The Good Gatsby

When it comes to trying to find a film director who can harness a sense of mad abandon in one of the most hedonistic periods of American history, you’d be hard pressed to think of someone better suited for the job than Baz Luhrmann, surely? After all, he’s got form. Moulin Rouge and Strictly Ballroom were so unique,  creatively stimulating, and off-the-wall bonkers that the idea of someone else being chosen to create a sense of devil-may-care party antics seems almost absurd. Added to this, he can do tragedy too. Luhrmann’s ‘Romeo and Juliet’ is, in my opinion, the best Shakespeare adaptation ever made. I’m not just saying that because I’m an English teacher either, although I’m professionally grateful to Luhrmann for giving a young generation a new way into a classic. That being said, I’m equally professionally annoyed at him for giving me (admittedly not personally) an awful lot of essays that discuss Shakespeare’s use of language in ‘the petrol station scene’. Still, it trumps any other Shakespeare adaptation I’ve ever seen.

So, instead of Shakespeare’s classic, which (thanks to the fact it’s a play) gives an awful lot of narrative scope to a director to one of America’s most beloved novels, which doesn’t. How does he do? It’s not an easy question to answer.

Like all Luhrmann’s films, the real star is Baz Luhrmann. There’s nothing wrong with a director being the real star, (see Reservoir Dogs, Duel, Jaws, The Godfather, etc) but when you’re up against stylised repetition, the shine is lost somewhat (see Django Unchained, Face/Off, Transformers etc) and it begins to impede one’s enjoyment of the story. And in Gatsby, the story and the characters who make it breathe, are everything. So it’s not a good idea to take the focus from them.

That being said, there are chances for Luhrmann to shine, and at least he doesn’t disappoint for the most part. The film looks beautiful. Even if you see it in 3D, which adds nothing but a sense of detatchment from characters you’re supposed to get close to, there’s no denying the HD uber-gloss that dominates the entire pallet of the film. It’s basically everything turned up to 12 (from Baz Luhrmann? Who would have guessed) with the colours primary and vivid, the sounds bold and swirling, the costumes absolutely gorgeous, and the thematic imagery about as subtle as a brick to the face. Considering this is a tale of woe, there is certainly no sense of impending doom for the first third of the film. There isn’t time or room for any, because they’re too busy cutting a nifty rug at 1920s parties, and here is where the first of the problems kick in. Now, we know that Luhrmann knows how to film a party, because we’ve seen it before. And therein lies the rub. We’ve seen it before. Deja Vu is one thing, but there’s a certain sense of having deja-vued every single moment of every single party before, which becomes problematic a lot quicker than I was expecting. In an era where the clichéd soirees involved an almost gluttonous degree of bacchanalian debauchery, surface sheen with no moral scaffolding, the film seems to be determined to follow suit. And like those parties, ultimately there’s no satisfaction come closing time.

With so much surface glitz and glamour, it’s a wonder that there’s any character depth at all, and this is where we have the actors to thank for occasionally solid, mostly quietly spectacular performances. Although all the main cast underplay their roles, in so far as you never feel like you’re watching the kind of genre-defining performance that John Leguizamo and Harold Perrineau gave in ‘Romeo and Juliet’, it’s a nice balance to the feel and look of the film to have some class and depth added by the human element. Leonardo DiCaprio, although not given the kind of emotional journey he had in his last outing with the director is excellent as always, and is ably supported by everyone with whom he finds himself sharing West Egg. There isn’t a single let-down in terms of performance here, even Isla Fisher (not known for her dramatic chops) does a fine job as Myrtle. It’s these performances that keep the film on something of an even keel and avoid it becoming less style-over-substance and just pure style.

So, what’s not to like? Well, like so many cinematic adaptations of novels, if you’re a hardcore fan of the novel the chances are you’re going to hate this. That’s not to say it isn’t good, but when was the last time you saw an adaptation of a book you loved and liked it? One of the great touches in Gatsby lies in Fitzgerald’s prose, describing some aspects of life in West Egg as well as anyone has ever described anything, and of course that’s lost in the film, despite Luhrmann’s best efforts to use the original text where he can. The 3D is a waste of time, which adds more to your ticket price while adding nothing to your experience, and there are several moments where the sheer force of the film feels somewhat oppressive. It is literally such a sensory blitzkrieg that it occasionally feels like it’s taken you to a speakeasy, forced your throat open and poured itself down you. That might be thematically relevant, given the subject matter, but it doesn’t help you really experience the more emotionally fraught moments of the film, which are what give it such a timeless quality. Some people have complained about Carey Mulligan’s accent, although I thought she was great, and there will be those who feel the film is simply too polished to look at, and there’s certainly an argument that at time you feel like you’re watching a cartoon. Finally, there is a sense that at times you’re watching a rehash of some old films, namely Moulin Rouge, Romeo and Juliet, The Aviator, and Citizen Kane, with an occasional scene from Bugsy Malone thrown in.

