Rewriting The Great Gatsby: Novel to Film

This blog is assigned by Dr. Barad Sir,I write this blog to critically examine how a literary classic like The Great Gatsby changes meaning when it is adapted into a modern film. Rather than judging the film only on whether it is “faithful” to the novel, this blog applies contemporary adaptation theory to understand why certain changes were made and how those changes affect interpretation. Writing this blog allowed me to move beyond simple summary and engage in analytical thinking connecting literature, film studies, philosophy, and socio-political context. It also helped me understand that adaptations are creative reinterpretations shaped by their historical moment, medium, and audience, not merely reproductions of a source text. Click Here

Adapting The Great Gatsby for the screen has always meant confronting a central paradox: how can a novel so deeply rooted in its language, irony, and social observation survive translation into a medium driven by spectacle, sound, and immediacy? Baz Luhrmann’s 2013 film does not attempt a “faithful” reproduction of Fitzgerald’s text; instead, it stages a bold negotiation between literature and cinema, past and present, subtlety and excess. This blog explores the adaptation through contemporary theories of fidelity, drawing on Linda Hutcheon’s distinction between “knowing” and “unknowing” audiences and Alain Badiou’s idea of fidelity to a “Truth Event.” By examining narrative omissions, character reconstruction, visual extravagance, and socio-political context, the discussion argues that Luhrmann’s Gatsby functions less as a translation and more as a refraction one that reimagines Fitzgerald’s critique of the American Dream for a post-2008, hyper-modern world.

The Architecture of Disillusionment: Baz Luhrmann’s The Great Gatsby and the Mechanics of Intersemiotic Transformation

The cinematic adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 1925 novel The Great Gatsby by Baz Luhrmann in 2013 serves as a profound case study in the evolution of adaptation studies, moving beyond the reductive binary of fidelity to explore the complexities of intersemiotic translation and the cultural polysystem. Luhrmann’s work is not a mere replication of the source text but a "repetition without replication," a conceptual framework championed by Linda Hutcheon that seeks to balance the aesthetic autonomy of the film with the canonical weight of the originating material. By employing the "Red Curtain" style a directorial signature characterized by heightened artifice, theatricality, and a rejection of naturalism Luhrmann attempts to bridge the historical chasm between the Jazz Age and the early twenty-first century, utilizing contemporary cultural codes to evoke the same "Truth Event" that Fitzgerald captured during the rupture of modernity. This report provides an exhaustive analysis of the film’s narrative framing, theoretical grounding, character reconstruction, and visual semiotics, contextualizing the work within the socio-political realities of both 1925 and 2013.   

Part I: The Frame Narrative and the "Writerly" Text

The most radical structural departure in Luhrmann’s adaptation is the imposition of a frame narrative that places Nick Carraway in the Perkins Sanitarium, struggling with "morbid alcoholism," "insomnia," and "fits of anger". This device fundamentally alters the audience's engagement with the narrator, shifting Nick from a seemingly objective, if impressionable, observer to a clinical patient attempting to process trauma through the act of writing.   

The Sanitarium Device: Pathologizing the Moral Compass

Scholars have noted that the sanitarium addition serves to "literalize" the act of writing, providing a tangible "cause and effect" for a visual medium that often struggles to convey the internal processes of a literary narrator. In Fitzgerald’s novel, Nick’s narration is a retrospective account, but the setting and motivation for his writing remain ethereal. Luhrmann’s decision to place Nick in a psychiatric facility connotes a "gloomy depression" rooted in his experiences in West Egg, effectively externalizing his internal monologue as a form of therapeutic confession.   

