How do you explain to someone the longing you felt looking at hazy islands drawn on a horizon smudged by the receding light of the sun from a ferry boat? How do you tell them of the freedom you feel walking home with a friend at 4 in the morning with your head up, marveling at the white birds circling a brightly lit building? Nothing you say can make them understand the euphoria of joining a protest in a foreign city, along with hundreds of roaring civilians, all the while knowing it has nothing to do with you. Heck! You don't even know what they are chanting. How do you tell someone of the inexplicable peace you felt 2..300ft up in the air, attached to a parachute, looking down at the sea, feeling bigger than the world? The answer is, you can't because they weren't there with you. So I don't even try. But I hope I'm more articulate at writing about the books that I took along with me than I am at talking about my experiences.
|Up in the air!|
Somewhere, Fitzgerald sitting among teary-eyed authors with unfaithful adaptions is looking down at us with a glass of champagne and a smug smile because Baz Luhrmann did complete justice to his work. I imagine he looks like this-
Do I want to watch the movie a 4th time? Will I sever all relations with you if you speak ill of the movie? Will I throw a brick at the critics who gave the movie a bad review if I ever see them? The answer to all those questions is a big YES :)
To Mr. Luhrmann, I have only one thing to say (and here I assume Nick Carraway's awe struck voice): "They're a rotten crowd. You're worth the whole damn bunch put together."