The first time I watch the movie of The Great Gatsby

emily

Recently, I watched the movies "The Great Gatsby" and "Kill Bill." These films have given me a lot to think about. I'd like to start by discussing the similarities and differences between them and how they made me feel.
Whenever I read a book, I tend to first get a general idea of what the book is about. Once I have a sense of the overall content, I then read it more carefully. This approach saves me time but also takes away some of the enjoyment of reading. However, after watching this movie, I found myself wanting to know more about how the original text was written and how the author described that era of excess and indulgence.

Gatsby’s story is a romantic epic built with dollars, yet it’s etched with the footprints of tragedy from the very start. His Long Island mansion hosts one endless party after another—neon flickering, jazz flowing, guests reveling in drunken joy—but no one truly understands him. What he craves is never the noise; it’s waiting for someone to push open that door, waiting for Daisy to see his “success” now. That green light across the bay is his entire spiritual totem. Like a stubborn child, he thinks that by remolding himself into the “upper class,” he can reclaim the time lost five years ago. He fails to see, though, that Daisy is no longer the girl who would risk everything for love—her affection is wrapped in the sugar coating of materialism, too fragile to withstand the slightest gust of reality. When Tom tears off his “new-money” mask, when Daisy chooses to flee in silence after the car accident, Gatsby stands by the pool waiting for a call that will never come. In that moment, the “American Dream” he chases, along with his love, shatters into glittering shards like glass under the sun. The most heartbreaking part isn’t his death, but the emptiness of his funeral—all those who once clinked glasses at his parties are now strangers claiming to be “too busy.” That’s the story’s sharpest truth: when wealth can’t buy sincerity, when obsession can’t hold back time, even the most magnificent fantasy will crumble into a forgotten joke in the face of reality.

Léon’s life, by contrast, is a straight line painted only in black and white. He drinks the same glass of milk every day, tends to a silent pothos plant, and ends lives with pinpoint accuracy—living like an emotionless machine. That line only warms up the moment Mathilda crashes into his world, covered in scars. She pesters him to teach her to shoot, reads him stories before bed, and complains that he “doesn’t know how to live.” He, in turn, fumbles to buy her a doll, shields her behind his back when danger comes, and hesitates for the first time because of “worry.” Their bond has nothing to do with worldly romance; it’s more like the mutual salvation of two lonely souls. Mathilda makes Léon feel “human” again, showing him that life has meaning beyond “work.” Léon, on the other hand, gives Mathilda the sense of security she’s always lacked, helping her learn to trust again, even amid her anger. In the end, as Léon holds a bomb and charges at the villains, his line—“Mathilda, I think I’m in love with you”—is the gentlest confession of his life. He trades his life for her new beginning, and the pothos plant that Mathilda plants in the soil becomes a continuation of their connection. From now on, it has roots—just like Mathilda, who finally finds a harbor to call home.

These two films, one resplendent and one gritty, share a hidden core: both are about lonely people chasing a “light” in their lives. Gatsby chases the past and ideals that Daisy represents; Léon chases the warmth and redemption Mathilda brings. Both pour their all into this “light,” even if it means burning themselves out. Yet their differences are just as striking. Gatsby’s pursuit is an obsession with “looking back”—trapped in memories of the past, he tries to replicate lost love with material things, only to be devoured by reality. Léon’s pursuit is an awakening of “moving forward”—breaking free from a numb existence, he chooses sacrifice to protect a genuine connection. His ending is tragic, but it carries hope. In terms of atmosphere, The Great Gatsby wraps cold reality in gilded, saturated colors; every frame is like a delicate but fragile candy wrapper. Léon: The Professional, however, uses the gray, cold tones of New York’s streets as its backdrop. This harsh urban setting only makes the warmth between Léon and Mathilda more precious—like a sudden beam of light on a freezing winter day.