One Battle After Another - Time Doesn't Exist, Yet It Controls Us Anyway

I’m dabbling with submitting reviews for a local newspaper again, so the first part of this is my spoiler and vulgarity-free thoughts on One Battle After Another. I’ll go free-form in the Random Thoughts section. 

As a huge fan of Paul Thomas Anderson (There Will Be Blood is one of my favorite films of all time), One Battle After Another is easily the most anticipated movie in recent memory. That anticipation coupled with the nearly universal early praise for the film worried me: could this film possibly live up to its expectations? To be brief, yes. But I’ll give you the long-winded answer, too.

One Battle is one of those special films that can be entertaining completely at face value, but you can also apply theories to it. The basic storyline of an ex-revolutionary-in-hiding forced to come back to action to try to save his teenage daughter is enough to make the nearly three hour run time feel brief. But there’s also a metaphor for parenting in general to appreciate.

The film never stops. An extended prologue introduces us to the French 75, a group fighting against the immigration policies of the country. They attack detention centers and blow up government buildings. This aspect of the story will undoubtedly trigger some viewers, but I promise this is not a preachy film. There are white supremacists and revolutionaries and detained immigrants and that might offend some viewers, but that’s also the world we live in, so I don’t know why it would. And that’s the point of the film, in a way. This world is one battle after another, and things don’t change that much. That is why it isn’t preachy; it’s simply stating that it is what is, and this is a story about people fighting those battles.

Maybe I’m wrong and no one will care (so far, I haven’t seen much outrage about the film, but then again, I don’t think the people it would anger even know it exists, much less want to watch it). I found the setting effective as it puts the immigration crisis in the background of the film as this tense spectre surrounding everyone involved.

Tension is one of the strengths of the film. Leonardo Dicaprio (the aforementioned ex-revolutionary) spends pretty much the whole film flailing and failing to find his daughter. He is constantly moving even though he doesn’t seem to be aware of where he is or where he is going at any given moment. That, coupled with Jonny Greenwood’s predictably great score, give the movie a constant sense of unease as anything can happen at any moment. But it’s also funny because Dicaprio has become so inept and burnt out over the years that he can’t even remember the codewords and phrases necessary to get information from his former group. The comedy is the lifesaver of the film, otherwise it would be an exercise in tense misery.

Dicaprio’s inability to accomplish much of anything for most of the film presents the metaphorical aspect: parenthood. You don’t need to be a parent yourself to understand Dicaprio’s struggle in the film. His sole goal is to protect his daughter, but he’s unable to both because of his own failings and a world he can’t control. That’s parenting for everyone, even people who aren’t former revolutionaries. You want the best for your children, and you want them to always be safe. But, especially as they get older, things get out of hand. You can’t be with your kids all the time, and even if you could be, you can’t stop every bad thing from happening to them. But you can try. As the film title states, it’s one battle after another.

This wasn’t at the forefront of my mind while watching the film, however. It’s far too fast-moving and entertaining to give you time to dwell on deeper meanings (all that came later, thinking about what I had just seen). It’s cliché to call a film a “ride,” but it truly is, sometimes literally. There’s a uniquely filmed car chase near the end of the film that was one of the best in recent memory, accentuated by the IMAX presentation I saw the film presented in. 

One Battle is easily the most action-packed film of Anderson’s career, though that’s a low bar to top. But it’s not just car chases and shootouts. There’s a propulsion to the film that Anderson’s previous films lack (that’s not a dig at his other movies, it’s just that his later films are more meandering). Every character in this film is constantly moving to some goal with no time to think about it. The villain of the film, Sean Penn (weirding it up to try to get another Oscar), is like a creepy Terminator constantly moving in on his target. 

Penn is equal parts unnerving and goofy, and is likely to gain the most awards season attention. But everyone in this is great. Dicaprio has perfected his neurotic rageaholic character at this point. Benicio Del Toro provides plenty of comedy as an aloof sensei. Teyana Taylor fully embodies a revolutionary. And Chase Infiniti handles the tricky job of portraying someone both vulnerable and capable. 

