparently are
still fascinated by Wall Street’s message about fathers and sons and their paths toward
corruption and redemption.
As this sequel talk confirms, the most memorable character to come out of Wall
Street was the bad father character, Gordon Gekko, for whose iconic portrayal Michael
Douglas received an Oscar. Movie audiences were used to villains, but not like this
and not from an actor better known for playing the “sensitive new age guy” (Dow,
2006, p. 125). Gekko was the anti-father who valued his pride above his family; a man
whose paternal instincts were predatory rather than patient. This cinematic icon remains the benchmark of malfeasant masculinity both on screen and off. Real-life Wall
Street criminals are compared to their fictional counterpart in headlines declaring the
“Biggest insider-trading bust since Gordon Gekko ruled ‘Wall Street’” (Neumesiter,
2007), and biographies that depict real-world CEO’s as “[a] pair of real-life Gordon
Gekkos” (Rowley, 2003, p. 163). In the business world, Gekko remains the “archetypal Master of the Universe and enduring symbol of 1980s excess” (Pooley, 2005, p.
18; see also Coster, 2006; Havrilesky, 2006; Malveaux, 2002; Toplin, 1998). Even the
Chronicle of Higher Education evoked Gekko’s name to decry business schools for
“elevating shareholder profit above social benefits and other concerns, [and] may have
unintentionally become breeding grounds for a generation of Gordon Gekkos” (Mangan, 2006, p. A14). Gekko remains both admired and reviled, but in each comparison
the common thread is a paternalistic concern over how values are passed down, shaped,
and potentially corrupted. Gekko, and the film which gave him life, clearly influence
our sensibilities about the meaning of masculinity in the modern.
Similar references appear on screen. Several notable films—including 25th Hour,
It Runs in the Family, and The Player—specifically mention Wall Street as shorthand
for the malevolent influences threatening society and young men’s progress toward
moral adulthood. In the corporate drama Boiler Room, for example, a group of young
stockbrokers gather around a television, watching Wall Street and reciting Gekko’s
lines from memory as though repeating an oath. These Gekko-wannabes depict a sentiment familiar in the culture at large, which is that, “[s]ince its release in December,
1987, ‘Wall Street’ has been required viewing for anyone working in finance.” But as
Stone himself points out in the same article, the movie’s message is not about money.
“The meat of the film,” in Stone’s view, “centers on Bud Fox” and the relationships he
has with his two father-figures (Demos, 2007a). Gekko’s enduring popularity suggests
that some audiences may have missed Stone’s point but not the rhetorical power of his
vision. Locating the source of this power requires looking not only at Gekko, but also
at his connection to both Bud and Carl Fox. Understanding Wall Street’s enduring message about good and bad fathers requires that we study the film’s two father characters
as being symbiotically linked, such that the actions of one father necessarily impact
the audience’s understanding of the other, transporting the audience to a morally satisfying conclusion. In the sections that follow, I provide a critical reading of how the
film uses its father and son relationships to perform this ideological argument.
184
MORAL RHETORIC IN WALL STREET
The Fathers and the Son:
The Trinity of Patriarchy in Wall Street
Oliver Stone’s Wall Street chronicles Bud Fox’s struggle to make his mark in the
world of high finance. Typical of 1980s films, ideological issues are condensed around
an individual character’s desire to make their life meaningful (Williamson, 1991, p.
155). What is noteworthy in Wall Street is that Bud’s quest is presented not as a solitary journey of individual achievement, but as a tug-of-war between Carl Fox and Gordon Gekko. Tying Bud’s masculine maturation to these two father-figures provides
opportunities for the narrative to comment on how fathers should raise their sons and
the consequences their choices have for the child’s social and moral development. In
what follows, I analyze three polemics which constitute the film’s sensibility regarding its representations of fathers: closeness and distance, giving and taking, and the father-son conflicts.
Fathers as Close or Distant
Wall Street is structured such that each of the three primary characters can be understood best only within a symbiotic relationship. Bud sits at the fulcrum between the
two strong masculine influences: his actual father, Carl, from whom he siphons financial and emotional support; and his dream father, someone big enough to raise him into
the ranks of the Wall Street elite. This dream father is, of course, Gordon Gekko, described as a “kind of magnetically larcenous” creature, and the “lizardly villain in
Money Hell” (Dudar, 1987; Kempley, 1987). As the “guru of entrepreneurial greed”
(Winn, 2003, p. 307), Gekko represents “the embodiment of contemporary patriarchy,”
albeit “an extreme form of that particular order” (Boozer, 1989, p. 96). By contrast,
Carl Fox is a mechanic and union representative for a small airline, tellingly described
in one review as being “manly without being macho” (Gross, 1988, B1). Although the
story leaves little doubt as to which father is hero to the other’s villain, Bud’s individual choices are depicted in a gestalt manner; their full morality made clear only when
the audience sees Bud move closer to one father or the other. Put differently, the dramatic and moral paths of the film are charted by how Carl-like or Gekko-like Bud
chooses to be.