So, does the good outweigh the bad? Well, yes it does, but the problems with it are numerous enough that whether you love Luhrmann’s other work (I do) or the beauty of the original story (I do) you will find enough wrong here to stop you feeling as though you have truly been immersed in The great American cautionary tale.

Is it The Great Gatsby? No, but it’s certainly a decent effort, and for you English teachers out there, at least the scenes at the petrol station actually take place in a petrol station this time.

Between Me and You: How The Beatles aged.

 The qualities of truly great pop music are as constant as the laws of physics, and just as complex. It seems that some songs, artists, albums or even moments in musical history are destined to be elevated to the realm of legend, when some are not – but in fact music that was great in the 1700s is still great today, as is the best music from every generation since up to about 1999 when music became rubbish and then Justin Bieber and collapse of civilisation and all that.

So, why does some music age well, and some not so well? It’s hard to say but there doesn’t fundamentally need to be an anecdotal reason for a song to become legendary, and there doesn’t need to be a direct tap into the listener’s deepest psychological corridors. It helps, but it’s not a necessity. But it’s there, somehow. Legend seeps into the sounds, and flows back out in droves. The ominous foreshadowing of Mozart’s Requiem, or the emotional passion of Beethoven’s 9^th Symphony are there for all to see, and their legend is cemented. This also applies to rock and roll and pop. Who can listen to Otis Redding’s ‘Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay’ without adding to it a tragedy that Redding could never have felt as he sang it? Or in a more subtle way, is it possible to listen to the grinding sneer of ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ without hearing the roots of the social uproar of the 1960s leave its calling card? Songs like Elvis’ Sun Records albums, or Buddy Holly’s best moments survive with a kind of archaic charm that conjures up nostalgia even in the minds of those who were born long after, and far from the “golden age” of late 1950s America. They are basic, primitive even, but what they lack in technical gloss, they more than make up for with crackling energy and raw power. And therein lies the secret. For art that transcends the moment in which it was created must truly capture the essence of that moment, without relying on it for its fundamental merit. Bohemian Rhapsody has elevated itself to legendary, game-changing status, but it’s not the only 5-minute-plus, heavily guitarred operatic genre-mixing smorgasbord that Queen released. It’s not even the only one on that album. But, it’s the one that doesn’t sound like it’s still stuck in 1975 when you listen in 2013. Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ may be the biggest selling album of all time, but it’s hard to hear it as a piece of work that would stand up in today’s charts, so saturated is it in the musical, lyrical and studio production tropes of the early 1980s. Except, of course, for the songs that have truly stood the test of time. Billie Jean, Thriller and Beat It don’t sound out of date. Yes, there are touches of the decade that bore them, but the songs sound as alive and fresh today as they did then. Can anyone really say that about PYT? I recently bought some “Hits of the 90s” in a mad nostalgia rush, but was left disappointed in the end. The songs hadn’t aged at all well, and I struggled to really marry my memories of the songs with the tired old generic cliché that seemed to be squirming out of my iPod. That doesn’t happen when I revisit ‘Definitely Maybe’, parts of ‘Nevermind’ (not least the incredible opening of ‘Teen Spirit’) and the better moments of U2’s late 80s/early 90s output.

The list goes on; Billy Joel’s greatest hits are those that don’t depend on the lyrical minefields of the singer-songwriter genre, Carole King’s Tapestry album is at its finest when dealing with themes that go beyond the San Franciscan haze of the late 60s, and the Rolling Stones stopped making great records the day that they decided to adapt their style to the times, not the other way around. Prince’s finest achievements sound now like homages to their genre, not slaves to it, and as a final piece of proof, look at how many bands who seemed to represent the times in which they operated still get airplay in today’s market. Anything that piggybacks on a zeitgeist is going to be dropped in the sandbox when the generation who “loved” it move on.