It all adds up to one of my favorite films of the year. And the more I dwell on it, the more I like it. Perhaps one aspect will put it over the top for me: this is possibly the only film of Anderson’s that made me tear up. I'm a sucker for parental stuff in movies these days, but I don’t think it’s just that. He created this relationship between Dicaprio and Infiniti that feels real. I didn’t just want things to work out for them because they were the “good guys” of the story; I wanted these characters to make it because they earned it. Anderson detractors often accuse his films of being cold, but I can’t imagine that argument being made for this film.

One Battle After Another lived up to the hype for me. It’s 161 minutes of humorous tension, and I immediately wanted to watch it again when it was over. I can’t think of higher praise than that.

Random Thoughts

Still not seeing much in the way of MAGA outrage at this movie (once again, I think it’s simply flying under their radar since it doesn’t star Dean Cain or Kevin Sorbo), but I am seeing a few IMDb reviews that claim they are posting simply because the movie is too hyped up, and they want to bring the score down because the movie is just good, not great. I can understand that, and that’s partly the point of my review. Yes, movie people are high on this, maybe too high. And maybe I am, too. But I don’t think so. The only evidence I have for this is the fact that my wife dug this movie, and she doesn’t know who Paul Thomas Anderson is. Every aspect of the movie worked with her because it’s a good movie, not because she “wanted” to like it because it’s big on Letterboxd. I guess time will tell.

On that same note, a lot of folks are ranking PTA or at least alluding to where this would rank for them. I’m not doing a ranking on him any time soon, but I will say at the moment that this would probably be top five. I’m thinking maybe: 1. There Will Be Blood 2. Boogie Nights 3. The Master 4. One Battle After Another 5. Inherent Vice …fuck it…6. Magnolia 7. Punch-Drunk Love 8. Phantom Thread 9. Licorice Pizza 10. Hard Eight (but mainly because I haven’t seen it in years). 

That’s just off the top of my head, and it would probably change if I did a complete rewatch. But this movie’s place in a PTA ranking has nothing to do with how good it is. So a movie not being as “good” as Boogie Nights or There Will Be Blood is disappointing? If so, then might as well stop making fucking movies because that’s a high bar. 

I think this movie is getting hyperbole because it resonates with the world we currently live in more than any other PTA film ever has. His contemporary movies (Hard Eight, Magnolia, and Punch-Drunk Love) haven’t been tied to the moment they were made in. This is a movie of the time, and people wanted it, and maybe they even wanted to like it. The fact that it’s also funny with some action and excellent performances elevates it that much more. I kind of wish I could be a contrarian and tell everyone to calm the fuck down about this one, but the more I think about it, the more I like it. And more importantly, I like when I enjoy a movie. I don’t want to hate shit or be disappointed in it. I love movies, and when a really fucking good one comes out, I really fucking like it. All I’m saying is it’s okay to like something even when it’s overhyped. There are plenty of killjoy dildos in the world; no need for another one.

All that written, it’s okay to not like this movie. But if you’re only reviewing it or scoring it in response to other people’s thoughts on it, then fuck off and come up with an original or personal reason for your opinion.

I only made it about halfway through Vineland before I watched the movie, but I can still confirm this is a loose adaptation, and I’m glad. I’ll finish it, but I find Vineland very hard to get into. I just need to be in the right mood for Pynchon, and right now I’m just not in it.

Concerning Pynchon adaptations, this is wildly different from Anderson’s work on Inherent Vice. That film, which I’ve grown to absolutely love, is probably too faithful to Pynchon’s text. Characters mumble a lot, and much of the dialogue is taken directly from Pynchon, including all the “ums” and “uhs” and generally odd wording. It can be tough to decipher while reading and impossible to parse while watching. But there’s a musicality to it that worked in Inherent Vice. Here, Anderson admittedly cherry-picked elements he connected to and crafted his own story out of it, and the film is ten times more accessible than Inherent Vice because of it. It doesn’t make it automatically better, but just different and more audience-friendly.

I loved seeing Kevin Tighe in this. Of all the great casting choices in this, I never expected to see the bar owner from Road House in this, especially since I thought he was long dead.

