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Director - Martin Scorsese
Writer -
John
Logan
Director
of photography - Robert Richardson
Editor -
Thelma Schoonmaker
Music - Howard Shore
Pproduction designer
- Dante Ferretti
Producers -
Michael Mann, Sandy Climan, Graham King and Charles Evans,
Jr.
Miramax Films. 169
minutes. Rated PG-13.
STARRING: Leonardo DiCaprio (Howard Hughes),
Cate Blanchett (Katharine Hepburn), Kate Beckinsale (Ava Gardner), John
C. Reilly (Noah Dietrich), Alec Baldwin (Juan Trippe), Alan Alda
(Senator Owen Brewster), Jude Law (Errol Flynn), Matt Ross (Glenn
Odekirk), Adam Scott (Johnny Meyer), Gwen Stefani (Jean Harlow), Ian
Holm (Professor Fitz), Danny Huston (Jack Frye) and Kelli Garner (Faith
Domerque).
Why did Howard Hughes lose his mind?
Perhaps it was caused by the long hours that he
spent editing his own movies in that darkened,
private screening room. Hughes sat watching the reels of
his multi-million dollar movie Hell’s Angels over and over
and over again, ruthlessly seeking out what did and didn’t work.
He wanted to achieve perfection, and fix all broken things. Perhaps this
was a sort of compensation, a way of making up for those things he could
not repair or improve about himself.
And
finally, like a projector that gets stuck in a repeating loop, something
busted in his brain.
He found himself repeating a phrase during a
conversation--repeating it ceaselessly, compulsively, unable to stop.
In most movies about crackpots, the person going mad doesn’t seem to
realize what's happening to him. What turns Martin Scorsese’s film The Aviator
from a comedy into a horror film is that Hughes seems fully aware
of his freight-train
life derailing and plunging into an abyss. In moments where he
falls into the repeating loop, he clamps his hand over his mouth to stop
the madness, all but bashing his
own brains out to get that needle unstuck
from its groove, unable to scream because he’s too busy talking
nonsense.
If only his speech defect were the biggest
problem. The Aviator portrays a man who skyrockets to fame and
fortune while demonstrating poor judgment on every front... and on the
sides as well. Scorsese seems to admire some of this misbehavior as much
as he is terrified by other aspects, and thus his film ends up
glorifying a self-indulgent braggart, a womanizer, a reckless spender,
an egomaniacal fool.
Does that mean The Aviator is a waste of
time? Oh no. The film's strengths are impressive indeed, enough to
deserve the film a place on any critic's Ten Best of 2004 list.
But it must also be noted that Scorsese, clearly
dazzled by Hughes' sensational success, seems insufficiently concerned
with anything, or anyone, beyond Hughes and his reckless dreams.
Leonardo DiCaprio, in the first role worthy of his sensational talent
since he appeared as a kid in What’s Eating
Gilbert Grape?, brings Hughes to vivid life. It’s a
pedal-to-the-metal performance, in which DiCaprio's
teen-boy voice works to his advantage, accentuating
Hughes’ boyish impulses and his inability to grasp the complexities of the
grownup world. We buy Hughes' intensity, his jumps (no,
leaps) to
conclusions, and finally his plunge into insanity.
During those terrifying sequences when his train of thought derails,
DiCaprio looks like he’s going to sweat blood. He
seems to have used his millions and his genius to send a
special-ops squad into his head armed with power tools to try and repair
broken connections. The
portrayal of this disintegration should silence DiCaprio's
critics. The great actor is still there; he’s just been waiting for a
character who isn’t a bland romantic hero (Titanic, Gangs of New York).