So, what’s the point of this? Well, it’s the song “From Me To You” by those Beatles that I like. One of the reasons I appreciate their contribution to music so much is that when you listen back to so many of those songs, you don’t feel as though you have to make allowances for the era in which they were produced. Abbey Road is a particularly strong piece of evidence for this. ‘Come Together’ doesn’t sound like a record stuck in the 60s. The intricacies of the interplay between the guitars and the other-worldly stream of consciousness lyrics don’t sound hackneyed after 40 years, nor do the harmonies of ‘Because’ become any less spine-tingling with the passing of time. Even Sgt Pepper, the album that (to many people) defined the entire decade, doesn’t sound (for the most part) like it’s trapped there, the occasional acid-drenched moment notwithstanding.

The Beatles, though, do represent to many the definitive sound of the 1960s in British music. This, of course, is a remarkably myopic view of a decade that had as much variety and high quality output as it did badly dressed tree-hugging flower children. But, somehow, in our collective consciousness, the sound of 60s Britain came from Liverpool. Some of their earlier output does manage to get away from the clichés they helped to create, (‘In My Life’, ‘Yesterday’, ‘Norwegian Wood’) but it takes until 1965 and ‘Rubber Soul’ before you can start to say the band created truly great music. Many songs before that album have got touches of genius in their fabric, but it’s hard to think of a Beatles song released before 1965 that doesn’t sound heavily entrenched in the generic stylings of ‘60s music’. Maybe there’s a case to be made for ‘Not a Second Time’ from ‘With The Beatles’, perhaps ‘Baby’s in Black’ but it’s tenuous at best. So how come their early 60s songs have reached the highest echelons of people’s consciousness? No matter what your personal feelings about The Beatles, it’s still hard to reach the age of 10 without having been made aware, somehow, of who they were and the songs they sang. So why are they still so present, and do they deserve it? Well, for me (as detailed in an earlier couple of blogs about ‘Long Tall Sally’ and ‘Twist and Shout’) the key is in the power and energy of those early songs.

The best early Beatles songs are the ones that have that frenetic pace and energy that drives them along so wonderfully. These are the songs that rise above the pitfalls of recording in 1960s Britain. For example, shoddy quality of the recording (particularly evident on b-side songs like ‘Thank You Girl’ or ‘I’ll Get You’) or the poor technical musicianship (hear the guitar tunings on ‘I’m Down’ or ‘Don’t Bother Me, not to mention McCartney’s questionable handling of some of the low vocals on ‘Hold Me Tight’) or just the lack of quality in the songwriting (‘PS I Love You’ and ‘Love Me Do’ amongst others). Many songs from those early albums fall into at least one, and in some cases more, of these traps, but their best work escapes them because of its consistent energy, enthusiasm and power. See ‘I Saw Her Standing There’, ‘All My Loving’, ‘A Hard Day’s Night’, ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’, and many others for examples of how good songs are elevated to greatness by the conviction of their delivery. And, of course, The Beatles were a great singles band. Look at the list of singles they put out in their first 5 years alone – it’s almost the Bhagavad Gita of genius pop songwriting. Except, for me, their 1963 mis-step, ‘From Me To You’.

Only their second number 1 hit, it’s hard to escape a feeling that the song was ensnared by some of their other failings, while simultaneously benefitting from their burgeoning popularity, therefore entering the folklore of great Beatles songs somewhat unconvincingly, almost shuffling to the back, knowing full well it doesn’t quite merit its place on that particular pedestal. The harmonica (never John Lennon’s forte) is unimpressive, the melody, while not unpalatable, isn’t much to write home about, the lyrics are functional and the chords are unimaginative for the most part. There’s a nice change to Gm7 in the middle 8, which is enjoyable, although not prominent enough on the record, and it’s a good natured sort of romp, but when you stand it up against their other ‘great’ work from that era, it doesn’t come anywhere near the musical sophistication of ‘This Boy’ or ‘Ask Me Why’, the lyrical intrigue of ‘If I Fell’ or ‘Not a Second Time’, the harmonic triumph of ‘Tell me Why’ or ‘She Loves You’, or the sheer steam-train excitement of ‘Boys’ or ‘I Saw Her Standing There’, or countless others. It just sits there in the Beatles canon as the runt of the litter. It’s charming, but its greatest strength is simultaneously its biggest weakness, which is that it harks back to a time of innocent charm, collarless suits, moptop haircuts and holding hands with a girl, and it singularly fails to thrill, sneer, seduce or threaten in the way that the Beatles could do so comprehensively. It’s not that there aren’t other songs from this time that suffer from the same problems, but this is the most high-profile, and in a career that was based on innovation and invention, it stands out as something of a blot on an otherwise seemingly immaculate canvas.