The Great Gatsby (Broadway) — A Personal Reflection

I came to The Great Gatsby knowing the story as a fan of Robert Redford and Francis Ford Coppola and read the book spellbound right after watching the movie. I didn’t expect surprises in the plot, but I hoped to feel something in the way it was told. What stayed with me most, though, was not what I saw — but what I didn’t.

The production was extravagant. The staging was flawless, the choreography sharp, the technology impressive. Lines from the novel were delivered clearly, even poetically at times. I wondered how Jay Gatsby’s inner desire could be delivered in musical theater — not an easy feat. That, I thought, would be essential introductory knowledge for the audience to understand the full story. The show started with Nick Carraway, who luckily secured affordable housing near Gatsby, whose origins seem a mystery while rumors swirl about his wealth. Nick visits his cousin Daisy and her husband Tom’s house — a modern-day aristocrat with pedigree — and meets Jordan, an independent lady golfer.

The music was jazzy and filled with lyrics. It had been a year since I last heard Eva Noblezada’s voice; her made-up accent to sound like a polished upper-class lady suited her spoken dialogues and her singing voice, which I missed after Hadestown. Tom Buchanan was played by John Zdrojeski, who had a stage presence even when standing still with smug confidence. Jordan Baker was played by Samantha Pauly, whom I liked the most. She sang and acted very well, and above all danced with ease. I could follow her feelings and decisions — very modern — while other characters represented the classes and social norms of the era, often giving me dismay or anger. Jeremy Jordan appeared as Gatsby — a little distant from reality, it seemed — but sang well as he always does. Did I say I found his name on my old playbill of Rock of Ages? I always thought I first saw him in Newsies in 2012.

As the story is about Gatsby’s desire for Daisy — her social status, her pedigree, the unattainables — it was not easy to portray that with songs and dialogue. Musical theater is different from the book, where authors can write the character’s thoughts, or from film, where microexpressions or subtly placed props can resonate. In musicals, it has to be done with lyrics, melodies, vocal nuance, orchestration — and of course, with staging. The music conveyed Daisy’s unhappiness, Nick and Jordan’s romance, Tom’s arrogance, and especially Gatsby’s longing. During intermission, I heard a gentleman ask, “What is the blinking green light?” and a casual answer, “It’s from Daisy’s house.” I suppose he could read the book afterward.

The stage was spectacular — perhaps the most extravagant I’ve seen. Broadway has long impressed theatergoers with productions like The Phantom of the Opera and Moulin Rouge! — but this was visual maximalism at its finest. Two cars appeared on stage: one yellow, Gatsby’s Rolls-Royce, and one blue, Tom Buchanan’s roadster. Gatsby’s yellow Rolls-Royce, while exaggerated in color and almost cartoonish in design, moved fluidly across the stage — even with passengers onboard. Though clearly a stage prop, it surprised me with its functionality — at one point even reversing across the stage, seemingly guided by a stagehand with discreet control. I initially assumed the cars were mounted on tracks or operated on a rail system for safety, especially with the controlled collision involving Myrtle. But at times, the movements felt so fluid and precise that I momentarily believed the vehicles were genuinely drivable. That blend of illusion and realism was impressive, and eerily fitting for a story built on spectacle and deception.

Act II started with Wolfsheim’s number "Shady," and I loved how Eric Anderson’s voice resonated. The party scene was full of flowers, and nothing was left to the imagination — if something was needed at a party, it appeared on the table. The tension built quickly. Daisy was visibly drawn to Gatsby’s wealth, Jordan suddenly proposed to Nick, and Tom took them to the Plaza Hotel. Daisy drove Gatsby’s yellow car back toward Long Island with Gatsby as a passenger. The bridge-crossing scene was the most technically impressive: layered LED strips on either side of the stage displayed the motion of crossing with a real car onstage and lighting to match. That alone felt like a technical milestone.

Daisy struck and killed Myrtle Wilson, pregnant with Tom’s child. Realistic and frightened, she accepted Gatsby’s suggestion to take the blame without hesitation. Jordan chose silence, prompting Nick to break off their engagement. As Gatsby waited for Daisy’s call, George Wilson killed him in vengeance. Daisy, unchanged, returned to her life of status and wealth, untouched.

The American dream? Or the quiet realization that it was never truly attainable? Gatsby died clinging to the belief that Daisy would come. Perhaps that hope brought him peace in the end — but the tragedy is, we know better. After the extravagant show, I felt vacant — just as Fitzgerald may have intended. The spectacle dazzled. The lines from the novel were recited. The cars sparkled and spun. And yet, what lingered was not fulfillment, but stillness. A hollowness that felt achingly familiar.

A Closer Reading (Behind the Gaze)

The Great Gatsby stands as a pinnacle of American literature — a novel woven with subtle contradictions, restrained emotion, and brutal truths wrapped in beauty. Adapting it into another artistic form is a daring act, one that can offer great reward but also risks falling flat. A musical, in particular, must distill the essence of the story — not replicate it — and express it through emotionally resonant lyrics, melodies, and practical, believable staging. If this essence is not clearly understood or faithfully conveyed, the result can feel hollow, despite technical excellence.

The novel is about Gatsby’s lifelong desire to belong to a society he deemed to be achievable, acceptance to a honorable high society believing that it can be done through Daisy. Gatsby is not naïve in a childish way. His belief that Daisy would come to him was not romantic — it was delusional. He thought money would be enough to rewrite time and erase class. But to truly be with Daisy, he would have needed to be born again — into a family like hers. His dream wasn’t just doomed; it was structurally impossible.

Daisy, so often framed as tragic in recent interpretations, is not a sad woman in this musical. She is graceful, contained, and perfectly comfortable in a world that flatters her. Her hands never hold the child, perhaps for fear the child might wrinkle her dress. She doesn’t scream, doesn’t fall apart, and doesn’t reflect. She simply drifts back to her place. Her strength is not courage — it’s detachment. She simply does not know how to live differently.

Tom, for all his arrogance, isn’t a caricatured villain. He’s frightening because he’s ordinary — a man who cheats without consequence, manipulates without guilt, and walks away untouched. He isn’t cruel because he’s exceptional. He’s cruel because he can be. In the social structure of Gatsby’s world, Tom wins without effort.

Jordan, meanwhile, is the only character who feels grounded. Perhaps because she expects nothing to change. She understands the rules, plays within them, and never pretends to be part of Gatsby’s illusion.

And the rest — Myrtle, George, even Nick — revolve around the central pair of Daisy and Tom. None of them rise to challenge that hierarchy. The production seems to acknowledge this imbalance, but doesn’t confront it directly. Instead, it sets these figures on stage and leaves the rest to the audience.

In the end, the show may be beautiful, but its beauty doesn’t console. It decorates. It hints. And for those who watch closely — it quietly admits: the dream was never real. It was never meant to be.