When you were first asked to read F. Scott Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby," which was probably sometime in the miasma of junior year of high school, you may have had a few different reactions.
You might have read it, thought about it for five minutes only to realize that absolutely nothing was retained and then never looked back. You might have half−heartedly underlined something about a green light, dropped it in the crack between the seats in your mom's minivan and then never looked back. Or you might have read it, felt like you should have liked it but just didn't and then never looked back.
Now, with the rumblings about director Baz Luhrmann's movie adaptation of the classic novel at the forefront of media news, there's another possible reaction to your "Gatsby" experience: You might have read it, loved every page and then cried at the thought of another film trying to recreate the novel's excellence.
"The Great Gatsby," when forced on readers looking for an emphasis on plot and sympathetic characters, falls flat. I recall wondering, upon first reading the book, what the fuss was about. Nick Carraway was a Midwestern fool — much like the one I resemble today — Daisy Buchanan was a total she−demon and Jay Gatsby was inscrutable in his consistent optimism and absurd pastel suits — though I wouldn't hate a 1920s fashion throwback to lavender jackets.
The imagery was pretty, if that was your thing. From the perspective of a casual reader, however, "The Great Gatsby" does not wow, and in reality, the collective viewpoint of the majority of our society is that of a casual reader. With all its academic acclaim and despite my own acquired love for the novel, "Gatsby" is not a book for the masses.
From a cultural perspective, then, the struggle with creating a movie based on "Gatsby" is that the plot of the original story does not easily translate into something cinematic. "Gatsby" does not grip or speak to the average reader the same way that sensational books like those in the Harry Potter series do; its film success is challenged by its highbrow characteristics.
While there should certainly be room in the film industry for movies that don't broadly appeal to the masses, movies are normally created with an eye on ticket sales and popular appeal. The attention garnered by the adaptation of "Gatsby" is sure to reach all strata of society and therefore become something of a sensation in itself, but the sometimes−inaccessible nature of "Gatsby" might disappoint.
What's more, the treatment of the story rests in achieving a fine balance. While it is possible to create a great film without the widespread approval of society, the potential mistreatment of "Gatsby" is frightening. The intricacy and ironies of "The Great Gatsby" need to be delicately handled, with particular emphasis on attention to detail.
Do you remember the last time you watched "Moulin Rouge" (2001)? You got a major headache and couldn't stop singing that old Police song in an Argentine accent. Luhrmann can do that to you — the flashy style he displayed in "Moulin Rouge" and that cracked−out, Miami−style version of "Romeo + Juliet" (1996) doesn't scream delicacy, it feels like something closer to a kick to the head.
I approach this new adaptation of "The Great Gatsby" with hesitance, unsurprisingly. There is, however, a chance for success. All I can write is my honest opinion, remembering Nick Carraway's own ironic words: "Everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known."
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Madeline Hall is a sophomore who has not yet declared a major. She can be reached at Madeline.Hall@tufts.edu.
