El gran Gatsby

After weighing in on the Boards about this terrific film, it's about time I posted a review, since I do have it on my Top-20 list! I love period-pieces, especially those set in the era of, say, 1918-1938. Hence, 'Eight Men Out', 'Great Gatsby', and 'Sting' are in my Top-20, and, of course, Redford appears in two of those. Redford had the required screen presence, and acting talent to play Gatsby. Those who criticize the film or Redford's interpretation are, to me, just over-analyzing or too caught up in comparisons with the fabulous novel by F. Scott. In addition to superb acting from Redford and a great ensemble cast, the costumes, music and fabulous sets/photography give this flick plenty to recommend.

I have read the book a few times -- I view it as a great American tragedy. But tragedies about larger-than-life characters are not so easy to reproduce on-screen. Anyway, maybe half the viewers haven't read the book; so, for a screenplay writer, it's a dilemma. Maybe *this* particular tragic role - a man who builds fabulous wealth in just a few years, a man who suddenly can compete with the N.Y. aristocracy in attracting the rich and famous to his parties, a man who does it all to reclaim the rich 'jewel' he lost in his youth, a man who gambles it all on one shake of the dice - is, like King Lear, almost too surreal to be performed. Think of it that way, and watch Redford again. He is brilliant. And if you want to see the role messed up, watch A&E's 2004 version. Thirty years to try to improve? And they produce an interpretation of Gatsby I call the 'grinning idiot'.

I've never heard Redford comment on the mixed opinions about his Gatsby portrayal, but I'll guess he knows he got it right, and there wasn't anyone else with the required taste and style to outfit this role. (And as Michael Caine so deftly expressed it in 'Dirty Rotten Scoundrels', "Taste and style are commodities that people desire.."). You'd be hard-pressed to name a current American actor with the same charisma (so, you go to the U.K. and get Jude Law or Ralph Fiennes, right?).

I'll touch on the comment of one frustrated IMDb reviewer who wondered why they changed how Nick meets Gatsby. In the movie, Gatsby's compact but sinister bodyguard (who has just decked a guy the size of a Buick) quietly leads Nick upstairs to Gatsby's private study. As soon as Redford appears, we know - and Nick knows - that it's Gatsby. In the book, Nick is having a conversation at a table with an amiable fellow who turns out to be Gatsby! Can you imagine filming a scene with a character chatting with Redford and - surprise - it turns out to be Gatsby? (A&E tried it that way in 2004 - note my 'grinning idiot' comment above). Furthermore, this reference to Gatsby's protective layer helps us to identify his tragic blunder later on: he fires his household help for the sake of privacy once his romance with Daisy blooms. That decision is costly.

The book was described somewhere as a 'story in perfect balance'. In practice, that includes characters that are neither too villainous nor too heroic -- neither too loose (morally) nor too prudish. Our eyes and ears for the story, Nick, probably does not whole-heartedly approve of Tom's fling with Myrtle, but he's not about to blow the whistle on him either. He observes, and goes along for the fun with a crowd that clearly is more prosperous than he is. Later, he has good reason to assist in brokering the romance between Daisy and Gatsby (Nick has a growing friendship with Gatsby - and he is no big fan of Tom). At the same time, he finds Gatsby's affectations a bit annoying - and he only pays him one compliment (at the end - remember? "they're a rotten crowd - you're worth more than the whole lot of them put together").

Anyway, once again, portraying all this on screen is no easy matter. So, relax and enjoy the show, a sparkling period-piece that relates to us a tragic tale about the folly of wealth. Meantime, I will try to track down the 1949 version with Alan Ladd, to see how *they* did! 9/10 - canuckteach (--:

This adaptation may have worked with the mute button on, but the cheezy movie-of-the-week score, the shrill cries of Mia Farrow, and the pallid reading by Robert Redford doom this film. Bruce Dern as Tom Buchanan makes as much sense as Jimmie 'J.J.' Walker as Muhammad Ali - the physical strength that defined Tom is totally missing.

The staging, costumes, and incidentals (cars, etc.) are gorgeous, but the beauty of Fitzgerald's prose is nowhere to be found. This must be a difficult work to film, and it shows.

A Midwesterner (Sam Waterston) becomes fascinated with his nouveau riche neighbor (Robert Redford), who obsesses over his lost love (Mia Farrow).

What we have here is a big name cast, though not as stylish as Baz Luhrmann's version forty years later. Luhrmann does seem to follow the same plot and use much of the same dialogue, suggesting at the least both enjoyed certain lines from the novel, or perhaps even that Luhrmann used this film as his cue. A few scenes, such as the clothes-tossing, seemed to be a direct borrowing. Also, Redford says "old sport" more naturally than Leonardo DiCaprio.

