My pre-war version of The Great Gatsby (with Robert Redford) did not quite struck a cord in hi-school. However, watching The Great Gatsby post-war (with Leo De Cap - a few weeks ago) left something brewing inside me.
Hold your horses, novel fans. I am, first and foremost, a movie fan. So I am writing this solely from both of the movies, however, I am beginning to catch up with the (surely far superior version) book.
The RR movie version left me with little impression- fancy parties, a car accident, and oh-so-handsome Robert Redford. I remember the end of the movie, but never quite understood how, to put it in simple term, it was such a big deal. THEN, more than ten years later, I knew what was missing. The War.
For Gatsby, the war took him away from Daisy, the love of his life. But it was also the war that gave him the opportunity to re-invent himself. I admire Gatsby for his devotion, his determination, his obsession. Post-war Gatsby finally succeeds in building himself from nothing to the billionaire with the fancy house. He did everything in his power to make his deepest desire come true. How could you not love Gatsby? Well, ask Daisy and she would tell you. That you stop caring so much about love when it no longer fits your lifestyle. She would tell you that comparing to life with guilt, an inconvenient life, is far worst than life without the one you love.
How could you blame Daisy though? She's a rich girl from a rich family. She never had to take any kind of responsibility a day in her life! To her, Gatsby is an admirer. His complete adoration for her is the only thing that sets him apart from her womanizing husband. Of course, she wants to be with Gatsby. Not because she's been waiting for him and her dreams finally come true. But because he does EVERYTHING for her. He lies, he cheats, he deals drugs. It doesn't matter how he makes it happen as long as it is all for HER.
And what does Gatsby want in return? Just for Daisy to say that she never loves anyone but him. Naive? Yes. Unrealistic? Heck yeah. The thing is pre-war Gatsby finds love. Post-war Gatsby finds faith. And he never lets go.
Until his last breath, Gatsby holds on to the idea that he is loved. Now that's something you don't see everyday. My cynical post-war self wishes very much that I can find that kind of unshakeable place in me that believes in love. And that love would conquer all.
I envy Gatsby for his ability to hope, blindly. But Daisy... she just LIVES blindly. Those are two very different things.
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