The significance of the father roles is reinforced throughout Wall Street. Indeed,
scenes that feature Gekko or Carl interacting with Bud are linked together and enable
the audience to contrast each father’s perspective. Even though Gekko receives far
more screen time overall, Carl is never kept from the audience for too long. This motif
of continually comparing Gekko’s and Carl’s fatherly relationship with Bud is established early on. The audience’s first glimpse of Gekko is his image on a magazine cover,
and soon after his voice is heard barking orders from somewhere beyond the majestic
doors of his palatial office, to which Bud is denied access. Although we do not see
Gekko in person, we see clearly Bud’s desire to associate with his idol. It is telling that
Bud has difficulty meeting Gekko, and cements one of the polemics separating Gekko
185
JORDAN
and Carl. The scene that immediately follows Bud’s failure to gain an audience with
Gekko introduces viewers to Carl, whom Bud visits at his father’s after-work saloon.
Instead of being kept at a distance, Bud is welcomed warmly by his blue-collared father’s fellow mechanics. As a union rep, Carl is pseudo-father to this extended family,
who respect him enough to leave the two alone to talk. Carl is a leader without being
a ruler, a trait which comes through when he speaks with his son, whom he admonishes
frankly but never seeks to injure. Carl loves Bud, but neither understands nor approves
of his son’s career or lifestyle. He does not see Bud’s desire to become someone else;
he sees instead his misguided son as someone who is unable to appreciate what he already has. In Bud’s eyes, Carl is simply a resource to be exploited—a burned-out, bluecollar lifer with nothing to offer except quick cash handouts.
Although Carl is portrayed as the good father, he is also the frustratingly dull father who makes Bud’s desire to break away tangible for the audience. It is important
to note, however, that Carl’s values are not questioned in the film. His is the unglamorous yet constant, wise, and fatherly masculinity—a good man with good sense. Their
relationship is based on an obvious closeness yet neither fully appreciates the other.
Bud admonishes Carl for smoking, while Carl mocks Bud’s stock market jargon. This
friction works productively to solidify Carl’s fatherly persona and Bud’s resistance to
it. The scene in the saloon is crucial to the development of their patriarchal dynamic and
highlights how Bud’s subsequent interactions with Gekko lack the give-and-take of a
“true” father-son dynamic. But in this, the audience’s first encounter with Carl, it is the
differences between father and son that are emphasized over their obvious similarities.
Carl represents exactly the kind of masculinity that Bud refuses to adopt himself—
an authoritative yet nurturing patriarch. Carl embodies a parental ethos that Bud eventually embraces, but only after rejecting it for the image of masculinity he believes
Gekko embodies. Carl’s fatherly persona identifies for the audience the kind of man
Bud should desire to be but is blind to. Bud is an impostor living a borrowed life;
ashamedly taking handouts from his working-class father while protesting the manner
in which the charity is offered, belying, as Carl might say, his understanding of the
value of money but not of work. Nevertheless, Carl gives the money to his son, as the
film implies he has done many times before. This quality of accessibility attends to the
polarity between Gekko and Carl and demarcates a meaningful difference between
their moral worth as fathers. Whereas Gekko prides himself on his exclusivity, Carl
seemingly is always available to his son and to his co-workers. At no point in the film
does Bud have to wait to gain access to Carl, a fact which symbolically guarantees
their eventual reconciliation and valorizes Carl as the good father.
Early in the film, however, it is Bud’s lack of appreciation for Carl that drives his
pursuit of Gekko, the bad father who is all the more tantalizing to Bud for remaining
at arms length. Like a child eager to earn his father’s approval, Bud jumps at opportunities to please Gekko. Ingratiating himself as Gekko’s son is a higher priority for Bud
than heeding Carl’s counsel to settle down and start a family of his own; to become, in
essence, a father and a man himself. Bud’s rejection of Carl’s fatherly advice in favor
of obsessing over Gekko’s affections is made clear in an early scene in which Bud
186
MORAL RHETORIC IN WALL STREET
awakens and sits at his computer, ignoring the nude woman still in his bed—his joyless conquest from the night before, barely glancing at her as she saunters naked across
the room and out of view. Bud’s focus is on his calendar, which informs him that it is
Gekko’s birthday. This information brings an excited smile to his face, and we see the
extent to which Bud has tied his happiness to Gekko. Rather than setting out on his
own, Bud dreams only of pleasing Gekko.
