I have not seen the new movie version, will probably not, as I am a hopeless Classic Hollywood aficionado, but, sadly, F. Scott Fitzgerald's book has never received the true artistic film rendering that it deserves. I have been attracted to the book for years as it somewhat mirrored my own restless and futile quest for happiness through the acquisition of useless luxuries and by experiencing every sort of sensual pleasure. Today: it's Gatsby as porn addict. This pursuit is almost always crystallized into one unattainable form: for Gatsby its his long-lost love Daisy (played very well by Mia Farrow who got the cold, selfish, and distant allure of the character - which reminded me of the Hitchcock ice-beauties of the 1950s;) for me, it was the ultimate sexual expedience that could make me a whole man. Like all illusions of this world, that try to replace the vision of God in front of us, the false-reality built by Gatsby, and those who are hypnotized by Earthly idols, all falls to ruin. I am glad that the story is still appealing...as we are now living in a sick and twisted version of the Roaring-20s; with none of the elegance or intriguing Art-Deco architecture.