The Beauty of The Great Gatsby (2013): A Fever Dream Drenched in Gold

By Trinity Barnette

There are films you watch, and then there are films that consume you. The Great Gatsby (2013), directed by Baz Luhrmann, is the latter. It’s not just a movie—it’s a hallucination. A glittering, chaotic, gold-drenched fever dream that leaves you breathless and broken in the best way. The film grabs you by the collar with Jay-Z, champagne towers, and confetti storms, then gently rips your heart out with Lana Del Rey’s voice echoing Gatsby’s quiet longing.

This isn’t just an adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s iconic novel—it’s an aesthetic experience. And beneath all the beauty, there’s heartbreak. There’s desperation. There’s illusion. This version of Gatsby is a mirror, a mood, and a masterpiece.

The Cinematic Aesthetic: Gold, Glitter, and Guilt

Baz Luhrmann knew what he was doing. The 1920s are already a visually iconic era, but he didn’t aim for accuracy—he aimed for feeling. And the feeling is excess. Everything is too much, and that’s what makes it perfect.

The parties are explosive, not just in size but in energy. The camera spins, the lights blur, and suddenly, you’re not watching a party—you’re inside a dream Gatsby built for someone who doesn’t even love him the way he needs her to. Every champagne pop and firework is a plea for attention. Every slow-motion shot is a silent prayer.

Luhrmann blends vintage and modern seamlessly. He gives the ‘20s a facelift with bold colors, dazzling fashion, and larger-than-life visuals, but he doesn’t just do it to be flashy. He’s showing us Gatsby’s world through Gatsby’s eyes—everything big, everything beautiful, everything slightly unreal.

The Soundtrack: Timeless Emotions, Modern Pulse

This soundtrack is unmatched. It doesn’t care about historical accuracy—and that’s exactly why it works. It’s emotional accuracy that matters here. You don’t need a jazz number to understand longing. You need Lana Del Rey. You need Beyoncé. You need Florence Welch.

“Young and Beautiful” practically bleeds through the screen every time Gatsby looks at Daisy. It’s not just a song; it’s a question he’s been asking himself for years: “Will you still love me when I’m no longer young and beautiful?”

That’s Gatsby’s entire soul.

“No Church in the Wild,” “100$ Bill,” and “Bang Bang” infuse scenes with edge and rhythm. The modern sound doesn’t pull you out of the story—it anchors you in the emotional chaos. Gatsby’s world is built on illusion, obsession, and performance. And the music understands that perfectly.

Character Analysis: Tragic, Beautiful, and Broken

Let’s talk about these people—because they are something else.

Jay Gatsby

King was just trying to manifest, okay? Gatsby is delusional, yes, but in the most tragic, beautiful way. He built his entire world around a dream. Not just a woman—but the idea of a woman. Daisy stopped being a person the moment she became a goal. And he chased her like the American Dream itself: obsessively, blindly, and at the cost of everything.

But he’s not pathetic. He’s hopeful. He believed in the green light. And that hope—however naïve—is what makes him unforgettable.

Daisy Buchanan

The original sad girl. Daisy is soft, elegant, and maddening. She tells us straight-up that the best thing a girl can be is “a beautiful little fool.” And she plays the role well. But here’s the thing—Daisy isn’t just careless, she’s trapped. She survives through beauty, through wealth, through pretending she’s happy.

She’s not a villain—she’s a woman performing for survival in a man’s world.

Nick Carraway

Nick is the outsider, the observer. He’s disgusted by what he sees but also drawn to it. He tells us he’s “within and without,” and that’s exactly how we experience the film—through his cautious, complicated lens. He’s judgmental, yet passive. And in the end, he runs. Because being close to that much beauty, deception, and destruction will rot you from the inside.

Tom Buchanan

The worst kind of rich man: entitled, violent, racist, and so sure the world belongs to him. He never had to chase a dream because he was the dream—born into wealth, power, and security. And he treats people like objects. Gatsby could never win because Tom never had to play fair.

Jordan Baker

The original “cool girl.” Jordan is stylish, aloof, and emotionally unavailable. She’s not as emotionally deep as the others, but she represents a kind of early feminism. She plays golf. She cheats. She doesn’t apologize. And yet, she’s still secondary to the drama unfolding. Jordan is there to show us what it looks like to be free—but emotionally detached.

Dreams, Delusions, and the Death of Hope

At its core, The Great Gatsby is about the lies we tell ourselves. About how far we’ll go for the dream—and how often the dream doesn’t want us back. Gatsby’s dream was never real. Daisy was never going to leave Tom. But the tragedy isn’t that he died. The tragedy is that he still believed.

And we get it. We’ve all wanted something so badly we tried to bend the universe to make it happen. Gatsby just had the money and desperation to do it on a bigger scale.

Luhrmann’s film doesn’t just show us this—it makes us feel it. We are seduced by the glitter and then gutted by the truth. Because no matter how loud the party, the hangover always hits.

Final Thoughts: A Fever Dream Worth Having

The Great Gatsby (2013) is more than pretty. It’s painful. It’s extravagant. It’s intoxicating. It’s a film that understands how beauty and sadness often live in the same house—and how dreams can be both sacred and deadly.

Gatsby believed in the green light. And even though it killed him, part of us believes too. Because we all want to be seen. We all want our dreams to mean something.

And sometimes, we all just want to live in a fever dream, drenched in gold.