Seeing Sean Penn survive the gunshot and car crash cracked me up so much. Then for him to show up all disfigured to still apply to the Christmas Adventurers Club with a “semen demon” story floored me. That stupid look on his fucked up face as he died was the chef’s kiss. 

So great to have Jim Downey deliver the “semen demon” line.

What a fucked up weird room for the white supremacists to meet in. It’s like a wildlife exhibit in a suburban tunnel system. Truly evil.

Del Toro saving Bob but getting busted for a DUI is great. It just shows how relaxed he is with this whole revolutionary thing, and it's further evidence that there is nothing really to be won here, just keep fighting. And fuck it, have a beer or two while you’re at it.

I’m not a big car chase guy (I mean, I’ll suck Ronin’s dick like any other good little cineaste, but it’s not something I look for in a film), but Anderson’s use of car POV and hills made this one special. And watching it in IMAX almost made me a little sick to my stomach…in a good way. 

I guess it’s kind of a good thing that this movie is doing just okay. That way, it hasn’t become the subject of a political debate like I thought it might. Yet. If this wins Best Picture, or even just gets a ton of noms, I’m sure it’ll still be used by morons as evidence that the Hollywood Elite hate America and want violence across the nation. 

All the out of touch white supremacists had some nice old-timey vocabulary peppered in: teeny-boppers, reefer, etc. These pieces of shit still use 1950s terminology because that’s what they want America to be.

I could have used more French 75 stuff. There’s not nearly enough Wood Harris in this. Or Junglepussy.

"Once Upon a Time...in Hollywood" - Tarantino's Hilarious Nostalgic Fairy Tale

This post is more like a general review. I don’t technically own this film yet, but I definitely will. When that happens, I like to write my initial thoughts as a review and re-visit the film after I’ve bought it to give it my usual treatment. The biggest difference is that I won’t have a Random Thoughts section since I wasn’t able to write those down as I watched (which is what I do for regular posts on this site). I will still be writing this review with SPOILERS, however, because I don’t feel like tip-toeing around the points I want to make about the film. 

Quentin Tarantino’s work has always been tied to other films, so it makes sense that he would finally make a film overtly about Hollywood. Specifically, he made a film about the Hollywood he loved and wished had never changed. As usual, he masterfully recreated an era and the films and TV shows from said era in such a way that the film is enjoyable on the surface alone. 

I wasn’t alive during the time period represented in Once Upon a Time...in Hollywood, so I have no feelings of nostalgia for most of the things presented here. But Tarantino’s obsessive love for the time period comes across so strongly that I ended up wishing I had experienced it. By the end of the film, I was just like Tarantino: I wanted this world to keep going and never change.

Which brings me to the “twist” ending that some people have had issues with (I’ve avoided most press about the film because I like to keep my thoughts untainted, but I have seen article titles about the ending, and I’ve seen a few theories that want to explain away the ending as Cliff’s acid hallucination [which I completely disagree with]). By having Cliff and Rick (and Brandy!) take out the would-be murderers, Tarantino did two things. First, after building up to the murder we all knew was coming, he found a way to surprise us by literally changing history. Second, and more importantly in my opinion, he made this film the fairy tale its title suggested it was in the first place. 

The focus on Sharon Tate throughout the film wasn’t meant to create foreboding for her eventual murder that we all knew was coming. It was meant to show the pure joy Tate had as a successful actress in Hollywood. This is what Rick was wanting the entire film. He wanted to get through that gate to become connected to Tate so his career could become what he always wanted it to be. 

Taking out the Manson cult members at the end was a bit of gleeful wish fulfillment, much like Tarantino did in Inglourious Basterds by killing Hitler. In both films, I found myself laughing and enjoying myself more than any other time I can remember at the movies. It’s easy to cheer for the grisly demise of such people, and I love how Tarantino uses grotesque violence for humor rather than simple shock and disgust. 

While both endings represent wish fulfillment for historical events, Hollywood is deeper than that because Tarantino has such affection for the time period in Hollywood that was brought to an end (in large part because of the Manson murders). With Basterds, I think killing Hitler was more about being able to give the team a win at the end. That’s fine, but I think Hollywood’s ending is more satisfying thematically. 