I have seen some criticism for this film being too literal. So, is being literal good or bad? I imagine if they strayed from the novel there would be just as many critics (or more) complaining... you just cannot win when adapting classic literature (though I personally loved this).

A great use of Karen Black. All I need to say.

The original script allegedly had homosexual undertones, and I think that comes through here. Also, when thinking of this as a tale from an unreliable narrator, it is interesting to wonder what is strictly true and what is puffed up from Nick's obsessive and doting point of view.

Looking as if it were plucked from the dreaming ear of an impressionable adolescent with Fitzgerald's novel half-open on his bedstand -- and sometimes sounding, alas, as if it were scored by the guy who did episode #93 of Kojak -- there is no reason why this 1974 adaptation of The Great Gatsby shouldn't be better regarded than it is, or even included among other masterpieces of the fertile period. Well, maybe one: Mia Farrow gives an execrable, vaporish performance as Daisy Buchanan that will make you get down on your knees and thank god that we only have to deal with Gwyneth Paltrow. In a way, though, even Farrow's neuroting fits, because this is Fitzgerald as seen through a Tennesee Williams filter. The character of Myrtle's husband, a cipher in the book, is here a sweaty man in overalls who squeezes an oily rag in his hand whenever he stresses out over his wife's infidelities, which is pretty much all the time. What we film folk might call the Karl Malden character.

Unbeknownst to many, this movie was written by Francis Ford Coppola, and is another crown jewel to add to his annus mirabilis of 1974, when he also wrote and directed The Conversation and The Godfather Part II. And what did you do last year? Here he does a wonderfully subtle job with a thankless task, excising most of the celebrated prose passages and too-famous scenes. There's nothing worse than seeing desperate actors try to bring tension to overly familiar texts -- I can never stifle a groan when any actor says "To be or not to be" -- unless of course it's doing reverent voiceovers of Great American Literature. Both of these fatal errors are mostly avoided, but for anyone who wishes the movie were more faithful, they retain the scene where Daisy weeps over Gatsby's shirts. This episode has an intuitive poetic psychology in the book, but goes over like a lead balloon on screen because we expect clearer motivation from flesh and blood people. Such are the limitations of film. But to keep himself interested, and to prevent the proceedings from feeling too dutiful, Coppola gives strange, heretical tweaks to his notorious source throughout, including an assassination scene that likens Gatsby, brilliantly, to JFK.

I don't know much about director Jack Clayton, except that he also did an ace adaptation of Turn of the Screw, retitled The Innocents... But maybe that's enough. This guy FEELS literature. Nothing in this movie looks less than how you idealized it -- even the sunsets are Jazz Age. Robert Redford, too, perhaps sensing he was born to play this role, doesn't fold under pressure but gives a shrewdly understated performance to match the underwritten character, somehow keeping the myth of Gatsby alive despite his all-too-solid presence. In the scene where we first meet him in his office, his solitude framed by the noises of the revellers down in the garden, he projects both neediness and the intimidating force field that comes with extreme wealth, seemingly without doing anything.

A reviewer below me wondered why the men in this movie would go for the shrill, plain women, and suggested there was a gay subtext. Cool. Then the casting of Mia Farrow is subversive instead of insane. I have to admit, when Sam Waterston as Nick Carraway tells Gatsby "You're better than the whole lot of 'em put together!" his delivery has something, shall we say, flamboyant about it, especially in comparison to his wooden restraint hitherto. It's almost as if he stored up all his energy for that one line, to force us to see what a key moment it is between these two young men, and perhaps what's lost when Gatsby meets his end later the same afternoon. But enough speculation. Here's a movie open to any and all interpretations -- sexual, political, poetical.

Nowadays, at least from mentions I've seen, 1974's The Great Gatsby is somehow considered a classic. I benefit from having been alive back then and sitting through it in the theater - twice.

When my friend returned from Poland, he wanted to see it. So I went again, reluctantly. When he heard Mia Farrow's shrill voice call "Ni-ick," he said, "0h my God." That about sums it up.

When the character of Nick Carraway, played by Sam Waterston, steals the show, you've got a problem. He was wonderful.

While the film was very pretty to look at, with cinematography by Douglas Slocombe, The Great Gatsby was not a very good movie. It is slow, plodding, and miscast, with none of the lyricism of Fitzgerald's prose present.

Redford is a reserved, passionless Gatsby, and has no chemistry with the whiny Farrow. According to a book I read on the filming, director Jack Clayton chose Farrow because he liked the way she held a glass of champagne. And there we are.

There's no angst, just some pretty scenes, and in the end, one wonders if this is perhaps a book that doesn't adapt well.