Directed by Marc Bruni (“Beautiful: The Carole King Musical”), and with a book by Kait Kerrigan (“The Mad Ones”), who proves herself here to be a distinctly better director than writer, “The Great Gatsby” is a misguided attempt to recast Fitzgerald’s complex exploration of the American dream and social structure into a lighthearted love story. The result is a muddled production that feels inconsistent and disjointed, straying too far from Fitzgerald’s original vision.

One of the most striking and perplexing choices in this adaptation is the colorblind casting. While diversity is crucial in modern theater, the decision to cast without regard to race in this particular production undermines the critical social commentary inherent in Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby.” The novel is a sharp critique of the WASP elite, embodied by characters like Tom and Daisy Buchanan, who use their privilege to ruin the lives of others without facing any consequences. The original text underscores the systemic racism and classism that allows these characters to live freely while others suffer. The colorblind casting makes it harder to see this critical dynamic at play, rendering much of the social critique of privilege meaningless. In this Gatsby, the green light is just that: a green light on Daisy’s dock.

While Gatsby and Daisy take the spotlight, Nick Carraway (Noah J. Ricketts) is notably “straightwashed.” In the book, Nick’s relationships with men—particularly his ambiguous attraction to Gatsby and his intimate encounters with other characters, like Mr. McKee—hint at his potential queerness. However, in the musical, Nick is portrayed as an overtly heterosexual, prudish figure who disapproves of the romantic entanglements around him, including those of Daisy and Gatsby. And Mr. McKee, the photographer whom he meets at the Harlem party, exchanges several innuendos and ends up in bed with in the novel, is portrayed as a caricature-like predatory figure. This alteration strips Nick of his sexual fluidity and moral complexity, reducing him to a simplistic, heterosexual moralizer that flattens his role as an unreliable narrator.

Similarly, Myrtle Wilson (Sara Chase) is treated as little more than a caricature until the end of her story. Here, Myrtle is reduced to a one-dimensional “bimbo” stereotype. While Daisy and Jordan (Samantha Pauly, a powerhouse vocalist, who manages to render even the most baffling scenes enjoyable) are given more room to explore the complexity of womanhood and granted some forgiveness for their decisions—albeit not very successfully, as the only real conclusion Jordan comes to about feminism is that it means it’s acceptable for women to have affairs too—Myrtle is not afforded the same grace. This shallow treatment is most evident in the costume design, where Tony-winning designer Linda Cho dresses Myrtle in unflattering, anachronistic outfits that more closely resemble the 2000s than the 1920s.

Despite these numerous issues, the show does manage to shine in certain areas. Dominique Kelley’s choreography, particularly the energetic tap number in a party sequence, is a bright spot, as is the set design by Kennedy Center resident designer Paul Tate dePoo III, which is adequately lavish and illustrates life in the lap of luxury with all its glitter and gold.

The greatest flaw of the production is its tonal inconsistency. Kerrigan’s adaptation appears to be in a constant tug-of-war between romantic comedy and dramatic tragedy, and the result is jarring. The musical attempts to shift the narrative into a romantic and comedic direction, but the moments of levity often feel forced and out of place; the balance between comedy and the novel’s darkness, which should seethe and simmer under the Long Island waves before rearing its head, is never quite struck. The last 30 minutes, during which the show abruptly shifts from lighthearted moments to a somber, violent climax, came abruptly, almost as if they were pasted in from another story entirely, or like Kerrigan had torn up the novel and attempted to suffocate the book with its own words.

The show’s attempt to balance romance, comedy, drama and social commentary falls flat, and much of the novel’s critical insights are watered down or entirely lost. For audiences seeking a soppy, romantic tale, look no further. But for those who want anything else, you won’t find it here. The waters in this East Egg bay are dismayingly shallow.

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