DiCaprio's not the only one making a comeback. It
appears that Scorsese the Great Director is still alive and
well, too. He’s suddenly within reach of his first Oscar, and he
deserves it far more for this than for his ambitious-but-flawed Gangs
of New York. This is the best-looking picture
he's ever made, and the editing that merges differing chapters,
cushioned with bits of newsreel reports, keeps us informed and engaged
without ever devolving into mere exposition. The special effects, which
bring to life aerial combat scenes from the production of Hughes'
blockbuster film Hell's Angels and the test flights of innovative
airplanes, are a hit-and-miss affair; some of them are awe-inspiring,
others seem artificial. But the whole production employs artifice
without apology, so that it's easy to forgive a few unconvincing
flourishes of digital animation.
It's also worth noting that this is the closest
thing to a comedy Scorsese has directed since After Hours. You'll
laugh, you'll fly. If you watch the viewers sitting in front of you in the
theatre, you'll see their hair blown back by the exhilarating (if
slightly artificial) stunt-flying scenes, some of which are taken
straight from Hughes' own work. Scenes of rapid-fire dialogue are just
as much fun, the cast pushing their characters to the edge of
caricature, giving a cartoonish energy to the high-speed storytelling.
It's hard to imagine framing this story as anything but a comedy,
since Hughes dared to climb so many staggering peaks, fell into so many
pits, and dragged himself back to climb again.
John Logan, who wrote Gladiator, has far
surpassed his previous achievements with a script drawn tight as wire,
and barbed as well with sharp wit and touches of poetry. It begins in
the 1920's with Hughes' work on
Hell's Angels, which seems insane even by today's blockbuster
standards. Hughes funds the silent picture himself, driving his
colleagues to exhaustion, running far over-budget, and finally
completing this controversial project, only to realize that he wants to
remake the picture as "a talkie," which he suddenly realizes is the future
of film
"The future." Hughes is obsessed with it, as if
he's planted one foot in a time two decades forward and, finding this
stretch uncomfortable, is desperately trying to drag himself and his
present day reality along with him into a new era. Having conquered
Hollywood in his mid-20s, he moved on to the world of aviation,
purchasing TWA, designing sleek new airplanes with such enthusiasm that
it was hard to ignore the rather Freudian implications of such
interests. (Hughes was also preoccupied with the female form--primarily
their bosoms--and actually confronted the MPAA after they demanded that
he edit gratuitous cleavage from his film The Outlaw.)
And speaking of women, Hughes welcomed the
opportunities his fame and fortune brought him. Like most rich, powerful
visionaries, he didn't give a second thought to what any Higher Power
might think of him; he was happy to bed a long line of glamorous ladies
(the film only mentions a few) who pursued him or gave in to his charm.
Of the famous ladies he "courted," Jean Harlow
(Gwen Stefani, in a fleeting, one-line appearance) and Ava Gardner (Kate
Beckinsale, "all dolled up") made headlines. But the one who played the
biggest part in his glamorous life was Katharine Hepburn. The film
portrays Hepburn as one who truly, deeply loved him, even as the cracks
began to spread through his sanity.
But none of them would be able to compete with
Hughes' one true love--aviation. And the film delights us with Hughes'
brave test-flights of new airplanes ... until one of them comes to a
famously misguided landing in the middle of Beverly Hills, altering
Hughes' life forever. (This particular sequence, edited brilliantly by
Thelma Schoonmaker, will have viewers reaching for their seatbelts and
the ushers reaching for the fire extinguishers.)
In the later chapters, as a mid-40s Hughes
disintegrates into mental illness, viewers will become more and more
impressed with DiCaprio's work. We admire the Hughes he creates; we care
about him; we're horrified by him; and we're infuriated with him. This
was a man of fantastic dreams and motivating energy, and yet he was also
self-absorbed, selfish, and heartless in his relationships with others.
The Aviator's primary flaw is that it becomes too enamored of
Hughes without properly acknowledging the damage he did to the
lives of others along the way, the opportunities he overlooked to employ
his wealth and talent in more humanitarian ways.
This is a dilemma that will fuel conversations
after the film is over. But it is our responsibility to acknowledge when
something is done with excellence, and while the script does not raise
enough questions about Hughes' reckless, egomaniacal actions, the rest
of the filmmakers involved do excellent work.