However, this pathologization risks undermining Nick’s role as the story’s moral compass. In the original text, Nick famously claims to be "one of the few honest people" he has ever known, and his father’s advice to reserve judgment provides the ethical framework for the entire narrative. By diagnosing him with clinical ailments, the film adds a layer of "contradiction and ambiguity" to the narration. The story becomes a subjective, perhaps fragmented, memory of a man recovering from the "underside of the Roaring Twenties". This shift transforms the narration from a social critique into a personal psychological defense mechanism specifically, a struggle against the denial of his own complicity in the tragedy. While this creates a necessary narrative anchor for the film's extensive use of voice-over, it simultaneously reduces the novel's complexity by suggesting that Nick’s disillusionment is a pathology to be cured rather than a valid philosophical response to a corrupt society.   

The Cinematic Poem and the Reification of Prose

Luhrmann describes his technique of superimposing floating text over the screen as a "cinematic poem" or "poetic glue" intended to retain the linguistic beauty of Fitzgerald’s prose. In sequences like the description of the Valley of Ashes, words physically manifest in the cinematic space, blurring the boundaries between the "originating text" and the adaptation. This technique serves to "fix meanings" while highlighting the symbolic nature of the landscape, making the abstract thoughts of the narrator "solid" visual elements.   

Critics, however, have characterized this as a form of "noble literalism" or a "quotational quality" that may distance the viewer from the diegetic reality. By forcing the audience to read the text while viewing the image, Luhrmann creates a "multimodal" experience that emphasizes the film's identity as a constructed work of art. This reification of the prose can be seen as a defensive move against the perceived "parasitic" nature of film a term used by Virginia Woolf to describe the medium's relationship to literature. Instead of allowing the visuals to speak for themselves, the floating text demands that the viewer acknowledge the literary authority of the source, potentially trapping the film in a state of "intersemiotic translocation" where the two sign systems word and image—compete rather than harmonize.

Part II: Adaptation Theory and the Concept of Fidelity

The debate surrounding "fidelity" remains central to the study of The Great Gatsby. Contemporary scholars increasingly reject the idea of an adaptation being "faithful" in a literal sense, instead viewing it as a "refraction" of the source material through a new sociocultural lens.   

Hutcheon’s "Knowing" vs. "Unknowing" Audience

Linda Hutcheon’s theory of adaptation emphasizes that a successful work must cater to two distinct groups: the "knowing" audience, familiar with the original text, and the "unknowing" audience, for whom the film is a primary experience. Luhrmann’s adaptation achieves this through "repetition without replication," maintaining key narrative beats while distilling the story's complexity to fit the conventions of Hollywood cinema.   

The film’s ending provides a significant example of this distillation. By omitting the character of Henry Gatz and the funeral procession, the film focuses entirely on Nick’s personal devotion to Gatsby. For the "knowing" audience, this omission profoundly alters the understanding of Gatsby’s isolation. In the novel, the presence of his father highlights the humble origins Gatsby tried to erase, while the empty funeral serves as a scathing critique of the "careless" socialites who enjoyed his hospitality but abandoned him in death. By stripping away these elements, the film shifts the genre from a broad social critique toward a tragic romance. This change satisfies the "unknowing" audience’s desire for a streamlined emotional arc, but it arguably sacrifices the novel’s nuanced exploration of the "class permanence" that Gatsby could never overcome.   

Alain Badiou and the "Truth Event"

A more sophisticated approach to fidelity is found in the philosophy of Alain Badiou, who suggests that an adaptation should be faithful not to the literal text but to the "Truth Event" it represents. In the context of The Great Gatsby, the Truth Event is the rupture of modernity the radical shift in culture, technology, and social norms during the 1920s.   

Luhrmann’s use of anachronistic music, specifically the integration of hip-hop and contemporary pop, is an act of Badiouian fidelity. Luhrmann argues that for a 21st-century audience, jazz the rebellious music of the 1920s has become "classy" or "relaxing," losing its "cultural rupture" potential. By substituting it with hip-hop, he performs an "intersemiotic translation" of the music's affective impact. This choice allows the modern viewer to experience the same sense of "seismic event" and "dangerous modernity" that a 1925 reader would have felt.While this anachronism betrays the historical specificity of the Jazz Age, it remains faithful to the energy and the "evental site" of Fitzgerald's world a world defined by rapid change and "ontological uncertainty".   