The distance/closeness polarity is emphasized further in later scenes. Having profited from his shady dealings with Gekko, Bud returns to his father to flaunt his success.
He attempts to invert his relationship with his father by giving him money—a payback
of his loans and some extra—which Carl dismisses, concerned more with Bud’s wellbeing. The film takes pains to demonstrate that, as Bud’s good father, Carl’s sole concern is for Bud’s own maturation as a man, not his success as a stock broker. Bud,
however, reads Carl’s reluctance to compliment his success as a sign that his father
does not understand the new world to which he finally has won access, reminding the
audience of the rift between the noble father and the wayward son, even as they walk
arm-in-arm. As Bud has not yet come to terms with his father’s values, their physical
proximity is an ironic framing of their ideological distance. Nevertheless, the representation of their closeness provides assurances that the bond between father and son
somehow will be repaired. No matter what their moods, Carl as good father never remains distant from his son, providing the narrative logic that makes Gekko’s villainy
sensible.
Bud’s relationship with Gekko by this point in the film is markedly opposite. Although Bud believes he has grown close to Gekko, the film suggests a different conclusion by exposing this corrupt paternalism. The degree to which Bud has entered
Gekko’s world is called into question during a scene in which he and Gekko ostensibly reach a highpoint in their emotional intimacy as father and son. Tellingly, their conversation does not take place walking arm-in-arm, but over the phone. Gekko strolls
along his private beach at sunrise, tantalizing Bud, who sits alone in his city apartment,
with how much he wishes Bud was there to share it all with him. No matter how close
Gekko seems to let Bud get, he will always find a way to maintain some manner of distance between them. All of Gekko’s fatherly promises end up as lies that ultimately
devastate Bud. Throughout the film, Bud believes he is getting closer to Gekko when
the rest of the narrative emphasizes he is only growing farther from Carl. Gekko’s paternalism entails an abusive coldness that continues to grow until its denouement, at
which point not even Bud can ignore it, and Carl’s pervious warnings are realized.
Gekko’s selfishness as father is cemented in the only scenes that feature Gekko’s
own toddler son, Rudy. We first meet Rudy when Bud is invited to a party at Gekko’s
estate. Gekko makes a show of lavishing affection on Rudy, playing the proud father—
perhaps to make Bud jealous—but it is clear that he is being raised more by the au pair
than by Gekko. Rudy is more of an accoutrement than a son. This point is driven home
by the fact that Bud’s presence at the party is work-related; the invitation marks his
entry into the deepest layer of Gekko’s empire. While Gekko holds Rudy and watches
amusedly, Bud eagerly signs documents that make him responsible for managing
187
JORDAN
Gekko’s portfolio. For Bud, this is akin to being adopted by his new father; given a
share of his wealth and a token of his trust. But as Gekko hands Rudy to his nanny, we
are reminded that Gekko can always cast off his sons when it suits him. We next see
Rudy near the end of the film, after Bud and Gekko have betrayed each other. At his
home office, listening to news reports about his failed investment, Gekko shows none
of the affection for Rudy from before. In fact, his neglect for Rudy is such that he angrily smashes a glass desk just feet from where his son is playing. The implication is
that Gekko is more concerned about his money than his son—a lesson Bud learned too
late, and one that Rudy would do well to remember.
Father as Giver or Taker
Bud’s two father-figures are differentiated further by a polemic of giving and taking; specifically, what they offer to and/or take from him. Carl is inexhaustibly generous with Bud and asks only that his son be his own man. Bud promises Carl that, “One
day, you’re gonna be proud of me,” but Bud’s promise seems mismatched against Carl’s
expectations. Carl’s pride in Bud is not dependent on financial success, which is perhaps why he so generously gives money to his son. As a rebellious youth, Bud cannot
see the value of his father’s way of life even as it stares him in the face. This rift between Bud and Carl is amplified until Bud is betrayed by Gekko, after which Carl and
Bud reconcile. But their seemingly tenuous father-son relationship is used as a counterpoint to Bud’s father-son relationship with Gekko, which exhibits a decidedly different set of fatherly values.
