Andy, upon finishing The Rules of the Game:

I’m torn between 2 reactions.  Damned rich fucks, for one.  But on the other hand, Geez, i’d love an enormous home in the country where i could go party with my friends for a solid week.

Yeah.

I know i’m a relentlessly irritating anti-classist drone, but, yes, i was super irritated at the horribly privileged and wealthy people this film is about.  No, i couldn’t stop thinking about it.  Oh, how charming that La Chesnaye is content with his wife, Christine, running off with Andre, the pilot, because Andre is “one of their set.”

I don’t debate that Rules of the Game is well made and that there’s a lot of symbolism used effectively: the instances of performances during the party, La Chesnaye’s interest in mechanical music devices, the hunting of game where the hunters stand in a line and wait for the animals to be flushed directly toward them by beaters.  And there were also certainly moments of amusement, tho’ i suspect that half the time i was laughing at places that Renoir didn’t necessarily intend for me to laugh.

And that’s because i find the privileged, wealthy class to be hilarious only in how disturbing and disgusting their extreme privilege is.

In conclusion:  Rules of the Game compared with The Great Gatsby.  DISCUSS.