The ending is only successful because Tarantino spent so much time setting up the world before that moment. He recreated a Hollywood I want to hang out in, and, most importantly, he created characters I want to hang out with. Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt are so great together that I wish the scene of them hanging out watching TV together went on twice as long. They come across as genuine friends. My only complaint about the film is that they spend too much time apart during it. But each character’s journey is entertaining enough that you don’t notice it that much. 

DiCaprio has found in Tarantino another director that brings out the best in him. DiCaprio has a lot to do here, and he nails it. There’s the stuttering insecure Rick, there’s the actor Rick who has to put on a public face of confidence, and there are all of the characters he portrays. The most notable character was the heavy in an episode of Lancer, which is one my favorite sequences in the film. The filmmaking alone in that sequence is great as Tarantino effortlessly switches back and forth between the actual show and the mistakes Rick makes that stop the scene. He draws you into the scene so much that you start to forget that you’re not watching an actual western. But it’s DiCaprio’s performance both as a successful actor and as an insecure actor that make it special. The two show-stopping moments for me are Rick’s trailer freak out and his nailing of the kidnapping scene. 

Pitt plays a simpler character but that doesn’t mean his scenes or performance are lacking. Cliff the more tragic of the two, and it’s arguable that the ending saves his way of life more than Rick’s. Pitt portrays Cliff as fearless and carefree, but there’s a hint of melancholy to the performance that makes it one of Pitt’s most subtle and enjoyable performances of his career. 

There are an embarrassing amount of amazingly cast side characters that I’ll wait to write about when I can re-visit the film at home. But I did want to comment on Margot Robbie’s performance as Sharon Tate. Her lack of lines is a criticism that Tarantino has faced, and I can see the argument. Her character is probably too silent, but I believe it’s because Tarantino was using her as the embodiment of what Rick wanted, both as a career and in life. Obviously he wanted to get close to Polanski to possibly work with him and elevate his career. But more importantly he wanted to be like Tate when she watches herself in the theater. He wanted to entertain people and be loved. And it’s a credit to both Tarantino’s script and Robbie’s performance that she didn’t need many lines to convey this. When Tarantino could be bothered to take the camera off of her feet, you could see all the hope and happiness to make this point in Robbie’s face. I can understand why people think her lack of lines and screentime is problematic, but I also don’t think the movie is about her at all. She simply represents a Hollywood that both Tarantino and Rick want, and you don’t necessarily need a lot of lines to get that point across.

The performances and amazing moments (like the also controversial Bruce Lee scene) are enough to make this movie one of my favorites of the year, but it’s the foreboding feeling throughout the film that cements it as my number one film (there are a lot of movies still to come out, of course, but I feel confident that this movie will stay in my top three at least). The foreboding feeling is mainly the Manson murders that the audience is thinking of every time we see Tate on screen. But the foreboding isn’t just about the terrible murders that were going to happen in reality; it was also about the end of an era. The film I’m most reminded of in this regard is Inherent Vice (so much so that I immediately re-watched it and will write about it next). That divisive film is one of my favorites from Paul Thomas Anderson because the whole film is about the end of the carefree ‘60s and the beginning of the paranoia of the ‘70s that still persists to this day. It was when we stopped living in the moment and started living in fear (“we” culturally speaking since I didn’t actually experience this cultural shift). The movie is largely a comedy but with this feeling of dread throughout that I found fascinating. This is why I love Once Upon a Time...in Hollywood. It’s one of the funniest movies in recent memory, but it also says something about what happened to our culture in this time period without ever actually having to say anything.

Because of Tarantino’s set up for the first two-plus hours, when we finally reach the boiling point and the violent climax occurs, the true point of the movie is clear: Tarantino, a man who has built his career paying homage to the films and TV shows he loves, longs for this time period and wants it to last forever. And as a filmmaker, he can change history in the form of this fairy tale, and imagine what could have been. 

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Slightly (Sort of) Underrated Scorsese: "Shutter Island"

*This is not a traditional review, so don’t expect much in the way of summary (I hate summary in any reviews, really, because it makes them seem like junior high book reports). My articles are meant for people who have seen the movie and have a decent memory of it.

