The Great Gatsby

Synopsis: Nick Carraway, a young Midwesterner now living on Long Island, finds himself fascinated by the mysterious past and lavish lifestyle of his neighbor, the nouveau riche Jay Gatsby. He is drawn into Gatsby's circle, becoming a witness to obsession and tragedy.
Genre: Drama, Romance
Director(s): Jack Clayton
Production: Paramount Pictures
  Won 2 Oscars. Another 5 wins & 3 nominations.
Rotten Tomatoes:
144 min

In my younger

and more vulnerable years,

my father gave me some advice

that I've been considering ever since.

"When you feel like criticising anyone,"

he told me,

"remember that all the people in this

world haven't had your advantages."

In consequence, I'm inclined

to reserve all my judgements.

It was by chance that I decided

to spend the summer

on that slender, riotous island

that juts out into the Long Island Sound,

I lived at West Egg on the, well, less

fashionable side of the courtesy bay.

My cousin, Daisy Buchanan,

lived in one of East Egg's

glittering white palaces,

with her husband Tom,

whom I'd known in college-

They had spent the years since

their marriage drifting unrestfully,

wherever people played polo

and were rich together.

Nick Carraway!

Nick, it's about time.

I'm not sure how to operate that thing.

If you'd said, we'd have sent the

motor cruiser for you.

How are you?

- Is this all yours?

- Some of it belongs to Daisy.

- Where's your place?

- Across the bay.

Just a little cottage

I got for $80 a month.

$80 a month!

Our beer bills at New Haven

were more than that.

You forget,

I am now just a struggling bond

salesman on Wall Street.


- Is it really you?

- It is.

My dear lost love!

I'm paralysed with happiness!

Jordan, this is my second cousin

once removed, Nick Carraway.

Does that mean we kiss when we greet?

I hope it means we do.

Tom says you've come from Chicago.

Tell me everything.

- Do they miss me?

- The whole town is desolate.

How gorgeous!

All the cars have their left rear wheel

painted black in mourning,

and there's a persistent wail all night.

Let's go back tomorrow, Tom.

I love a persistent wail.

Well, I love a drink.

Come on, let's all have a drink.

I've been lying on that sofa

for as long as I can remember.

You live in West Egg.

I know somebody there.

- I don't know anyone.

- You must know Gatsby.

- He's my neighbour.

- Gatsby? What Gatsby?

Come on, Daisy.

Why candles?

In two weeks,

it'll be the longest day in the year.

Do you watch for the longest day

in the year and then miss it? I do.

- We ought to plan something.

- All right. What'll we plan?

What do people plan?

Look at that...

My little finger, it's all black and blue.

You did that, Tom.

You didn't mean to, but that's what I get

for marrying a brute of a man.

- A great big hulking brute of a man.

- I hate that word "hulking".

Even in kidding.

- Hulking.

- Please, let's not start one of those.

Nick, have you read The Rise

of the Coloured Empires by Goddard?

- Why, no.

- Fine book. Everyone should read it.

See, the point is

that if we don't watch out,

the white race will be

utterly submerged... No, that's so!

We, the dominant race, must watch out,

or these other races will take control.

- We've got to beat them down.

- Daisy, it's all been scientifically proved.

You see, we're Nordics.

You are, and I am, and...

Excuse me, sir.

Thank you.

Excuse me.

Any Way...

We're responsible for everything

that made civilisation.

Art, science, and all that.

I love to see you at my table, Nick.

You remind me of a...

A rose, an absolute rose. Doesn't he?

You're Jordan Baker,

the golf champion...

Don't talk. I want to hear what happens.

- Is something happening?

- You don't know?

- I thought everyone knew.

- I don't.

Tom's got a woman in New York.

She might have the decency

not to phone him at dinner time.

Couldn't be helped.

There's a bird on the lawn.

I think it's a nightingale, come over

on the Cunard or the White Star Line.

He's singing away.

It's romantic, isn't it, Tom?

Yes, it is romantic.

It had been a golden afternoon.

I had the familiar conviction that life

was beginning again with the summer.

By the autumn, my mood

would be very different.

- Goodnight!

- Come back soon!

I would want no more privileged

glimpses into the human heart.

Only my neighbour, Gatsby,

would be exempt from my reaction.

Gatsby, who represented everything

for which I have an unaffected scorn.

For Gatsby turned out all right

in the end.

It was what preyed on him,

what foul dust floated

in the wake of his dreams.

At least once a fortnight,

a corps of caterers came

with several hundred feet of canvas

and enough coloured lights to make

a Christmas tree of Gatsby's gardens.

There was music from my neighbour's

house through those summer nights.

In his enchanted gardens, men and girls

came and went like moths,

among the whispering

and the champagne and the stars.

I believe few people were actually

invited to these parties, they just went.

They got into automobiles

which bore them to Long Island,

and somehow

they ended up at Gatsby's door,

come for the party with a simplicity of

heart that was its own admission ticket.

After that, they conducted themselves

according to the rules of behaviour

associated with an amusement park.

About half way between

the two Eggs and New York,

the motor road hastily joins the rail road

and runs beside it a short distance,

presided over by the eyes

of Doctor T J Eckleburg,

set there by some wild wag of an oculist

to fatten his practice in Queens.

This desolate area is a valley of ashes,

a fantastic farm

where ashes grow like wheat.

Come on in. I want you to meet my girl.



Wilson, old man...

- How's business?

- Can't complain.

- When will you sell me that car?

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Francis Ford Coppola

Francis Ford Coppola is an American film director, producer and screenwriter. He was part of the New Hollywood wave of filmmaking. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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