I am a great fan of Toby Stephens, who consistently turns in splendid performances (even making the dour Mr. Rochester terribly appealing), but I believe that the actor has been miscast in the role of Jay Gatsby. I don't think that Stephens fits into the shoes of Gatsby as F. Scott Fitzgerald has conceived him--larger than life; a man of mystery, who, in the party scene, remains anonymous in the crowd of what Shakespeare would have called "gilded butterflies" and what Fitzgerald himself seems to portray as moths blustering too close to a guttering candle flame. The dreamlike quality of the novel (which, as I recall was evident in the David Merrick/Jack Clayton/Francis Ford Coppola version), is almost totally missing from this latest production.
Where Fitzgerald suggests, the director of this film states outright. in the novel, for example, Nick's memories of his first encounter with Daisy and Jordan--on a seemingly floating divan--are suffused with light drifting through insubstantial billows of white curtains. In the movie, however, Nick simply walks into the living room of an elegant house in which a couple of beautiful girls are lolling on a white couch. In the novel, Nick's first memory of Gatsby is of a lonely stranger, standing at the edge of the water, gazing across the sound at the distant winking green light on Daisy's pier. In the movie, however, the concept has been reversed, in a closeup of a wistful Daisy standing next to the green light on her own pier looking across the sound in the direction of Gatsby's mansion. The reversal of perspective completely misses Fitzgerald's point that Daisy is Gatsby's dream, not the other way around.
These are not the only differences. In the novel, for instance, through Nick's eyes, we witness a deterioration of the mansion, as Gatsby's created world of false elegance gradually disintegrates. As autumn approaches, the proper servants have been replaced by sinister subordinates with underworld connections. In the movie, however, there is no hint of the ugliness beneath the luxurious façade that Fitzgerald seems to suggest with the change of servants.
The disconnect between the novel and the movie is particularly noticeable in the party sequence: in Fitzgerald's narrative, Gatsby's extravagant fete has an impressionistic quality as partygoers and snatches of conversation flit in and out of Nick's consciousness; in the movie, however, the raucous party-girls and their outrageous antics are thrust not only in Nick's face but also in that of the viewer. Moreover, because of the literal orientation of the director, Gatsby's extravagant festivities have a similar impact to Tom and Myrtle's tawdry party. Furthermore, Fitzgerald's subtle use of Gatsby's name and his delayed introduction of the title character, which whets the reader's interest, is mishandled in the movie with clumsy flashbacks of various characters repeating the name, "Gatsby" . . . "Gatsby" . . . "Gatsby!"
While one might praise the scriptwriter's use of Fitzgerald's prose in a voiceover, the writers have taken inexcusable liberties with it. For instance, they have put words into the mouth of "Owl eyes," an inebriated guest who marvels that Gatsby has real books in his library, to the effect of "Oh yes, I look just like Dr. T.J. Eckleberg on the sign in the Valley of Ashes; everybody says so!" Although Fitzgerald may have used "Owl Eyes" as part of his recurrent imagery of viewing (including the disembodied billboard eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleberg), he never expresses the idea explicitly. Fitzgerald leaves it to the reader to make the analogy between Eckleberg's eyes staring down at the Valley of Ashes and "Owl Eyes" scrutinizing Gatsby's coffin--"Owl Eyes" being the only other mourner besides Nick and Gatsby's long-forgotten father at the funeral.
But back to Toby Stephens. He has charm to die for but somehow--and I believe that the fault can be laid at the door of the director--in this role he lacks that air of elusiveness that causes everyone in the novel to speculate about Gatsby's origins; Stephens is certainly likable as Gatsby, but he somehow seems too literal in his portrayal of Gatsby, a man who has invented himself so expertly that he keeps everyone guessing as to whether he has been a German spy; an Oxford scholar; a war hero, or a con man. In Stephens' otherwise excellent portrayal, unfortunately, no guesswork is necessary.