Part III: Characterization, Performance, and the "Red Curtain"

The characterization in Luhrmann’s film is deeply influenced by the "Red Curtain" style, which prioritizes iconic, heightened portrayals over the subtle, gradual revelations found in the novel.   

Gatsby: Romantic Hero vs. Criminal Delusion

The film significantly softens Gatsby’s criminal edge to solidify his role as a "romantic figure". In the novel, Gatsby’s involvement in organized crime, bootlegging, and bond fraud is revealed slowly, maintaining a tension between his noble aspirations and his corrupt methods. The film, however, deletes specific scenes that provide details of his underworld dealings, such as the phone calls from Detroit that implicate him in broader fraud schemes.   

DiCaprio’s portrayal emphasizes Gatsby’s "misunderstood naiveté" and his "corrupted dream". While the film shows Gatsby losing his temper during these calls, the agitation is framed as a distraction from his obsession with Daisy rather than a symptom of his criminal life. The visual splendor of the film the "Red Curtain" theatricality often overwhelms the critique of Gatsby’s delusions. The audience is encouraged to "root for Gatsby," hoping the phone call beside the pool is from Daisy, even as the narrative reveals the futility of his quest. This transformation turns Gatsby into a victim of "careless people" and circumstance rather than a man destroyed by the moral compromises inherent in his "deliberately exceptional" persona.   

The Reconstruction of Daisy Buchanan

In Fitzgerald’s novel, Daisy is often characterized as a woman of "careless" and shallow disposition, a product of the "old money" elite who feel no need to fight for status. Luhrmann’s film reconstructs Daisy to make Gatsby’s five-year obsession plausible for a contemporary audience. To achieve this, actress Carey Mulligan researched the life of Ginevra King, Fitzgerald’s real-life inspiration for the character, adding a layer of "translational subjectivity" to the role.   

The film makes strategic cuts to preserve Daisy's appeal, such as omitting scenes that demonstrate her lack of maternal instinct. In the reunion scene at Nick’s house, the film gives Daisy more agency; she is shown "blissfully engaged" and initiates physical contact with Gatsby, suggesting a mutual desire for their illicit affair. However, critics argue that by framing the entire story through Nick’s clinical recovery and Gatsby’s "juvenile dream," the film ultimately strips Daisy of true agency. She is depicted as a "simple-minded woman" whose concerns lack profundity, a representation that adheres to the ideological codes of patriarchy even as it tries to make her a more sympathetic romantic lead.   

Character	Novel Representation	Film Representation	Narrative Shift
Jay Gatsby	Ambiguous criminal/idealist	Tragic romantic hero	Softens corruption
Daisy Buchanan	Shallow and careless	Magnetic/Ginevra King-like	Plausibility of obsession
Tom Buchanan	"Old Money" arrogance	Hyper-masculine "Snidely Whiplash"	Heightens antagonism
Nick Carraway	Detached observer	Traumatized participant	Validates narration

  

Part IV: Visual Style and Socio-Political Context

Luhrmann’s use of 3D technology and the "vortex" camera movement in the party scenes serves as a multimodal critique of wealth, though its effectiveness remains a subject of intense debate.   

The Party Scene: Vortex and 3D Technology

The party sequences in the 2013 adaptation are among the most opulent in film history, described as having a "frenetic beauty" and an "orgasmic pitch". Luhrmann utilizes "vortex" camera movements rapid, swirling shots that deny the viewer a sense of stable ground to illustrate the "intoxicating fantasy" of wealth. The 3D technology functions as an "added extravagance," swooping through cityscapes and crowded ballrooms to create a sense of "controlled vertigo".   