The disparity between Carl as giver and Gekko as taker is illustrated in Bud’s first
meeting with Gekko, which takes place soon after Bud makes his prideful promise to
Carl. Bud’s entrance into Gekko’s office—for which he has long yearned—foreshadows the kind of father-son relationship Gekko will foster with Bud. As Bud enters, the
camera adopts his point of view so that the audience sees Gekko through Bud’s
awestruck eyes. Standing in his richly appointed office overlooking the city, Gekko is
a one-man empire doing what he does best: taking things from others, be it money,
property, time, ideas or their soul. “It’s a zero-sum game,” he explains to Bud. “Somebody wins, somebody loses.” Bud senses that Gekko wants more from him than fawning and token gifts; Gekko wants something big—something that will prove Bud’s
devotion. Not coincidentally, Carl earlier revealed confidential information to Bud
about his airline. Bud quickly betrays this confidence to Gekko, who is more than willing to take from Bud that which Carl gave so unreservedly. Bud soon after learns that
his betrayal of Carl earned him Gekko’s appreciation, which he celebrates euphorically.
Gekko’s selfish fathering frames Bud as though he were another investment. Gekko
takes Bud under his wing but also makes it clear that he will end their relationship if
Bud fails him. Under his parentage, Bud becomes increasingly subservient to Gekko,
as demonstrated in a later scene in which Bud regurgitates a quote from one of Gekko’s
favorite philosophers, winning an admiring smile from his new dad. Carl gives money,
188
MORAL RHETORIC IN WALL STREET
time and advice to Bud simply for the asking; Gekko metes out these resources as
though they were treats rewarding a trained pet, but Bud is not dismayed. The more Bud
submits, the more he is rewarded: a penthouse, a promotion, and his ultimate prize,
Darien, “one of Gekko’s discards” whom Bud falls for romantically (Hagen, 1987, p.
C6). Rather than setting out on his own, Bud gleefully stays in Gekko’s shadow and
dines on his crumbs. Bud’s choice seems simple: Gekko’s fathering comes with easy
perks; Carl’s is much more taxing.
Gekko’s father-as-taker persona is exemplified in an early scene. During a limousine ride, Gekko points out the building that was his first real estate deal, and describes
the feeling to Bud as “better than sex.” This is Gekko’s version of “the birds and the
bees” speech, and Bud listens with awe. But Gekko shows again that he is loath to act
altruistically toward his new son. At the end of their ride, Gekko asks Bud again to
prove his devotion by performing a series of tasks, including illegal ones. When Bud
protests, Gekko twice throws Bud’s betrayal of Carl back in his face. Gekko deepens
Bud’s anxiety by threatening to disown him, saying, “You had what it takes to get in
my office, kid. The real question is, do you have what it takes to stay?” Bud acquiesces, “All right, Mr. Gekko. You got me.” Having submitted to his new father’s authority, Bud’s emulation of Gekko moves into full swing.
This scene reveals the extent to which Gekko’s bad fathering hinders Bud’s maturing into what Carl would consider a “real man.” Gekko desires to keep Bud subservient with the promise that one day he will be the next Gekko. Bud falls prey to the
myth that becoming a man means taking over what the father possesses, rather than
developing a life of his own. This misperception also accounts for Bud’s rejection of
Carl and what his masculinity represents. Bud expresses no desire to take over Carl’s
blue-collar life and actively disdains it, coveting Gekko’s wealth and power instead.
Bud does not realize until much later that Carl has little interest in seeing Bud become
a mirror image of himself; he wants Bud to become his own man, albeit one molded
from his patriarchal ideology. Bud’s relationship with Gekko is one of mimicry; with
Carl it is one of mentorship. Wall Street’s distinction between the two fathers’ visions
affirms that merely emulating “the habits of the father will not ensure a successful future…. [T]he son must develop his own individualized characteristics, under the mentorship of the father, to produce a set of abilities that are appropriate for his future”
(Jeffords, 1994, p. 89).
Wall Street is not content to let Carl’s fatherhood stand on the premise that their natural connection is by definition more valuable. The film valorizes the Bud-Carl relationship by portraying the Gekko interactions as perverse, disdainful, wrong and
practically incestuous. During one of their chats, Gekko’s fatherly advice to Bud is to
stay out of personal attachments and to think only about grabbing as much as you can
for yourself in life. Looking out over the skyline of Manhattan, Gekko declares, “I create nothing. I own.” This sentiment is countered later in the film by Carl, who advises
Bud that it is more worthwhile and noble for a man to “create, instead of buying and
selling others.” As the film makes plain, Bud’s fate rests in the parental philosophies
of his two fathers. The acts of giving and taking provide an additional layer within the
189
JORDAN
narrative’s moral instruction. Gekko will only continue to take everything from Bud,
and Carl’s generosity is the only means by which Bud can become his own man. As the
film nears its end, the narrative urges the audience to conclude that Bud will recognize
Carl as the good father and find redemption.
