TWA/OCD

THE AVIATOR

Reviewed by Matt Brown
December 30 2004

As a film, The Aviator is just fine. It's a more controlled picture than Gangs of New York, but lacking in that film's operatic sweep; it's not as entertaining as Casino, and if you think it's portentous that I'm only referencing Martin Scorsese's later films, you're right. The Aviator is more "interesting" than "fun," and when it's over, it's doubtful that we'll ever be interested again - we've seen it, we've done it, let's move on.

Marty Scorsese is a guy who likes movies even more than we do, which means that there's a whole other level of reason to go see his flicks. Even if the story and the execution go down in flames, there's always going to be a cinemaniac fetish level at play in everything the man does, which will pull people like me in. Let's face it: from a purely cinephilic perspective, who doesn't want to see Scorsese do a biopic of the guy who made Hell's Angels and Scarface? Who doesn't want to see him recast Kate Hepburn, Eva Gardner, Jean Harlow and Errol Flynn? Who doesn't get at least a little thrilly-chill when, ensconced in hallowed light, Hepburn meets Tracy and accepts his proferred cigarette?

In The Aviator, Scorsese does himself one better and actually fools around with the contemporary film technologies of the period he is capturing. The film's sequences each approximate the look and colour presentation of the prevailing film technique of the era, from 2-strip to 3-strip to glorious Technicolour. Scorsese and director of photography Robert Richardson have lensed a gorgeous film here, almost worth its corpulent running time just to have the chance to stare at it on the big screen.

As a film, then, The Aviator's a hell of a fetish icon. It lovingly recalls Citizen Kane by opening and closing with a sequence of maternal care, a gauzy scene of a naked boy being bathed by mommy and being told the rigours of "quarantine." It's one of those lynchpin bookend events that supposedly unlocks the entire psychodrama within. And psychodrama we have, beyond question. Scorsese has the artistic sense to continuously parallel Hughes' OCD with his aviation exercises throughout the film, in an ongoing 1-2 punch. Hughes' planes soar as high as his manic phases, and then crash as hard as his depressions. This is most striking at the end of the fourth act, when Scorsese follows one of the most vivid and visceral plane crash sequences ever filmed - a scene so physically painful, we actually clutch ourselves as Hughes' broken body fights its way out of the wreck - with an equally vivid sequence of Hughes' breakdown. It's a bit giggly when the scraggly beard and long fingernails make their intensely-awaited appearance, but Scorsese's visual sense is right on the money; he even paints Hughes' naked back with fire and falling airplanes in a short sequence, to underscore the point.

Leonardo DiCaprio holds the center of the picture with reasonable gumption, but I'm beginning to wonder if his boyish features aren't going to be his career undoing until he's at least 60 - it's hard to see DiCaprio's Hughes as anything more than a naughty 22-year-old, even when he's supposed to be well over 40.

DiCaprio at least goes for it, though, making the character his own, in spite of the irritating Yosemite Sam drawl. Many of the rest of the performances are strangled by the fact that they're of such recognizeable movie icons. Jude Law's Erroll Flynn is right on the money, but can anyone - even Cate Blanchett - actually find a character within Katharine Hepburn? Being the genius that she is, Blanchett comes close, but then the epileptic wiggle makes an ill-timed appearance, and the mirage disappears. Kate Beckinsale is actually somewhat more successful with Eva Gardner, if only because she's not even trying to do anything but a Rich Little impression.

I enjoyed The Aviator; the flight scenes are uniformly spectacular, and its treatment of OCD is solid and well-founded. It's too long at 166 minutes, and too safe overall, but is a solid and compelling reminder of why we keep going back to pray at the Scorsese shrine: even if, as pundits suggest, his best days are behind him, he's still going to remind us of why we love movies, every single time.

Afterthought - July 2005
I saw The Aviator for the first time sandwiched between a number of other movies in a rushed, end-of-year film cram; after a disappointing 2004, it was at least partly my hope to discover one more great film before the new year. This is not to say that I necessarily judged the film unfairly on first viewing, but just to note that in the months after its release, I found that The Aviator stuck with me in ways that most of the other films from 2004 didn't. As the hype for such B-level base hits as Sideways and Million Dollar Baby grew and grew and grew, my thoughts kept returning to The Aviator, whose sense of craft, dedication, and sheer sense of enthusiasm for storytelling far outstrips those other, more automatically Oscar-friendly pieces. Having now had the chance to review Aviator again, I find that my esteem for it has grown in leaps and bounds. This is a film which is tremendously rewarding upon repeat viewing, offering levels of detail and insight that might tend to blow past the viewer on their first time through. Scorsese has, in truth, created an enduringly great film here, and my prognosis for this portion of his career is no longer quite so cynical. The old dog's got a few tricks left in him, as we probably should never have doubted.