The film is not quite as great as its Gatsby, but it's worth a watch for its design, soundtrack and - most importantly - central performance.

Rating: 6/10 (18 January 2014)

Baz Luhrmann does not make movies to be understated or subtle - his best-loved films, from Romeo & Juliet to Moulin Rouge!, are deceptively colourful baubles, bright and sparkly and feather-light on the surface, cracking apart to reveal the dark, tragic side of being alive. The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald's 1920s-set novel about the darker desires hidden within the glittering decadence of the Jazz Age, would seem to be right up Luhrmann's alley.
Critical reception to the final film has been divided, however, veering between rapturous proclamations that it's the finest cinematic version of Fitzgerald's novel yet; and bitter condemnations of his miserable failure at effectively capturing the essence of the book on screen. I've not read Fitzgerald's novel, so am ill-equipped to pronounce one way or another my opinion as to whether Luhrmann has whipped up a fantastic or terrible adaptation of the book. As a purely cinematic experience, however, it's safe to say that there's much to enjoy in Luhrmann's starburst of a film - even though it's hard to shake the feeling that he's traded much depth and character for a hypnotic aesthetic and soundtrack.
The tale of the titular Jay Gatsby (Leonardo DiCaprio) is told by his neighbour Nick Carraway (Tobey Maguire), an observer - almost a voyeur - of the huge, hedonistic parties thrown every night at the glamorous mansion up the way. Gatsby comes from 'new money': a self-made millionaire whose wealth and whims are causing ripples of curiosity throughout high society in 1920s New York. As Carraway finds himself drawn ever more into Gatsby's excesses, he discovers a secret in his friend's past that explains his behaviour in the present, one that is inextricably tied up with socialite Daisy Buchanan (Carey Mulligan) and, by extension, her aggressive philanderer of a husband Tom (Joel Edgerton).
Luhrmann's film is a treat to watch and listen to. Every frame drips with style and excess, as flappers Charleston their way across the screen and Jay-Z's jazz-influenced hip-hop beats spill over the audience. Gatsby's parties are draped in an air of smoky energy that effectively conveys the sort of lazy, frantic decadence in which the moneyed classes lost themselves before the Great Depression reared its sobering head.
Scratch beneath the glittery surface, and The Great Gatsby is pulsing with themes and ideas about love, obsession and the American Dream - all of which, as I understand it, underpin Fitzgerald's novel. Much of this depth is due to DiCaprio's fascinating, subtle central performance. (It's the most subtle thing on display in Luhrmann's entire glitterball of a film.) Jay ought to be a hugely complex creation - he's not merely great or admirable for having dragged himself bodily out of poverty for the sake of a dream (or obsession) that's kept him going for years; he's also to be pitied and, occasionally, feared. Gatsby as a character also embodies the hollow promise of the American Dream - he can reinvent himself as much as he likes, but it doesn't mean he'll achieve the success, love or happiness for which he's so earnestly striving.
As Gatsby, DiCaprio manages to be man, metaphor and menace all at once, a feat that again proves he's one of the finest actors of his generation. He plays all the shades of that complexity wonderfully well, swinging from desperate to unhinged to naive - oftentimes in the same scene. He makes Gatsby's tireless, misguided devotion believable and sympathetic, even in the character's more deluded moments. If your heart breaks while watching this movie, it will be for him.
The rest of The Great Gatsby is hit-and-miss. When DiCaprio is off the screen, the film sags and its weighty themes seem to evaporate into thin air. Mulligan is halfway entrancing - while not quite a completely opaque presence, it's nevertheless tough to really relate to the little cracks and moments of heartbreak that Mulligan layers into her performance. Maguire, meanwhile, seems uncomfortably out-of-place - and not necessarily in a good way. His Nick Carraway has little colour and fire of his own, instead basking in the glow thrown off by Gatsby and Daisy - which is no doubt part of the point of his character. But, as Maguire plays it, that impression feels less like an organic part of his performance and more an unfortunate side-effect.
Luhrmann's film sings, shines and sparkles just as brightly and earnestly as many of his earlier works. Whether all that charm, verve and brightness is deployed to good effect is more debatable. Gatsby's great tragedy is that his monumental efforts to spin a new fairy tale for himself never quite achieve the result he's clearly hoping for. The same, unfortunately, goes for DiCaprio and the movie surrounding him.