Fathers and Son Together and in Conflict
The melodramatic thrust of Wall Street guarantees that the two fathers and son
come together in direct conflict, which happens late in the film in the only scene in
which Bud, Carl, and Gekko are together. Bud, now fully embodying his identity as
Gekko’s pseudo-son, invites Carl and the other airline union leaders to discuss a
takeover plan that would result in Gekko owning the airline and Bud installed as CEO.
The plan strikes at the heart of the Bud-Carl relationship. Carl persistently has asked
Bud to work alongside him at the airline and make an “honest living” through manual
labor. Now, as Gekko’s “son,” Bud instead can own the airline and, by extension, his
father. Adding additional insult, Bud and Gekko insist that theirs is the only plan that
can make the airline profitable—something Carl’s years of labor did not accomplish.
Bud’s most professionally successful moment comes at the expense of portraying Carl
as a failure, a broken man in need of rescue by his son. Sitting off to the side, Carl
watches with disgust as Bud preens before Gekko’s approving gaze. The irony of the
scene plays on the closeness/distance trope observed throughout the film. Carl and Bud
sit just a few feet away from each other, yet they have never been more ideologically
distant.
Bud’s estrangement from Carl is emphasized by the fact that this crucial scene
takes place not in Gekko’s office nor in Carl’s bar, but in Bud’s new penthouse. This is
the first time Bud has revealed his full Gekko-esque identity to his father, and Carl,
from the moment of his arrival, makes a point of appearing unimpressed by everything
he sees, including his now-alien son. His mood is established by the curt exchange he
has with Gekko as Bud introduces them. Gekko attempts to compliment Carl, saying,
“I’d be proud to have a son like Buddy,” and Carl retorts, “I’m glad you think so.” If
Gekko’s statement is an attempt to credit Carl for raising a successful son, then Carl’s
dismissal can be read as suggesting that whatever man Gekko believes Bud to be, he
is not the same son that Carl raised. Bud is now more Gekko’s son than Carl’s, which
may have been the intent of Gekko’s statement after all. The narrative eliminates any
possibility that Bud can be son to both fathers. Bud has been following Gekko, but
Carl’s moody re-emergence sets the stage for an epic father-son duel that valorizes Carl
by undermining Bud’s allegiance with Gekko.
After Bud finishes his takeover pitch to the airline representatives, Carl torpedoes
the plan by calling it a sham and insinuating as much about the men proffering it. Carl’s
disgust with his son’s inability to see Gekko for what he is prompts an explosive exchange between the estranged father and son. Despite his angry disappointment, Carl
shows that his concern is for Bud, warning him that “he’s using you, kid. He’s got your
prick in his back pocket, but you’re too blind to see it.” The implication is that Bud is
190
MORAL RHETORIC IN WALL STREET
neither independent nor a man. Bud’s only counter is to challenge his father by calling
him a jealous coward. Rather than defend himself, Carl instead reflects on his own
worth as a parent, muttering, “Boy, if that’s what you think, then I must have done a really lousy job as a father.” Carl’s utterance is crucial, providing proof of his difference
from Gekko. Bud’s failures as a man are read by Carl as his own fault as father, castigating himself for his wayward son’s moral choices. Gekko, of course, blames Bud
alone for any failings.
During their argument, Carl never defends his patriarchal authority over Bud nor
the manner in which he raised him. Again, the virtue of Carl’s fathering comes not from
a specific statement about its merits, but through its juxtaposition to Gekko’s. Carl
walks away from Bud at the end of their fight, but his leaving is yet another act of generosity, providing Bud the chance to be his own man despite his previous suggestion
that Bud belonged to Gekko. The impact of this gesture is visible on Bud’s face as he
watches his father walk away. He looks neither triumphant nor resolved, only bitter
and confused. Despite the degree to which he has given himself over to Gekko, it is
clear that Carl’s approval still matters to Bud. With Carl’s abrupt departure, the narrative transitions away from the Bud-Gekko connection to focus on Bud’s attempts to
redeem himself in Carl’s eyes.
Gekko can be a mentor to and even an idol for Bud, but he cannot be a true father;
a patriarchal logic that Wall Street advocates as the best relationship between generations of men. While acknowledging the seductive quality of Gekko’s promise as father, the story nevertheless demonstrates its ultimate deficiency. The significance of
this point is driven home when, soon after their fight, Carl has a heart attack, bringing
Bud rushing back to the bedside of his enfeebled father. Whereas Bud previously had
viewed his father as an archaic relic, he is humbled by the sight of his ill father. Bud’s
reaction is the loving sympathy of a true son who has finally become mindful of his father. Despite Gekko’s advice that Bud learn to “rip out the throats” of those who stand
in his way, Bud breaks down in tears upon seeing his frail father, confirming the sanctity of their paternal connection, which cannot be broken even by bad fathers like Gordon Gekko.