**Also, I typically don’t refer to character names. So when I write “DiCaprio” I’m really referring to the character he played.

A Master Playing in the Sewer

Shutter Island was a critical (68% on Rotten Tomatoes) and commercial success (at the time, it was Scorsese’s biggest hit), so how can I refer to it as even slightly underrated? Well, because of the first note I typed when re-watching it: “It’s great when such a cast and crew decide to make a genre film.” What a bullshit, backhanded thing to write about an interesting, beautiful, and effective film. And I’m not alone.

The consensus on Rotten Tomatoes states that it “may not rank with Scorsese’s best work, but…” Is that how we judge films? I’m a firm believer in judging a movie on its own. It’s okay to make comparisons to other films, especially if there is a connection. But being made by the same director isn’t a good enough connection. I’m guilty of this, by the way. I’m sure if I go through my Paul Thomas Anderson reviews, I’ll find something along the lines of, “It’s no There Will Be Blood, but…” It’s simply an unfair way to judge movies. How can I compare Shutter Island to Goodfellas or Taxi Driver? The reason why those three films would be discussed within the same article is Scorsese. It wouldn’t have anything to do with style or themes. And if it did, it would be a bit of a stretch.

So Shutter Island is underrated, because even those who praised it typically did so with a caveat. Scorsese is taking a break from ambitious movies to have fun with a genre film, e.g. And then there’s the twist, revealing that the whole film was an exercise for DiCaprio to face what he had done or end up getting lobotomized. Critics either thought it was a good twist, or they claim it wasn’t a good enough pay off. I never thought the twist was the point. If we’re going to focus on such a master dwelling in the sewer of a genre film, then shouldn’t we revel in the filmmaking and not the twist. That’s what I did in my original review, and watching it again, the little elements are what kept me interested.

Can You Judge a Twist if You Know It’s Coming Before You Watch the Film?

I’m one of those annoying people who read the book a movie is based on then claim that the book is better. While that is still the case for the most part, there have been exceptions, Shutter Island being one of them. Liking the book more isn’t the point here, however. Since I read the book, I knew what the twist was when I first watched the movie. Therefore it’s impossible for me to really judge how good the twist is. To me, it’s painfully obvious fairly early, but I was looking for it. That said, this movie takes place at a mental institution and any show or movie that takes place in such a location usually ends up being a movie in which things are not as they seem.

For that reason, I kind of hate mental institution movies. They can be exhausting, and they seem to be the same: person visits asylum, ends up stuck there, uncovers vast conspiracy/corruption, is accused of being crazy, saves the day and/or destroys the asylum. Shutter Island doesn’t follow this exactly, but it’s close. But I still love it, and it’s because I already knew the twist.

The film ends up being different for me because I wasn’t trying to figure out who to trust or whatever the whole time. Instead, I was looking for the clues Scorsese included and his filmmaking technique in general to create a paranoid mood.

The use of music at the beginning is the most obvious clue, in my opinion. As they approach, dread-inducing music plays very loudly. Sure, it could just be setting up bad stuff ahead, but I believe it’s in DiCaprio’s subconscious because he knows he’s actually a patient there. I comment on the music quite a bit in my original review, and my thoughts remain the same: it’s a great score that is effective and noticeable without being overbearing.

Camera techniques are used to create a sense of paranoia, as well. Specifically, whip pans are employed throughout. It’s a disorienting technique, and it almost makes it seem like things appear out of nowhere, which must be a bit like DiCaprio’s state of mind. Along with the camerawork, the editing in general is similar, with quick cuts to images from DiCaprio’s mind throughout.

Finally, Scorsese’s use of continuity errors is particularly interesting. Scorsese, or his editor Thelma Schoonmaker, I should say, is no stranger to continuity errors. I’m always reminded of a shot in The Departed showing Nicholson walking, his back to the camera, obviously smoking. When the shot switches to the front, he is no longer smoking. That kind of thing is pretty normal for Scorsese’s more chaotic films. Referring specifically to The Wolf of Wall Street, but applying to any of Scorsese’s less restrained films, Schoonmaker said, “continuity in a movie like this really doesn’t matter.” It has become kind of a trademark for Scorsese films, which makes Shutter Island an interesting example.

