Before 10 minutes of the film version of The Great Gatsby are over, one gets the sinking feeling that Baz Luhrmann was the worst possible person to have been trusted with the adaptation of such a wondrous, introspective novel that packs so much subtext into its frantic lines. And that Tobey Maguire, who has the wide-eyed innocence of a society debutant, rather than the sardonic nonchalance of the 30-year-old World War I veteran he is meant to portray, was the worst possible choice to play Nick Carraway.
The novel is heartbreakingly symbolic of its brilliant writer’s own career – the desperate career of a man who grasped at fame, wealth, and status, all of which eluded him because of his birth and middle-class upbringing, and died believing himself to have been a failure. The most important theme of the novel is the exhausting buoyancy that is wrought by persistent hope. This only comes through right at the end of the film, and that is thanks to the aching tenderness of Fitzgerald’s prose, which is quoted verbatim in chunks. This is also the only part of the film where Leonardo DiCaprio comes into himself as the tragicomic Gatsby – his anxious half-question, “I suppose Daisy will call, too...”, and his sad smile as Nick Carraway leaves, make us wilt. Up until then, his focus seems to be entirely on keeping his accent intact and saying “old sport” with conviction.
The opening of the film is a blindingly glittery affair, with overhead shots of Manhattan, rather contrived zooms into the madness of its inhabitants and their lives, parties that celebrate the burlesque, and all movements choreographed as if to a musical – three butlers swing open French windows and walk around them, synchronised; two women appear among diaphanous strips of cloths that are pulled off furniture by uniformed maids. The film tries so hard to wow us that it gets boring once we figure out what to expect. But, all said, I’ll grant Baz Luhrmann this – the polo shot that introduces us to Tom Buchanan (Joel Edgerton) is the most stylish thing ever seen on screen.
Once the parties are done with, and the story really begins, the events are played out in gags. Gatsby’s reunion with Daisy (Carey Mulligan) at the house of Nick Carraway could be right out of a rom-com. Maguire’s timing and DiCaprio’s expressions fetch the laughs they are meant to, but the film doesn’t use this energy to set up the betrayal of Gatsby’s hopes. It even descends into the manic pace of its beginning, with a car race eating up time that could have been used more wisely.
There are some delicious lines, including Joel Edgerton’s “I really don’t like being the polo player,” but it requires an effort from the audience to catch the spirit of the novel. The final minutes are given to Fitzgerald’s lines, but Luhrmann uses the hackneyed device of replaying significant scenes from the film, thereby diluting their power. The tragedy of the story is the idea of loving someone who doesn’t deserve it. The film fails to highlight that.
The Verdict: Baz Luhrmann’s flashy traipse through 1920s New York doesn’t do justice to Fitzgerald’s beautifully-written novel.