The Great Gatsby
Luhrmann and his enormously talented wife/production partner Catherine Martin have clearly spent a great deal of time and effort bringing the Roaring Twenties alive through fashion and set design which is, as expected, appropriately spectacular, but despite his and Isla Fisher's insistence that all the actors took part in an intense workshop so they paid justice to the characters, by the end of the film I hadn't quite understood why anyone had done anything.
There are hints of the themes Fitzgerald explored in his novel but there never seems to be any point in exploring them to give some depth to all the lavish decadence on display. It doesn't help that Carey Mulligan is essentially a clotheshorse desperately trying to give her thin character some dimensions and despite being the narrator and observer of the story, there is no excuse for Tobey Maguire to only show one facial expression. He says he's intrigued by Gatsby and his world but you'd never know to look at him. Oh, and speaking of the narration, was it really necessary to have words flying across the screen? Did Daisy have to appear in the clouds ala Mufasa when Jay spoke of her? Too much, Baz, too much.
There's been a lot of hate thrown at The Great Gatsby and while a part of me enjoyed the insanity of it, it's difficult not to feel like one of Gatsby's party guests: you lived in his world for a bit and enjoyed the fireworks, but once it's over you realise you know just as little about him.