The revealing thing about Sarah Brigham’s production of the F Scott Fitzgerald classic is the way it keeps erupting into dance. Any time things threaten to get serious in this new adaptation by Elizabeth Newman, the band strikes up, the silvery frocks come out and the stage is alive with the charleston and foxtrot.
The young dandies and flappers do not know the identity of Jay Gatsby, their wealthy host – in their snobby way, they suspect him of being an arriviste, perhaps a bootlegger, certainly not old money – but they are helpless in the face of so much glamour, celebrity and hedonism. No scene goes by without another sultry jazz standard played by a band disguised in glasses and gaberdines and perched high on Jen McGinley’s art deco set, with its twin staircases and marbled floor.
