Review

Review Date: 2-January-05
Spoiler Rating: Low
Juju Judgment: Juicy

The Aviator (2004)

Martin Scorsese and I have never been on the same wavelength. His fascination with mugs, thugs, and goodfellas alienates me; where he sees sagas of hunger and hubris, I see gratuitous tributes to tedious men. But interestingly enough, as soon as he redirects his lens from the underworld to the skies I can appreciate the nature and subtlety of his craft. Scorsese's latest picture, "The Aviator," is yet another examination of a maladjusted and destructive sort of man, but it possesses a glossy, historiographical glamour that gives it the semblance of something more.

It's a trick, in a way, since Howard Hughes' distinction rests on the ready-made allure of a rich man in a memorable time. A wealthy entrepreneur during the Great Depression and World War II naturally attracts attention, but Scorsese earmarks Hughes as a symbol of the fragility of power and the mistaken belief that money shields its master from pain. As embodied by Leonardo DiCaprio, Scorsese's hero is an intelligent but unlettered man-child who is given the world on a silver platter and decides to claim the heavens as well. Combining a love of flying with an itch to be in pictures, Hughes begins his career by spending an unheard-of four million dollars to make the war epic "Hell's Angels" (1930). He then proceeds to take over an airline and design planes for personal glory and the glory of the Allies while producing movies like "The Outlaw," starring Jane Russell's notorious cleavage.

Scorsese channels his own love of cinema into his subject's passions, lending a genuine exhilaration to Hughes' feats of artistry, aviation, and amorousness. The era of industry appears as dazzling (and devious) as Tinseltown's golden age; engineering has never looked so sexy nor Hollywood so decadently ripe. It's art and history, real life and romance in a coffee-table book brought to life, complete with a big band soundtrack. Fortunately, where the atmospheric hocus-pocus leaves off, the actors' depth begins. DiCaprio emits the life force of the titan who dares anything even as he fears his potency might be snatched away. (This is the guy, remember, who later holed up in penthouses like a trust fund Boo Radley.) Eager and anguished, DiCaprio is upstaged only by the brilliant Cate Blanchett as Katharine Hepburn (Hughes' one-time fiancée), a performance of such exquisite ballsiness that it becomes the centerpiece of the film.

"The Aviator" drags towards the end as it pits the faltering hero against Owen Brewster (Alan Alda), a slimy senator from Maine who investigated Hughes on charges of fraud in the '40s. Hughes' strange triumph over Brewster and short flight in the widely ridiculed, mammoth airplane the "Spruce Goose" represent his last hurrah. As in all biographies, the movie can only leave its subject to his fate, which, in this case, seems to be the product of chance. While Scorsese seeks a lesson in Hughes' reaching for the stars and grasping only air, the facts of the case suggest the inevitable outcome of a young man who received both a fortune and mental illness with the same unquestioning acceptance. Still, the glitter sticks if the moral does not. "The Aviator" doesn't reach new heights, but it offers a pretty good ride.

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