I saw it yesterday. My thoughts, as originally posted on the
MFA .
The Aviator2004, Martin Scorsese, US
There’s something electric about watching a Scorsese film for the first time, especially on the big screen. But when it comes down to it, this was always going to be worth seeing because of the director credit only, and although it lives up to its expectations with surprisingly high satisfaction, it was never going to propel itself to the heights of the director’s previous oeuvre.
For Scorsese’s work, it seems, is getting bigger not better. With
Gangs of New York (2002), his high ambitions almost ruined the project; a visually inspired piece which was helped by a roistering and overpowering performance from Daniel Day-Lewis, but the director tried to cover too many aspects at once: romance, history, war, and never quite succeeded as he did in combining elements in
Mean Streets (1973).
With
The Aviator Scorsese has set his ambitions further, and it indeed shows in the final product. His style has scarcely changed since
Who’s That Knocking At My Door (1968), if at all; but while his first feature was experimental and fresh, so
The Aviator is not so experimental anymore—albeit still fresh, and still some way ahead of the field. With high ambitions for a biopic about a man who was equally set in his ways and almost destroyed by them, here Scorsese tells the tale of Howard Hughes (Leonardo DiCaprio), film producer, director, and ultimately a hygiene freak who happened to, as the promotional posters claim, “Build the future” (while others only dreamt it). The film focuses on his production of flying extravaganza
Hell’s Angels (1933), and his playboy ways with the women—Jean Harlow, Katherine Hepburn and Ava Gardner no less. Not to mention his company war with Pan American Airlines, and his increasingly paranoid obsession with cleanliness and self-quarantined sanitation.
It’s too much for three hours, and three hours is too much for the material which is skimmed over. This should have either focused on one part of Hughes’ life and be kept at a digestible running time, or be blown totally beyond proportion (and Scorsese’s bank account) to give efficient respect and time to the areas it tries so hard to cover. Instead, we’re stuck somewhere inbetween, like we were in
Gangs of New York, with the director trying to cram too much of John Logan’s script in at once. He did it so well with La Motta in
Raging Bull (1980), and Henry Hill in
GoodFellas, and even Sam Rothstein in
Casino (1995), but doesn’t quite pull it off here with the same consistency. Perhaps Hughes was simply too fascinating for a three hour film, but with the other three examples, the characters’ lifestyles (the Mafia, not Hollywood) enabled for a fast-flowing, hyper-kinetic, kaleidoscopic onslaught of verbose narration and visual indulgence; he struggles to acquire the same effect for Hughes.
Nonetheless, this maintains a certain fascination from start to finish, mainly thanks to Robert Richardson’s striking cinematography and successful visual recreation of the time at hand (the film gradually moves from early two tone Technicolor to the grandiose aesthetics of the forties with subtle awareness); and of course this is surely DiCaprio’s coming-of-age as an actor. Sourly underrated (and overshadowed?) in
Gangs of New York, here the man who was once the dream pinup for adolescent female drooling carries the film admiringly, capturing a real sense of the growing paranoia and stubbornly determined obsessions—not to mention genuine if flawed genius—of Hughes himself. Cate Blanchett meanwhile is a revelation as Hughes’ equally eccentric counterpart Hepburn, from the accent to the mannerisms to the way her acting style finely compliments that of DiCaprio.
But let’s face it. If any other director had made this, it wouldn’t have generated half the buzz as it has and probably will do in the coming awards-laden months. It seems ironic that Scorsese’s first direct look at the movies is one of his lesser works, and if the rumours of his
Infernal Affairs remake are true, surely he’s running out of creative steam? This is a fascinating film which grasps the attention for as long as it lasts, but only because, with every scene, the viewer is subconsciously reminding themselves of the director’s credit. As it is, one can only hope this master filmmaker returns to his roots soon with smaller features, a la
The King of Comedy (1983) or
After Hours (1985).
Mick