Big Pimpin'
Baz Lurhmann’s The Great Gatsby is
essentially everything you would expect Baz Lurhmann’s The Great Gatsby
to be. It is rich with spectacle and kinetic emotion, lushly beautiful,
soaked with gleaming and saturated color and fat with characters
tormented with longing for the unattainable: be it love, the idealized
version of their own lives, or simply a move beyond the crushing weight
of “low born” poverty. In Gatsby’s case, it’s all of the above.
Based on F. Scott Fitzgerald’s classic novel of the same name, the film follows narrator Nick Carraway (Tobey Maguire), an aspiring bond broker in the 1920’s, through a summer spent in New York. His partners in play are his pampered and flighty cousin Daisy (Carey Mulligan); her old-money, pure arrogance husband Tom Buchanan (Joel Edgerton); and Daisy’s old-flame, the mysterious and newly rich Jay Gatsby (Leonardo DiCaprio). Gatsby is at once deeply vulnerable and ruthlessly ambitious. He has created a manufactured identity based on who he wishes he was, in an attempt to eradicate all of who he, in reality, is. More than that, he has projected all of his life’s dreams and goals onto his lost love Daisy.
Gatsby has built an empire of excess in her honor: a mansion that
boasts legendary parties as seeped in alcohol as they are in affectation
in the hopes of luring her into his web. It is in the attainment of her
that he believes he can find peace. But there is no peace to be had,
because Daisy, like the false version of himself that he presents to the
world, is nothing more than a self-created illusion. Carraway calls
Gatsby “the most hopeful man he has ever met,” but really Gatsby is
willfully blind and dangerously covetous.
The film itself is as gorgeous as the cast that populates it. In moments it is as if a painting has come to life; a portrait of an impossible moment in time. The surrealistically beautiful aesthetic reflects the idea that the dream of the 1920’s never really existed and that the illusion of its “greatness” only served to mask the achingly empty nature of its glut. Computer generated camera moves and frenetic editing give one the sense of the roar of the twenties. The images, though sometimes uncomfortably dizzying, place the viewer in the head-space of these characters. For these are people who are unable to keep up with the rate which with their greed is not only ballooning, but being rewarded. Distractions are readily available and, true connection/“morality” is declining.
The 3D is occasionally clunky, but doesn’t overly detract from the film, and in moments it not only supports the aesthetic, but solves the issue of creating a sense of both movement and immersion. The use of the medium is one more way in which Lurhmann, in his approach, mimics Gatsby’s unrelenting self-indulgence. Our senses are overloaded and inundated with color, movement, sound, music, and text from the source material which has been stretched across the screen and stereoscopically brought forward. It all moves so fast and yet leaves us feeling so bereft. Like the film’s visual palate, the character’s emotions are heightened to a fever pitch. They don’t love in a steady manner; they need with an anguished desperation, ever trying to fill an infinite void.
Yet their suffering never fully lands. We aren’t able to connect with these characters long enough, or deeply enough, to invest in them. Add to that, their hopes are too selfish and to delusional to root for. That sense of disconnect could be read as one of the film’s central criticisms, or it could be read as its primary strength. For, ultimately, Lurhmann perfectly captures the inherently hallow nature of these people and their soulless lives. It’s cathartically satisfying to have your heart break with the leads of a film, and Gatsby does not provide that sense of emotional release; and yet it lingers.
The performances in this film are stronger than in any of Lurhmann’s previous efforts. They are at once human, and as affected as they need to be in order to portray what are, essentially, a group of self-centered man/women children who have gorged on their own sense of entitlement. DiCaprio reteams with the director who put him on the map with 1996’s Romeo and Juliet, and he is, as always, running on all cylinders. He captures Gatsby’s brutality just as easily as he embodies his sweetness and his aching, little-kid-like, obstinate optimism.
Daisy, who is meant to be an empty husk, is given some depth with Mulligan’s portrayal. She is not maliciously thoughtless here as much as completely unable to deal with her own life as an autonomous adult. Edgerton is impeccable as the spoiled, yet brute-like, Tom Buchanan. Maguire works as the witness who is entirely unable to process the nuance of the world he finds himself in. And newcomer Elizabeth Debicki injects a burst of vital energy as the irresponsible and gossip-prone Jordan Baker. There are dramatics, to be sure, but there is also a humor and humanity in the performances that makes The Great Gatsby not only palatable, but enjoyable to watch.
The anachronistic music in the film may disconcert some, and there are a few hiccups in terms of the musics sync with the onscreen movements. However, the contemporary songs do so much more than “include” the modern audience. It highlights the timeless nature of the lessons of this film. The lie of the 1920’s existed well before the Charleston, and is still told today. Jay Z was in many ways the perfect musical collaborator for Gatsby. Not only does the soundtrack work as a driving source of propulsion for the story, but the artist’s Big Pimpin’ is the contemporary metaphor for all that Gatsby stood for: chest pounding, posing, newly moneyed showboating and rampant, substance-less overindulgence.
Fitzgerald’s novel has been notoriously challenging to adapt. The nuance of the tale is difficult to capture on film. The sense of the pulsing life and energy of the era was entirely lost in the 1974’s inert and mopey version starring Robert Redford and Mia Farrow. It’s likely too early to say if Lurhmann’s is the one that cracked the Gatsby code, but he is, in many ways, the perfect director to tackle this story. As mentioned, his frantic aesthetic is ideally suited to capture the spinning-out-of-control tone. Additionally, the majority of his films center on a pair of star-crossed lovers. He seems interested in characters that are focused entirely on what are, ultimately, unattainable goals and a drive to propel themselves past the restrictions of birth. In some ways, Lurhmann has been practicing for Gatsby his entire career.