However, there is a contradiction in this technique. While it is intended to critique the hollow "orgiastic" wealth of the 1920s, the visual wonder and "razzle-dazzle" often inadvertently celebrate the consumerism Fitzgerald was satirizing. Some critics argue that the 3D "flattened" the characters and story, turning the Great American Novel into a "pop-up book" where consumption is confirmed as the "glittering route to status and power". Instead of revealing the emptiness beneath the surface, the film’s "Audiovisual Sublime" may simply replicate the seductive allure of the lifestyle it claims to critique.   

Contextualizing the American Dream: 1925 vs. 2013

The 2013 film was released in the wake of the 2008 global financial crisis, a timing that Luhrmann used to justify the story’s relevance. He cited the "moral rubberiness" of Wall Street and the "confusion in national moral dials" as modern parallels to the corruption Fitzgerald observed in the 1920s. In this context, the "Green Light" represents a post-2008 understanding of the American Dream: a receding goal that remains alluring despite the awareness of its impossibility.   

The film’s depiction of the "Valley of Ashes" overlooked by the giant billboard of Dr. T.J. Eckleberg’s eyes symbolizes the "industrial wasteland" created by the "indolent rich". While the 1925 novel focused on the shift from Victorian values toward the Jazz Age, the 2013 film uses these symbols to reflect a contemporary "hyper-reality" where the "image electronically airbrushed" masks a damaged present. The film ultimately emphasizes the "glamour of the pursuit" even as it acknowledges the "soul-crushing" reality of the outcome.   

Part V: Creative Response : The Plaza Hotel Confrontation

As a scriptwriter tasked with adapting the "Plaza Hotel" confrontation scene, the primary challenge lies in negotiating the tension between "fidelity to the book" (character consistency) and "fidelity to the medium" (dramatic tension).

In Fitzgerald’s source material, the scene is defined by an internal, psychological shift. As Tom grills Gatsby about his past, Nick observes Gatsby’s expression changing "as if he had killed a man," but there is no physical contact. This understated revelation is powerful in prose, where the narrator can guide the reader’s perception of the character’s internal collapse. However, in a cinematic adaptation especially one utilizing Luhrmann’s "Red Curtain" style relying solely on an internal shift risks losing the "explosive, climactic action" that the narrative’s "boiling point" heat demands.   

Luhrmann’s film adds a "mini tussle," where Gatsby loses his temper, grabs Tom’s shirt, and raises a fist while his face is "contorted into a fierce rictus of madness". This addition "literalizes" Gatsby’s psychological disintegration, visually communicating to the audience that his passion has crossed the threshold into insanity.   

From the perspective of a scriptwriter, I would choose to keep the addition of Gatsby losing his temper. This decision prioritizes dramatic tension and fidelity to the medium. While it may appear to contradict Gatsby’s "composition" in the book, it is consistent with the film’s established characterization of Gatsby as a man driven by a "deeply obsessed" and "juvenile" dream. The physical explosion provides a necessary payoff for the audience, transforming the abstract "corruption" of his past into a visible, uncontrollable madness that justifies Daisy’s subsequent decision to retreat into the safety of Tom’s world. In a medium that values externalized conflict, this "potent physicality" more effectively conveys the tragic collapse of Gatsby’s self-made persona than a quiet change in expression could achieve.   

Conclusion: The Infinite Modernity of Gatsby

The 2013 adaptation of The Great Gatsby is a definitive example of how "intersemiotic translation" can breathe new life into a canonical text while simultaneously sparking debate about the limits of creative transformation. Baz Luhrmann’s reliance on the "Red Curtain" style and Badiouian fidelity allows the film to resonate with a 21st-century audience, utilizing modern cultural codes like hip-hop and 3D technology to replicate the "cultural rupture" of the 1920s. While the sanitarium frame narrative and the softening of Gatsby's criminal activities may reduce some of the novel's thematic complexity, they provide a coherent narrative structure for a visual medium. Ultimately, the film stands as an autonomous artistic product that captures the "ecstatic liveliness" of the era, illustrating that the American Dream and the tragic pursuit of it remains an infinite and modern concern, regardless of the medium through which it is told.