TRH

Liberties

(This is a review of Baz Luhrmann’s The Great Gatsby. It contains spoilers. Also, this is my first movie review for Tumblr, and any feedback you may have would be appreciated. This is meant to be an informal review.)

If you’ve been following my blog recently, you already know that The Great Gatsby has triumphantly made it onto my list of favorite novels. Surprisingly to everyone I tell and to myself, I was not assigned it in high school, and for this I am relieved, simply for the fact that it is fresh in my memory upon seeing Baz Luhrmann’s adaptation of the film. I even went so far as to watch the 1974 version starring Mia Farrow and Robert Redford the night before I planned to see the 2013 version. This will not be a comparative review, though I should mention that the 1974 version was more honorable to the novel and the cast fit like a cozy glove.

“My father always taught me to see the best in people,” said Nick Carraway, from the psychiatrist’s office window. His breath fogged the glass; snow fell outside. The doctor advised him to write down whatever he could remember about his time with Gatsby.

Let’s pause for a moment.

Nick Carraway as the “author” of this “novel,” written from a sanitarium into which he was admitted for insomnia and alcoholism, among other ailments, is the first and perhaps the biggest liberty Luhrmann took in his adaptation. I hesitate to call it an interpretation; did he, after all, interpret Romeo + Juliet, or did he simply modernize it, make it “hip?”

At least he kept the original dialogue in that film.

In the new Gatsby, Tobey Maguire (as Carraway) reads out bits of the novel throughout.

The first line of the novel is one of the most important lines. All of you who have read the novel would agree. The closing line was read correctly at the end of the film, which was, you know, a relief. But it shouldn’t have had to be. Whatever story Luhrmann was trying to tell was largely hidden behind glitter, confetti, obscenely bright wallpaper and furniture, which were all not made better by the womens’ ridiculously overdone makeup.

This is Baz Luhrmann saying, “Look at what a visionary I am. I’m so good with colors.” But it was probably naive on my part to expect anything different.

The cast was correctly chosen. Each actor fit his role, even if those roles were overdone. DiCaprio as Gatsby, Maguire as Carraway, Mulligan as Daisy, and an astoundingly fitting Elizabeth Debicki as Jordan Baker.

The music, I felt, was overdone. I’ve been listening to the soundtrack continuously for the past couple of days, of course because some of my favorite artists are featured: new and original songs from Lana del Rey, The xx, Florence + The Machine, Jay-Z, and others. The fusion of these contemporary artists with jazz of the era was a huge risk; it yielded pleasant results at best. When songs by these artists (exc Jay-Z) played during intimate moments, it simply worked. It was overdone at certain points that stick out most in my memory: when hip-hop was played in public. Can we agree that the only music we should have heard, when we were guided into the hotels and bars and restaurants, or overheard radios in passing cars, was jazz?

Honestly, if you’ve read the novel, appreciate it for what it is, and want to see it honored on screen, don’t expect to with Luhrmann’s adaptation; though do see it if that’s all you’re interested in. And if you want to keep your Leonardo DiCaprio movie list up-to-date, of course.

barretta:

Every time I look at my girlfriend I find some new way that she’s gorgeous beyond compare.

No moral or anything. That’s all.

There’s Nothing

There are people who enter your life, they stay for awhile, they’re gone. They can stay for minutes at a time, or weeks, or years. You could have been so close to loving them that you can’t quite ever admit that, a long time ago, it could have been so. They can reappear sporadically to serve as a reminder of someone else, if you so choose, or for absolutely no reason at all, if you’d rather. You can almost be friends. Or nowhere close to almost, if you really think about it.

I’ve never been strictly happy to see people in my life turn their backs to me and walk, sometimes run, away. As with most anything, changes take a certain amount of time to get used to. I’ve never felt strictly one way about it. It’s happened, and that’s all I can really say.

There’s nothing to say when a guy you’d mistakenly slept with awhile back, both of you certain that you could still remain “friends,” whatever that word meant to you at the time, thinks he can try again when you’ve both had too much to drink. Suddenly there’s another warm body, out of nowhere, that whispers and coaxes. Luckily, you’re strong enough and there enough to murmur, “Go back to bed.” Luckily, he does.

There’s nothing to say when you go upstairs the next morning to let your friends know you’re leaving now, see you later, and you remember what happened when you’re about to reach the top step, and you’re so ashamed that you go straight to your car across the street, shaking. They won’t find you on the couch. They won’t find you anywhere for awhile, if you decide not to come around.

There’s nothing to say when you blame yourself. There’s nothing to say when you spend the next day piecing together the night before, counting up how many bottles of beer you drank, coupled with bottles of wine you shared. There’s nothing to say to your mother when she asks, “How was your night?” while you pour your first cup of coffee after getting home.

There’s nothing to say, should you ever see his face again.