This film, like Gatsby himself, visually embodies American excess;
and Gatsby, like the culture he emerged from, has a false and fractured
vision of himself. He is caught in a grasping, adolescent understanding
of love and life and is frantic to capture an elusive, and ultimately
false, end. And yet Gatsby, the character and the film, is stunning - a
seductive thing of beauty. Like the mythic American dream, it offers an
irresistible lure, begging us to return to it again, and refusing to
release us from the spell of its illusion no matter how flawed and often
unrealistic. And we the viewer, like Carroway, are both “within and
without,” drawn to the exorbitance of this experience even as we are
repelled by it. Perhaps, Lurhmann’s offering, again, like Gatsby
himself, simply “wants too much,” and perhaps history will judge that to
be the film’s brilliance.
Based on F. Scott Fitzgerald’s classic novel of the same name, the film follows narrator Nick Carraway (Tobey Maguire), an aspiring bond broker in the 1920’s, through a summer spent in New York. His partners in play are his pampered and flighty cousin Daisy (Carey Mulligan); her old-money, pure arrogance husband Tom Buchanan (Joel Edgerton); and Daisy’s old-flame, the mysterious and newly rich Jay Gatsby (Leonardo DiCaprio). Gatsby is at once deeply vulnerable and ruthlessly ambitious. He has created a manufactured identity based on who he wishes he was, in an attempt to eradicate all of who he, in reality, is. More than that, he has projected all of his life’s dreams and goals onto his lost love Daisy.
The film itself is as gorgeous as the cast that populates it. In moments it is as if a painting has come to life; a portrait of an impossible moment in time. The surrealistically beautiful aesthetic reflects the idea that the dream of the 1920’s never really existed and that the illusion of its “greatness” only served to mask the achingly empty nature of its glut. Computer generated camera moves and frenetic editing give one the sense of the roar of the twenties. The images, though sometimes uncomfortably dizzying, place the viewer in the head-space of these characters. For these are people who are unable to keep up with the rate which with their greed is not only ballooning, but being rewarded. Distractions are readily available and, true connection/“morality” is declining.
The 3D is occasionally clunky, but doesn’t overly detract from the film, and in moments it not only supports the aesthetic, but solves the issue of creating a sense of both movement and immersion. The use of the medium is one more way in which Lurhmann, in his approach, mimics Gatsby’s unrelenting self-indulgence. Our senses are overloaded and inundated with color, movement, sound, music, and text from the source material which has been stretched across the screen and stereoscopically brought forward. It all moves so fast and yet leaves us feeling so bereft. Like the film’s visual palate, the character’s emotions are heightened to a fever pitch. They don’t love in a steady manner; they need with an anguished desperation, ever trying to fill an infinite void.
Yet their suffering never fully lands. We aren’t able to connect with these characters long enough, or deeply enough, to invest in them. Add to that, their hopes are too selfish and to delusional to root for. That sense of disconnect could be read as one of the film’s central criticisms, or it could be read as its primary strength. For, ultimately, Lurhmann perfectly captures the inherently hallow nature of these people and their soulless lives. It’s cathartically satisfying to have your heart break with the leads of a film, and Gatsby does not provide that sense of emotional release; and yet it lingers.
The performances in this film are stronger than in any of Lurhmann’s previous efforts. They are at once human, and as affected as they need to be in order to portray what are, essentially, a group of self-centered man/women children who have gorged on their own sense of entitlement. DiCaprio reteams with the director who put him on the map with 1996’s Romeo and Juliet, and he is, as always, running on all cylinders. He captures Gatsby’s brutality just as easily as he embodies his sweetness and his aching, little-kid-like, obstinate optimism.
Daisy, who is meant to be an empty husk, is given some depth with Mulligan’s portrayal. She is not maliciously thoughtless here as much as completely unable to deal with her own life as an autonomous adult. Edgerton is impeccable as the spoiled, yet brute-like, Tom Buchanan. Maguire works as the witness who is entirely unable to process the nuance of the world he finds himself in. And newcomer Elizabeth Debicki injects a burst of vital energy as the irresponsible and gossip-prone Jordan Baker. There are dramatics, to be sure, but there is also a humor and humanity in the performances that makes The Great Gatsby not only palatable, but enjoyable to watch.
The anachronistic music in the film may disconcert some, and there are a few hiccups in terms of the musics sync with the onscreen movements. However, the contemporary songs do so much more than “include” the modern audience. It highlights the timeless nature of the lessons of this film. The lie of the 1920’s existed well before the Charleston, and is still told today. Jay Z was in many ways the perfect musical collaborator for Gatsby. Not only does the soundtrack work as a driving source of propulsion for the story, but the artist’s Big Pimpin’ is the contemporary metaphor for all that Gatsby stood for: chest pounding, posing, newly moneyed showboating and rampant, substance-less overindulgence.
Fitzgerald’s novel has been notoriously challenging to adapt. The nuance of the tale is difficult to capture on film. The sense of the pulsing life and energy of the era was entirely lost in the 1974’s inert and mopey version starring Robert Redford and Mia Farrow. It’s likely too early to say if Lurhmann’s is the one that cracked the Gatsby code, but he is, in many ways, the perfect director to tackle this story. As mentioned, his frantic aesthetic is ideally suited to capture the spinning-out-of-control tone. Additionally, the majority of his films center on a pair of star-crossed lovers. He seems interested in characters that are focused entirely on what are, ultimately, unattainable goals and a drive to propel themselves past the restrictions of birth. In some ways, Lurhmann has been practicing for Gatsby his entire career.
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