There's every chance that many minds were already made up about Baz Luhrmann's flashy, post-modern take on
The Great Gatsby more than two years ago. The thought of the indulgent Aussie filmmaker tackling the F. Scott Fitzgerald classic, in 3D no less, was enough to inspire chortles of laughter by his detractors, and visions of splendor in his supporters and devoted fans of the novel. The simple truth is Luhrmann's more ostentatious tendencies have reaped mix results in the past; effective at capturing the flightiness of teen love in
Romeo + Juliet, but overbearing and oppressive in the leaden
Australia.
But not only do Luhrmann's more indulgent flourishes work in
The Great Gatsby, they go a long way in establishing it as the definitive screen adaptation. Certainly it's the one that has the strongest filmmaker fingerprint, as nobody else other than maybe Michael Bay could have produced a Hollywood spectacle quite this grand (the fireworks budget alone must have been astronomical). Underneath all of the pomp and circumstance, Luhrmann has still managed to find the heart that pumps within.
Set in the roaring 1920s, although you'll find that this Jazz Age bumps Jay-Z beats, giving the film a timeless feel, the story remains mostly unchanged from when you read the Crib Notes in high school. A framing sequence introduces us to downtrodden, "morbidly alcoholic" writer Nick Carraway (Tobey Maguire), who is encouraged by his therapist to write out his feelings. And so he details the story of the mysterious self-made millionaire Jay Gatsby (Leonardo DiCaprio), who lived next door to him in the lavish, palatial estate on Long Island's West Egg. Nick was an average Joe working on Wall Street as a bond salesman, the type of regular stiff someone like Gatsby would never talk to unless he needed something.
And Gatsby definitely needs something from Nick. It isn't long before we learn that the very reason Gatsby is there, frankly the reason for his very existence, is to be reunited with the love of his life. That woman is Nick's cousin, the vapid socialite Daisy Buchanan (Carey Mulligan), who lives across the water in upscale East Egg with her boorish, racist husband Tom Buchanan (Joel Edgerton), who practically reeks of old money. Every night Gatsby stares across the water at a glowing green beacon illuminating Daisy's home, drawn to it almost like a primal calling. The evenings are marked by Gatsby's extravagant parties, in which he hopes Daisy will one day enter. But when it never happens, he enlists the awestruck Nick to set up an "accidental" meeting with her, and what follows is a roller coaster in which their passions reignite, only to be followed by inevitable tragedy.
The narrative beats will feel familiar, and the themes of privilege and excess are as much a fabric of the story as ever. Fitzgerald's work has stood the test of time, so Luhrmann is smart enough not to tinker too much with its machinery. What he does do is place it in a more modern context of our E! Network celebrity-obsessed culture, where a figure like Gatsby is as much a legend for the things he didn't do as what he's actually done. When Gatsby is first introduced, it's with a bevy of fireworks and Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue", a perfectly-staged scene designed to leave us as wide-eyed as poor Nick. It's a little silly, but it works in establishing the tone of this very gilded age that Luhrmann has constructed. The same goes for the opening party scenes, which are overblown and gaudy in all the ways one would expect from the director. Is that excess ironic in the face of what Fitzgerald actually has to say about the shallowness of wealth? Absolutely, but that's also sort of the point.
But for those who think Luhrmann goes overboard with all the glitz and glam, then perhaps they need to give it another look. Quite simply, this is one of his most reserved efforts to date, the grandest displays a product of the story's needs, and mostly during the opening party sequences. Once the shady, backroom-dealing Gatsby emerges, it becomes a gloriously vivid, operatic love story that fully compliments Luhrmann's visual cues. In the truest sense, DiCaprio is a Hollywood movie star, and he brings that bigger than God aura to the role of the enigmatic Gatsby. Even when he's bumbling and stumbling awkwardly while courting Daisy, there's certain majesty to Gatsby that is impossible to ignore. Mulligan's version of Daisy varies a little from the novel as she's more of an empty vessel, and it's tough for us to see why Gatsby would be fawning over her for any reason other than her beauty. But again, that is sort of the point. To Gatsby she's utterly perfect, even if she's little more than a wisp of a woman to everybody else. It's to DiCaprio's immense credit that he completely sells us on Gatsby's yearning for her. Maguire is solid, if maybe a little too "awww shucks" as Nick, and Edgerton is a ferocious, manly presence as Tom. Unfortunately, Isla Fisher and Elizabeth Debicki are relegated to glorified cameos as Myrtle Wilson and the aloof Jordan Baker, the
Not everything works, though. Fitzgerald's lofty, grandiose dialogue is as eloquent as ever, but often times it feels like we're being told rather than being shown. We're told frequently just how hopeful Gatsby is, but rare are the times we actually see it on display. This is a problem that affects pretty much every character in the film, and the only reason it's not more of an issue is due to the actors' strong performances.
Favoring substance over style for once, Luhrmann has delivered the finest adaptation of
The Great Gatsby yet, and DiCaprio has never been more mesmerizing. As for those critics who had long ago made up their minds to hate it, Nick Carraway says it best:
“They’re a rotten crowd. You’re worth the whole damn bunch of them put together.”
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