Baz, Baz, Baz, whatever are we going to do with you? It's safe to say that the latest big screen incarnation of The Great Gatsby has been truly trampled, suffocated and overrun by the Luhrmann touch. Don't get me wrong, I love Baz Luhrmann - I once even wrote an essay practically worshipping his auteur touch - but Baz went and did what Baz does best and turned the subtle and intimate Gatsby novel into a brash, garishly colourful and comical soap opera. It does exactly what I feared most: mesmerises with over-the-top carnivalesque party scenes, forgoing the fragile tragedy that ties it all together. All so wrong, so very wrong. I can't even.