And yet it all comes across as a pale Moulin Rouge imitation, as if that eye-poppingly original director was being reined in, perhaps by the very source material many have called unfilmable. The result is trite, a mess of restless marionettes — characters made wooden and visibly dying to burst into song but never allowed to — peopled by very fine actors forced to ham it up.

The length and pace of the second half make watching the film a tedious experience. Yes, it is stylish and there is colour and shimmer in every frame, but as the end credits roll all that you remember are Jay-Z and Lana Del Rey’s melodic verses. And that doesn’t bode too well for the film’s reputation.

The Great Gatsby is a perfect example of all phantasmagorias and no substance. Quoting Fitzgerald for their rescue in an attempt to save their loose screenplay, the film barely invokes a few heartfelt moments. Eroding the power of a classic, it is only Leonardo DiCaprio who delivers magnanimously.