This reconciliation scene communicates Bud’s understanding of and, finally, his
appreciation for his father’s paternalism. Bud’s rejection of his true father for Gekko’s
faux fathering endangered his own career and Carl’s health. Despite these dangers,
Carl’s love gave Bud the ability to rectify his moral missteps. Stone is not particularly
known for subtlety, and the climax of his film makes it abundantly clear that all the
narrative threads in the film are contingent on Bud choosing Carl over Gekko. But it is
the way the film makes this choice appear sensible that reveals the argumentative art
involved in the narrative. By using the father characters to demonstrate the vices and
virtues of modern masculinity, Bud’s eventual reconciliation with Carl and denouncement of Gekko articulates a cultural logic of patriarchal masculinity buttressed by a
sentimentalized morality that makes Bud’s choice unquestionable, and compels the
narrative conclusion.
191
JORDAN
Rather than ending with Carl and Bud’s reconciliation, Wall Street continues its instruction on appropriate fatherhood by following Bud’s next moves as his true father’s
son, leading ultimately to his confrontation with his false-father, Gekko. Bud champions his fallen father, using his own abilities and his father’s reputation to protect the airline and to undermine Gekko. Several scenes ensue in which Bud is shown coming
into his own as his father’s son, a point made clear in a scene where Bud sits in his father’s chair at the airport bar, assuming his father’s place among the union workers and
restoring the patriarchal order while nevertheless establishing his own masculine identity as a leader. But Bud’s earlier choice to follow the bad father is not without repercussions, and he has not entirely escaped Gekko’s grasp. Knowing that Bud has turned
against him, Gekko’s fatherly persona takes a vindictive turn, creating another antithesis
between him and Carl. As payback, Gekko has Bud arrested for insider trading and
takes away everything he gave his one-time son, including their shared lover, Darien.
The ease with which Gekko engineers Bud’s collapse proves Carl’s point that Bud’s
new life had never really been his own. Sandwiched between Bud’s dedication to Carl
and his final confrontation with Gekko, these scenes of Bud’s fall from grace illustrate
the consequences of Gekko’s bad fathering. At each stage the film is careful never to
connect a negative turn of events for Bud with Carl’s patriarchal identity—only Gekko’s
image as father is rubbed away to reveal the villainy underneath.
Wall Street’s climax is brief and relatively understated, but nonetheless instrumental to completing the film’s paternalistic argument. The false father and the true
son have their duel in Central Park; Bud is wearing a wire to record Gekko admitting
to a crime, but their conversation is more overtly about their relationship. They fire
hurtful recriminations at each other until Gekko again reverts to aggression and punches
Bud to the ground. As Bud lays sprawled out before him, Gekko shouts, “I gave you
Darien. I gave you your manhood. I gave you everything!” He continues, “You could
have been one of the great ones, Buddy. I look at you, and I see myself. Why?” Bud’s
reply, given without hesitation, encapsulates the entire moral lesson of the film. “I guess
I realized that I’m just Bud Fox. As much as I wanted to be Gordon Gekko, I’ll always
be Bud Fox.” Finally rejecting the glamour of Gekko’s paternalism and standing up on
his own, Bud accepts the identity that was given to him, like his name, by his true father. Gekko’s charms worked when Bud was unsure of his place in the world; now that
he is reconciled with Carl, Gekko’s appeals are ineffective. Bud’s rejection is the final
argument exposing Gekko’s inability to be considered a worthy father.
The film ends with a recuperated Carl driving Bud to the courthouse, where it
seems likely that he again will have to answer for his poor choices. The scene is nostalgic, in that we see the Fox family together, although it is clear that they may soon be
apart. But the conclusion nevertheless is optimistic in that Bud’s true father, whose patriarchal ideology has been vindicated, is there to offer a few final words of wisdom and
encouragement. Darien has long since abandoned Bud, but the patriarchal order of the
scene is reestablished by the presence of Bud’s mother, who sits silently in the back of
the car. Bud has finally realized the wisdom of his true father, thus repairing the family bond and assuring the audience that Bud will continue to be guided by Carl. The next
generation is not lost and may even be wiser for the struggle. The film closes with Bud
192
MORAL RHETORIC IN WALL STREET
walking alone up the courthouse steps, but the emotional swell of music suggests that
he is finally on the right path. As the scene fades, the dedication to Louis Stone, Oliver’s
father, appears on screen and reminds the audience that, while the film is about many
things, it mostly is about what it means to be a good father and a good son.
