Luhrmann dropz dem modern beats in the latest his 2013 film adaptation of The Great Gatsby. He seems to update the coolness of 1920's jazz with a frenzy of ghetto hip-hop. I love Luhrmann as much as the scent of peppermint chewing bum; but something just seemed profoundly amiss in his latest box office hit.
The 1925 American novel is in my mind one of the greatest love stories of all time. Can love be as possessive and as corruptive as Gatsby proves it to be? Is love the most motivating force in man? Is love always our ultimate demise? I would like to think F. Scott was onto something here; just find a man who ghettos it up to build a mansion on love and dreams and you have yourself a believer.
In all seriousness, Gatsby is to me more of a novel about hope. Yes, it demands hope in love. But I find Gatsby as an individual the most hopelessly hopeful character of all time; and I like that. I really am starting to ramble here, but my love for this hunk of literature is too much.
I think that is think that is the point. To me when seeing a film adaption of slices of literature which are tastier than cake you have to disconnect yourself from the story line. I think you must view it as an independent. I think if you fair to recongise them as two independent art forms you end up loathing a perfectly good film which is an utter shame.
When it comes to Luhrmann's Gatsby adaption I adore it as a Luhrmann fan. As a F.Scott fan however I must crease my brow and throw a tanty. I think there was something missed. The passion between Daisy and Gatsby seems week (despite Leo's incredible Gatsby performance) and I think the film is more about the aesthetic than the story. This is a shame because Gatsby is one of those timeless tales more riddled with themes than parliament question time. I think he turned a true and honest story into a bit of a show; and it made me sad.
As The Standard's, Matt Neal put so eloquently....
Like Gatsby himself, it comes so close to achieving its dream, only to fall agonisingly and frustratingly short.
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