Glorious and poetic, glamorous and mysterious, the Great Gatsby is second only to Huckleberry Finn as the Great American Novel. Yet this bloated, solemn, sleepy movie fails to connect on every level. Every single performance is false, and the script is a work of butchery.
Nick Carraway, the novel's narrator, should be urbane, cynical, but also idealistic and genuinely interested in people. But Sam Waterston twists and befouls the character, making Nick a sleazy voyeur who sniffs Daisy's panties and peeps at Gatsby relieving himself on the beach with an idiotic look of arousal on his face. By the end Waterston's narration is reduced to mere heavy breathing, as he keeps repeating the phrases "golden Gatsby" and "beat on, beat on" as if at the edge of climax.
Jay Gatsby, the novel's hero, should be a golden god, handsome and dashing but also with a streak of blue-collar toughness and gangster ruthlessness just under the surface. Robert Redford plays Gatsby as if he's just escaped from the Island of Zombies. Sleepwalking through every scene, Redford makes it look as though Gatsby's "dream" is the literal, out-cold type of snooze, not a vision that fills him with fantastic energy and purpose.
Daisy Buchanan, the glamorous and sexy heroine, should be playful, funny, exuberant, vivacious, charming, and irresistible. Only deep under the surface should you sense weakness, coldness, and cowardice. Mia Farrow plays Daisy as dazed and confused. Instead of looking like a girl who loves to dance on table tops she looks like she's on the edge of passing out cold at the end of every scene. Instead of being a fairy tale princess who comes down from the stars she's like a stiff someone just fished out of the meat locker at the morgue.
Tom Buchanan, the villain, should be a hulking brute. He should look coarse and menacing, muscle-bound and vicious, a gorilla of a man. Bruce Dern looks more like Nick Carraway should look -- lean and thoughtful, not brutal and stupid. The movie has Tom do pointless things to look evil, like stealing a jazz man's trumpet and twisting it into a pretzel shape, or babbling incoherently about Daisy's lust for delivery boys and punching the walls for no reason.
Beyond all this, I can't stress enough the crude, ugly way the director and writer use "obvious" symbols to get their point across. A dead sea gull floating in the water. The jazz man's twisted trumpet lying in the driveway. Sam Waterston clearly not acting as he eyeballs a young Robert Redford in his briefs. Nick's hand snaking into his pocket at Daisy and Gatsby kiss. The literal meaning of every scene is beaten to death, while the actors roll their eyes and try to look insane.
Such a dull, sour film -- one would never guess that the book is full excitement, life and the beauty of dreams.
Nick Carraway, the novel's narrator, should be urbane, cynical, but also idealistic and genuinely interested in people. But Sam Waterston twists and befouls the character, making Nick a sleazy voyeur who sniffs Daisy's panties and peeps at Gatsby relieving himself on the beach with an idiotic look of arousal on his face. By the end Waterston's narration is reduced to mere heavy breathing, as he keeps repeating the phrases "golden Gatsby" and "beat on, beat on" as if at the edge of climax.
Jay Gatsby, the novel's hero, should be a golden god, handsome and dashing but also with a streak of blue-collar toughness and gangster ruthlessness just under the surface. Robert Redford plays Gatsby as if he's just escaped from the Island of Zombies. Sleepwalking through every scene, Redford makes it look as though Gatsby's "dream" is the literal, out-cold type of snooze, not a vision that fills him with fantastic energy and purpose.
Daisy Buchanan, the glamorous and sexy heroine, should be playful, funny, exuberant, vivacious, charming, and irresistible. Only deep under the surface should you sense weakness, coldness, and cowardice. Mia Farrow plays Daisy as dazed and confused. Instead of looking like a girl who loves to dance on table tops she looks like she's on the edge of passing out cold at the end of every scene. Instead of being a fairy tale princess who comes down from the stars she's like a stiff someone just fished out of the meat locker at the morgue.
Tom Buchanan, the villain, should be a hulking brute. He should look coarse and menacing, muscle-bound and vicious, a gorilla of a man. Bruce Dern looks more like Nick Carraway should look -- lean and thoughtful, not brutal and stupid. The movie has Tom do pointless things to look evil, like stealing a jazz man's trumpet and twisting it into a pretzel shape, or babbling incoherently about Daisy's lust for delivery boys and punching the walls for no reason.
Beyond all this, I can't stress enough the crude, ugly way the director and writer use "obvious" symbols to get their point across. A dead sea gull floating in the water. The jazz man's twisted trumpet lying in the driveway. Sam Waterston clearly not acting as he eyeballs a young Robert Redford in his briefs. Nick's hand snaking into his pocket at Daisy and Gatsby kiss. The literal meaning of every scene is beaten to death, while the actors roll their eyes and try to look insane.
Such a dull, sour film -- one would never guess that the book is full excitement, life and the beauty of dreams.