The Great Gatsby: Baz Luhrmann

When it comes to art, sometimes near misses are more intriguing than complete realizations of an artist's intent. And that's what Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby is: a near miss. Here is a film that believes in itself, its actors, its message, and its production values. But it ultimately fails to coalesce into a coherent whole. The Great Gatsby is a film supported solely by the power of its actors. I've never been the biggest fan of Leonardo DeCaprio, an actor that I've always felt excelled at imitating characters but never truly inhabiting them. But the film's eponymous socialite seems like the role he was born to play. And, honestly, a large part of that is that he's never onscreen long enough for his performance to sway off into the awkward valley that so many of his roles crash into. Carey Mulligan and Joel Edgerton are fantastic as Daisy and Tom Buchanan. The only role that I felt was woefully miscast was Tobey Maguire as Nick Carraway. He seems to have forgotten that the film, despite its deliberately anachronistic soundtrack and production design, was still a period piece and that mumbling his lines like a bored Marlon Brando doesn't work for a character living in the Roaring Twenties. Other than the acting, everything else about The Great Gatsby falls apart. With the exception of maybe one apartment, one office, and the homes of the inhabitants of West Egg, every single set looks like it was filmed on a cheap sound-stage and smothered with CGI in an attempt to hide the seams (Gatsby's infamous parties are inundated with CGI confetti and streamers). But, in the end, I applaud The Great Gatsby. I admire its audaciousness and willingness to take creative chances. Too bad they didn't work.

6/10