Conclusion
Many films incorporate a father-son trope in their narratives, but this analysis has
demonstrated that Wall Street deserves critical attention for its instructional and ideological rhetoric about what makes a good father in the modern era. Wall Street’s staying power in the popular imagination is a testament to the efficacy of this rhetoric. The
film exemplifies the conclusion that, in the narrative logic of masculine cinema, “the
ability of good to win out over evil depends absolutely on the dedication of a son to a
father and all he represents” (Jeffords, 1994, p. 88). It is important, then, for critical
scholars to examine narratives that speak to this idea of father and “all he represents.”
A text like Wall Street provides this opportunity for examination and deepens our larger
understanding of the myriad ways in which representations of fathers in the media
shape our cultural sensibilities—both on and off screen. Consequently, what matters
most are the reasons espoused for the son’s dedication to his good father, and how those
translate into moral prescriptives for attentive audiences.
This is not to say, however, that Wall Street’s view of the good father is without
problem. In terms of the film’s attention to its own moral arguments, the scales are divided but not balanced. Spending the majority of its narrative on Gekko’s rise and fall
conveniently avoids complicating either Carl’s fatherly image or his paternalistic attitudes. Carl is meant to embody the good father, yet most of what makes Carl “good”
is derived from his opposition to how Gekko is presented as “bad.” Put differently, audiences are given a much clearer understanding of what Carl’s good fathering is not than
of what it is. We know that Carl is less greedy in his motivations than Gekko; but we
also come to see, including in the final scene, that he is every bit the patriarchal head
of his household. Although the film is careful to emphasize the differences between
how Carl and Gekko treat Bud, the similarities between Carl and Gekko are also significant and call into question the image of father which the film is so concerned to
valorize. The net effect is a less complicated narrative but a more ambiguous understanding of Carl’s fatherly virtues.
Wall Street remains an important example of how representations of fathers can be
played against one another as a means of re-articulating an ideological premise. That
Gekko remains the most popular and villainous character from the film suggests that
Stone struck a resonate chord with his audience but may not have persuaded everyone
to buy into his moral perspective. Nevertheless, the film offers complex, dynamic representations of good and bad fathers, and their sons, that are well worth continued exploration. The narrative trope of communicating morality through familial relationships
should not be dismissed as a dramatic convenience; rather, it should be investigated as
a rhetoric that asks audiences to value a certain moral ideology supported by provoca193
JORDAN
tive arguments and reasoning, all of which enhance our ability to understand our own
social situation.
References
Arsenault, R. (1998). Wall Street: The stockbroker’s son and the decade of greed. Film & History, 28, 16-27.
Boozer, J. (1989). Wall Street: The commodification of perception. Journal of Popular Film &
Television, 17, 90-99.
Clarke, E. A. (2006). Ideal heroes: Nostalgic constructions of masculinity in Tigerland and We
Were Soldiers. Literature Film Quarterly, 34, 19-26.
Coster, H. (2006, September 4). Gordon Gekko: Role model. Forbes, p. 56.
Demos, T. (2007a, September 21). Oliver Stone: Life after “Wall Street.” Fortune. Retrieved
April 2, 2008 from http://money.cnn.com/2007/09/20/news/newsmakers/oliver_stone.fortune/index.htm
Demos, T. (2007b, September 21). Where’s Gekko? “Wall Street” turns 20. Fortune. Retrieved
April 2, 2008 from http://money.cnn.com/magazines/fortune/fortune_archive/2007/10/01/
100400996/index.htm?postversion=2007092109
Dow, B. J. (2006). The traffic in men and the Fatal Attraction of postfeminist masculinity.
Women’s Studies in Communication, 29, 113-131.
Dudar, H. (1987, December 6). Michael Douglas, as villain, hits it big on Wall Street. New York
Times. p. 23.
Easthope, A. (1990). What a man’s gotta do: The masculine myth in popular culture. New York:
Routledge.
Fiske, J. (1987). Television culture. New York: Routledge.
Garcia, G. D. (1987, July 20). In the trenches of Wall Street. Time. Retrieved April 3, 2008 from
http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,965026,00.html
Gross, J. (1988, January 3). The new greed takes center stage. New York Times, p. B1.
Gunn, J. (2008). Father trouble: Staging sovereignty in Spielberg’s War of the Worlds. Critical
Studies in Media Communication, 25, 1-27.
Hagen, B. (1987, December 15). Stone’s Wall Street a crashing bore. San Diego Union Tribune.
p. C6.
