text: A typical old b&w film. The dialogues are sometimes good, but too often - especially in the second half - they get naive, sometimes awfully naive, occasionally close to the point where they are unintentionally comical. The first third, with its background information on Ladd's Gatsby shown with a series of interesting flashbacks, is the best part of the movie. But once Gatsby moves into his new villa and makes his moves on Betty Field, the film gets overly melodramatic. The ending is yet another cop-out ending; I don't know whether the novel itself contains this dumb, clichéd ending or whether the movie's producer made some changes to it, but I've always considered car-accidents to be a poor way to add drama to the conclusion of a story. I've seen this plot-device a million times (or if it's not a car, then it's a fall from a horse); the writer doesn't know how to end the story but he knows that he wants it to be dramatic, so he adds in a car-accident. Lame. And to make things worse, the accident is outrageously coincidental and preposterous, both plot-wise and time-wise; plot-wise because Field's husband's mistress (Winters) gets killed by Field, and the fact that Winters sort of rushes out from the gas-station into the street as though she'd never noticed in the years that she had lived in it that there was a dangerous road right across her house - and, of course, at the very moment that she comes out she sees Ladd's car and mistakes it for Field's husband's car and then shouts "Over here! I'm here! Run me over and make the ending tragic that way!"; time-wise because Ladd and Field get involved in an accident at the very day when they are preparing to tell Field's husband about their affair. Basically, there is just too much forced and artificial irony in this accident. It also doesn't exactly help this movie how Winters's husband, Da Silva, goes on a revenge mission to kill the guy who ran over his wife; he basically does this by walking around like a zombie, going from car to car looking for scratches, and acting very badly indeed. Both Da Silva's acting and his character's behaviour throughout the film are awful and confusing, respectively.<br /><br />Scott Fitzgerald was upset on a couple of occasions how his novels were adapted for the screen by Hollywood's screenwriters, and - although he was dead long before this movie was done - he might have been right to complain, judging by this film's naive script. Or, maybe his novels are even sillier and more naive than this film, and were actually improved upon by the screen adaptations. Or, the films are pretty much like the novels. I could, of course, read this particular novel to find out, but I just can't be bothered. Fitzgerald's name doesn't exactly inspire me to read any of his books (and I don't mean the way his name sounds.) He was certainly no Heller, Clavell, or Twain. More like Hemingway  a lot of noise about nothing.