With Shutter Island, many of the continuity errors are intentional, the most notable of which being the scene when a patient being interviewed requests a glass of water. A full glass of water is handed to her, but when she brings it up to drink her hand is clearly empty, then she sets down an empty glass. There are more, but that one sticks out to me, and it’s a great example of using, or misusing, continuity to create a sense of things being off. It’s also convenient for the filmmaker, since every error can be claimed to be intentional now.

I know all this continuity stuff can be boring, but when you watch a lot of movies, you tend to notice this stuff. And when you’re watching a Scorsese movie featuring a mentally unstable main character, noticing this stuff is the reward of a close viewing. Here’s a video going into more detail about the glass of water scene, which focuses on the use of fire and water in the film, which is something I did not pick up on nearly as much as the creator of the video, but I completely agree with.

Shutter Island is a great example of a twist ending not being the most important part of the movie. And when you look back at all the clues, it doesn’t seem like much a twist at all, because the movie is told from DiCaprio’s perspective. He may not notice these clues, but the viewer might, which makes Shutter Island an interesting, entertaining watch, regardless of whether you knew the twist or not.

PTSD, again.

Most of my articles from the last few months are about movies with characters suffering from PTSD. Aside from the William Friedkin article, this is not intentional, but here we are again with DiCaprio’s multiple flashbacks to his experiences liberating a concentration camp in WWII.

First off, I’m going to try to take a break from movies featuring this subject, since it’s almost becoming my trademark or something. But since it’s there, I can’t ignore it, especially since I think it plays a bigger factor than many give it credit for.

Since the focus of DiCaprio’s problems is on his wife and their children, his experience in the war is cast aside. I agree that his wife is the primary issue here, but his WWII experience, I believe, leads him to make the decision he makes at the end.

DiCaprio basically agrees to be lobotomized because the treatment worked, and he remembered what had happened with his wife and children. He feels responsible for all of it. So he asks Ruffalo if it’s better “to live as a monster or die a good man.” He makes this choice partially because of his WWII experience. He has seen monsters, and he cannot be one himself.

Random Thoughts

I love the aesthetic experience of the film. The imagery, camerawork, and music are all on point.

The WWII in particular stuck with me. The Nazi slowly dying from a “botched” suicide attempt, the flying papers, the music, etc. It was all very eerie. But that tracking shot of the execution of the guards always bothered me. Unless the guards only started shooting one right after the other rather than en masse, then the shot makes no sense. The way it is presented, the shooting starts with DiCaprio’s section, then as the camera makes its way down the line the other soldiers begin shooting, which means that last soldier stood there while shooting was happening and waited about a half minute to start shooting. It just doesn’t make sense. But as I wrote about the continuity stuff, something occurred to me: this isn’t necessarily how things happened. This is how DiCaprio remembers it happening. If that’s the case, then the camera moving is DiCaprio reliving the shooting, so it happens the way his brain creates it.

Ebert liked it!

Watching in the theater was great, mainly for the sound. I remember that score just blasting through the speakers as they approached the asylum.

Ted Levine! But he’s barely in it.

The movie is a conspiracy theorist’s dream. Everything keeps adding up, but it’s because DiCaprio wants it to. It’s actually an indictment of conspiracy theories. You would have to be crazy to make everything fit your own story to justify your existence.

An English Teacher Reviews "The Great Gatsby"

Directed by Baz Luhrmann, written by Luhrmann & Craig Pearce, starring Leonardo DiCaprio, Tobey Maguire, Carey Mulligan, Joel Edgerton, Isla Fisher, and Jason Clarke - Rated PG-13

Preface: This review is mainly for people who have also read the novel.  I didn’t focus much on how the film will be perceived by non-readers simply because I cannot imagine what their experience might be like.  That said, I get the impression that if you liked Baz Luhrmann’s other films, like Romeo + Juliet or Moulin Rouge, then you will like The Great Gatsby.

 

I represent a dark side of America, too, friendo.