Inspired by the energy and drama, the actors revel
in their opportunities, and some of them turn in work that stands
alongside the best of their careers.
I've already praised DiCaprio for finally
delivering on the promise he showed in his earliest work. But in spite
of his fantastic effort, the movie is stolen out from under him. Cate Blanchett gives such gusto to her turn as
Katherine Hepburn that when she walks off the screen, the characters
left behind look likely to depart as well, following her in awe. She may
not look like Hepburn, but the body language and the verbal
bravado are the same. No
performance by a supporting actress this year--except perhaps Maia
Morgenstern as the unforgettable Mary of The Passion--will burn
as brightly in retrospect.
Alan Alda plays Senator Owen Brewster,
Hughes' governmental nemesis, who tries to bring down
the Hughes legacy on charges of war profiteering. Alec Baldwin gives
menace and a wicked wit to the head of Pan Am, Juan Trippe. As Hughes'
chief advisor and financial tutor, Noah Dietrich, John C. Reilly
delivers a generous, humble, but solid performance, refusing to
over-play the characters astonishment at Hughes' reckless spending. He
also delivers what is probably the biggest laugh-out-loud punch-line of
the film.
Oscar nominations should also go to Robert
Richardson's vivid, imaginative cinematography, which equals his
excellent effort in Kill Bill, Vol. 2. Dante Ferretti's
production design is awe-inspiring; we feel transported through time,
from the decadence of the Coconut Grove nightclub to a vast beet field
where Hughes has to set down one of his experimental planes. The
costumes by Sandy Powell are meticulously designed. And Howard Shore,
the composer of The Lord of the Rings' Oscar-winning soundtracks,
delivers something entirely different and equally effective.
Scorsese has much to be proud of with this film.
But as a storyteller, working with Logan's screenplay, he's stuck in
some of the shallowest waters of his career. He's a seeker, one
fascinated by men of power who change the world, men who often defy
religion and the law in order to communicate their vision to a
bewildered world. From Charlie Cappa (Mean Streets), to Raging
Bull’s Jake LaMotta, to Henry Hill (Goodfellas), to Christ
himself (or, at least, Nikos Kazantzakis' fictionalized, flawed savior
in The Last Temptation of Christ), he wants to know what makes
these larger-than-life personalities tick, what crosses they must carry
as they struggle to reconcile the honorable and dishonorable parts of
their nature. In Hughes, there's not much to admire in the way of
virtue. He ran roughshod over anyone who stood in his way. While his
courage was impressive, his methods and his priorities would
unfortunately become a bad example to many who came to admire him. If
you prefer celebrity, power, and riches to integrity, humility, and
generosity, then Hughes is your American dream made manifest.
When it comes to learning how to succeed by
worldly standards, Donald Trump wouldn't even qualify to serve as
Hughes' apprentice. Hughes's achievements should prompt us to wonder what would be possible if billionaires like Donald Trump
had more than just ego and ambition
— if they had dreams about a better
world. Bill Gates, actually, would be a better comparison; his
humanitarian efforts and commitment to helping Africa are more
impressive than any of Howard Hughes’ vainglorious dreams.
But where is the cultural hero with the imagination, the daring, and the
ambition of Hughes, who also demonstrates a sense of ethics, of
integrity, and of selfless love for others? Imagine what an impact such
a person could have on the world. To find someone with that kind
of vision, courage, and humility, you'd have to go back two thousand
years. Or you could watch another 2004 movie ... by a director
named Mel Gibson.
There, you'll see the difference between the
heroes we want to be and the heroes we should desire to
be. The glitz and glamour that Howard Hughes enjoyed is certainly more
appealing than what Jesus Christ endures in The Passion. But only
one of these men sets the example that can save the world ... even if
his story is overlooked, or worse condemned, by critics. How little things
have changed in two thousand years.
Jeffrey's Rating:
A-
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