Hanke, R. (1990). Hegemonic masculinity in thirtysomething. Critical Studies in Mass Communication, 7, 231-248.
Havrilesky, H. (2006, November 26). I like to watch. Salon.com. Retrieved May 4, 2007 from
http://www.salon.com/ent/iltw/2006/11/26/thanks/index.html
Herman, A. (1999). The “better angels” of capitalism: Rhetoric, narrative, and moral identity
among men of the American upper class. Boulder, CO: Westview Press.
Horrocks, R. (1995). Male myths and icons: Masculinity in popular culture. New York: St. Martin’s Press.
Jeffords, S. (1994). Hard bodies: Hollywood masculinity in the Reagan era. New Brunswick, NJ:
Rutgers University Press.
Jeffords, S. (1997). Masculinity as excess in Vietnam films: The father/son dynamic of American culture. In R. Warhol & D. P. Herndl (Eds.), Feminisms: An anthology of literary theory
and criticism (pp. 1046-1067). New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press.
194
MORAL RHETORIC IN WALL STREET
Jenkins, P. (2006). Decade of nightmares: The end of the Sixties and the making of Eighties
America. New York: Oxford University Press.
Jordan, J. W. (2003). Sabotage or performed compliance: Rhetorics of resistance in temp worker
discourse. Quarterly Journal of Speech, 89, 19-40.
Kellner, D. (1995). Media culture. New York: Routledge.
Kempley, R. (1987, December 11). Preachy, punchy Wall Street. Washington Post. p. C1.
King, N. (1999). Heroes in hard times: Cop action movies in the U.S. Philadelphia, PA: Temple
University Press.
Macdonald, M. (1995). Representing women: Myths of femininity in the popular media. New
York: Arnold.
Malveaux, J. (2002, July 19). Corporate scandals prove market flaws. USA Today, p. 13A.
Mangan, K. (2006, June 23). Agents of fortune. Chronicle of Higher Education, pp. A14-A16.
McPhail, M. L. (1998). Passionate intensity: Louis Farrakhan and the fallacies of racial reasoning. Quarterly Journal of Speech, 84, 416-429.
Neale, S. (1992). Masculinity as spectacle. In The sexual subject: A Screen reader in sexuality
(pp. 277-290). New York: Routledge.
Neumeister, L. (2007, March 2). Prosecutors crack insider-trading ring. ABCNews.com. Retrieved March 4, 2007 from http://abcnews.go.com/Business/wireStory?id=2916909
Pooley, E. (2005, June 13). Editor’s desk. Fortune, p. 18.
Reser, E. M. (2005). Strategies of negotiation in mainstream media: Vernacular discourse and
masculinity in The Full Monty. Popular Communication, 3, 217-237.
Rowley, L. (2003). On target. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons.
Saco, D. (1992). Masculinity as signs: Poststructuralist feminist approaches to the study of gender. In S. Craig (Ed.), Men, masculinity, and the media (pp. 23-40). Thousand Oaks, CA:
Sage Publications.
Segal, L. (1990). Slow motion: Changing masculinities, changing men. New Brunswick, NJ:
Rutgers University Press.
Smith, S. (1999). The image of women in film: Some suggestions for future research. In S. Thornham (Ed.), Feminist film theory: A reader (pp. 14-19). Washington Square, NY: New York
University Press.
Stone, J. (2000). Evil in the early cinema of Oliver Stone: Platoon and Wall Street as modern
morality plays. Journal of Popular Film & Television, 28, 80-87.
Toplin, R. B. (1998). Oliver Stone as cinematic historian (Part II). Film & History, 28, 4.
Torpey-Kemph, A. (2005, June 6). Quick takes. MediaWeek, p. 32.
Tripp, D. (2005). “Wake up!”: Narratives of masculine epiphany in millennial cinema. Quarterly Review of Film & Video, 22, 181-188.
Trujillo, N. (1991). Hegemonic masculinity on the mound: Media representations of Nolan Ryan
and American sports culture. Critical Studies in Mass Communication, 8, 290-308.
Vance, C. S. (1995). Social construction theory and sexuality. In M. Berger, B. Wallis, & S. Watson (Eds.), Constructing masculinity (pp. 37-48). New York: Routledge.
Williamson, J. (1991). “Up where you belong”: Hollywood images of big business in the 1980s.
In J. Corner & S. Harvey (Eds.), Enterprise and heritage: Crosscurrents of national culture
(pp. 151-161). London: Routledge.
Winn, J. E. (2003). Every dream has its price: Personal failure and the American dream in Wall
Street and The Firm. Southern Communication Journal, 68, 307-318.
195