 

 

The Great Gatsby has been the bane of high school students for years.  The story, set in the 1920s, is filled with symbolism and disillusionment, two things most teenagers aren’t very concerned with.  As an English teacher, I looked forward to the challenge the book presented as a teaching device, but I was disappointed that there was not an interesting adaptation to show my students after reading.  For better or worse, English teachers all over now have the adaptation they need to show students to get a response. 

 

I am not a “movie teacher.”  By that, I mean that movie days in my class are few and far between.  I may be the “movie guy” to my friends and colleagues, but when it comes to literature, there is no replacement for honestly reading the material.  Faithful adaptations are anathema to my classes.  The only reason to show a class a movie is to aid in their understanding of the source material and, more importantly, get them to think about it in new, interesting ways.  I always require students to write an essay after watching an adaptation.  What can you write about a faithful adaptation?  “I liked watching more than reading”?  “The lighting was good”?  A plain film serves no purpose.  I prefer the crazier adaptations because they keep students interested and opinionated.  When I first read that writer/director Baz Luhrmann (Romeo + Juliet) was making The Great Gatsby, I knew this version would be worth watching.

I was able to take my junior class to see The Great Gatsby on opening day (special thanks to Tell City Cinemas for setting up the individual screening for my class).  We had recently finished reading the novel, and I was hoping this adaptation would be interesting enough to get a response from them.  That definitely proved to be the case.  This version of Gatsby is not only interesting, but, more importantly, it’s entertaining.

 

The same qualities I find interesting and entertaining may leave some people baffled, however.  The most obvious element up for debate is the use of music in the film.  The soundtrack is largely made up of current rap and pop artists, yet the film is still firmly set in the 1920s.  I think the music matches up perfectly with the tone of the film.  The music was an odd fit at first, but by the end it seemed natural to me.  Others may disagree with me.  Some people will simply not be able to get past the fact that music from the 2010s is playing while 1920s characters dance.  It can be jarring, but if you’re willing to go with it, I think it is one of the film’s strongest points.

 

Equally important is the casting of the film.  The role of Gatsby is important in that it requires an actor who can express elegance, charisma, and boundless hope.  That pretty much describes Leonardo DiCaprio to a T, so obviously he was perfectly cast in this.  It isn’t exactly a stretch of a role for the eternally young actor, but that doesn’t make it any less impressive.  On the more surprising side, Tobey Maguire made for a very effective Nick Carraway.  Maguire’s constant stare of boyish wonder usually annoys me, but it’s the perfect visage for the character of Carraway.  It is especially effective once Nick becomes sickened by those around him and that boyish stare turns into a dead glare.  Carey Mulligan makes it easy to feel sympathy for Daisy.  Joel Edgerton brings perfect physicality to the role of Tom.  Jason Clarke is effective as Wilson in a few short scenes.  And Isla Fisher is decent as Myrtle, but that character felt a little shortchanged in this adaptation.

 

Shortchanged characters aside, Gatsby is a surprisingly faithful adaptation.  Of course there are a few changes here and there, such as the absence of Gatsby’s father and the inclusion of a framing device for the story, but the overall theme of the novel is intact, which is the most important aspect to me.  The theme regarding the death of the American dream is still relevant today (and always will be) which is why the novel is still taught to students across the country.  The film does a good job conveying that theme and an even better job at explaining the symbolism of the novel.  Anyone who’s read the novel probably remembers the green light and the eyes of Dr. T. J. Eckleburg, and if you don’t remember them, the film will make sure that you do by the end of the 140+ minute running time.  I’m glad both elements received so much attention in the film, though I think some of it was a bit too blatant (Wilson pointing at the eyes and screaming that they are the “eyes of God” comes to mind). 

 

The music, acting, and novel elements are all excellent fodder for a student to write a response, but there’s still the matter of style.  Luhrmann has established himself as an interesting director many times over, but Romeo + Juliet is the best comparison to be made here.  That film featured frenetic elements and borderline cartoonish qualities.  Gatsby takes place in a more realistic world than that film, but it is still frantic.  The driving scenes are insane, the editing is rapid-fire, and the party scenes are pure chaos. 

