April 25th, 2013

roof me

Watched the trailer for the Baz Luhrmann 3-D Gatsby.

I never did see Moulin Rouge.  Was living in Georgia when it came out.  Had a fight with the gf and she took off, went to see it, I never much cared enough to catch it later myself, voulez-vous-whatev.  That superstylized over-the-top thing, on top of looking like it might prompt a movie-chaos headache, looked kinda creepy to me, like Cabaret meets some glitzy-horror layer from The Inferno.

These italics.  They look so strange.  They look like emphasis.  WTF.

So I guess I expect this horrific (sight/sound) sense to be an overarching air in this Gatsby, especially now that I've watched the trailer.  But I do kinda want to go visit that place for a couple of hours in a local cinema.  Even if I end up hating it, it seems as if it'll be an experience.  Plus there is a horror at the heart of Gatsby.  A horror that I'm relating right now to what I saw when I spotted Tyler's tell--- the tic of giveaway in the pick-up artist video (one of a few I watched in the middle of the night) that he's not really good with his own game.

I just read the first page of Gatsby again, to try to call up the flavor, more than I can by reciting the first good hunk in my head, where it resides verbatim.  Thinking about this bit, though, I am suddenly eager to read the novel again with what I know from recent years of psychological work:

          Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope.  I am still
        a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father
        snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the
        fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.

I consider reading with, among others, this pair of ideas in mind:  Nick Carraway as codependent; codependency as rubbish.

The chance of my making it through Flight Behavior before it's due back at the library has just diminished a bit.