 


The partying is the main selling point for Gatsby, both as a film and a novel.  I certainly focused on it heavily while teaching it.  The point is not to glorify it, though.  The parties or drinking episodes in the novel are not treated as good times meant to be emulated by others.  Instead, we see the parties through Nick’s eyes, and he has come to the conclusion that these events are not happy moments, but are actually the shallow proceedings of a morally bankrupt group.  It’s easy to get that point when you’re reading about the parties; it’s a bit more difficult to pick up on that message when the parties are visually presented with lavish dance numbers and whatnot, all presented in 3D, no less.  (For the record, I have not seen the film in 3D, but I can hardly imagine that it changes the experience much one way or the other.)  Still, the film does not glorify the lifestyle of the characters.  Others may disagree because the parties take the center stage, but as I watched those scenes, I didn’t think, “Oh, how cool.”  My thoughts drifted more towards, “When will these parties end?”   



The Great Gatsby is essentially about the end of the party.  The novel and the film convey that message to the reader/viewer.  Is it possible that viewers will miss that point?  Of course, but they’ll stay awake through the proceedings.  The biggest hurdle any teacher faces while teaching Gatsby is the boredom complaint.  While I find the themes of the novel fascinating, I definitely encountered a student or two that “just didn’t get it” or “couldn’t get into it.”  As the kids filed out of the movie theater, even the ones who didn’t exactly love the movie told me they were surprised by how interested it kept them.  If that’s not a sign of a successful adaptation of a novel force fed to a teenager, I don’t know what is.





Random Thoughts (SPOILERS)




"I'm so tired of partying.  So very tired."

Yes, that is Slurms McKenzie from Futurama to the right.  I couldn't resist including it.

The framing device bothered me a little bit because it turned Carraway into an alcoholic.  Maybe I'm just too trusting of Carraway as a narrator, but I never got the impression that he was drinking himself into an institution throughout the novel.  In fact, I always pictured him as the sober guy at the party, casting judgment on everyone.  I think the novel backs me up on this since the one scene in which he admits being drunk (at Myrtle's apartment) is a haze of random events (staged wonderfully in the movie, by the way), while the rest of the parties are reported on in quite a sober manner.  Having him constantly drink throws doubt on the entire proceeding.  I know there's a question of his bias as a narrator anyway, but the alcohol makes him seem much more like an unreliable narrator. 

That said, I still accept the framing device since it gives a reason for the words to appear onscreen.  The teacher/dork in me enjoyed seeing some of Fitzgerald's greatest lines recreated that way.

I was okay with Gatsby's dad not showing up at the end.  It seems almost better that he's absent so he seems that much more alone in death. 

I was not okay with the absence of Daisy and Tom's daughter.  I know she finally shows up in the end, but I think it would have been very effective had she appeared in the other scenes she was supposed to be in, especially the one with Gatsby.  In the novel, Gatsby reacts strangely to the child, appearing to not have believed she existed until that moment.  It is effective because it is part of the crumbling dream he has.  Here is physical proof that Daisy and Tom have something together.  It is obviously not part of his grand fantasy.  I can live without the scene, but I think the film would have been better with it, and it would only have taken up thirty seconds or so of the running time.

Gatsby doesn't freak out and almost punch Tom in the novel, but I enjoyed that change.  In the novel, Gatsby suffers a quiet defeat.  That's fine, and it shows how dreams can, and often do, die silent deaths.  But that scene in the hotel room was building with such tension that a quiet ending would have been a let down.  Everyone is sweating and uncomfortable, there's a topic brought up that would normally be kept quiet, there's an ice pick... That scene needed some yelling to finish it up.  And who better to yell out in fury than DiCaprio?

I was definitely not okay with Gatsby being a scrapbooker.  In the novel, he mentions that he has some "clippings" of Daisy, but it doesn't say he busts out a full scrapbook that has been carefully put together.  I know Gatsby had some time to kill in that five years leading up to the reunion, but I simply can't imagine him sitting home with his Elmer's rubber cement, pasting newspaper articles onto construction paper.  Sure, maybe he had a servant do it, but I don't buy that.  And it's equally ridiculous to imagine him handing newspaper clippings to a maid, demanding that a scrapbook be made.  Am I blowing this out of proportion?  Absolutely.  But sometimes small details like that really bother me.