Steven Spielberg once said that he admired Martin Scorsese, because whenever he saw one of the talented director’s features, he knew right away it was a Scorsese Film. However, with his latest oeuvre, the masterful The Aviator, we have a decidedly non-traditional Scorsese Film. Few and far between are his patented, complicated camera shots, extended takes that float along hallways, or chronicles of the overpowering ramifications of male jealousy that prominently characterize his anti-heroes. And yet, despite the absence of these and other identifiable techniques, Scorsese has made a picture on par with all of the other classics in his already formidable catalogue.
The Aviator, with its intimate depictions of large historical events, reminded me in a lot of ways of Citizen Kane. This may sound like an enormous comparison, but when you think about it, both films transpire over the span of several decades, both are based on the lives of two of the wealthiest men of the past century (Howard Hughes and William Randolph Hearst), and both attempt to get to the bottom of their enigmatic personalities, only to reveal more questions than answers. Through their shrewd business sense and innovative ideas, Hughes and Hearst/Kane spend their lives seeking that which they can never attain and spend no small amount of their money in trying to achieve the unachievable.
The movie skips over Hughes’s childhood (save a short scene depicting his mother bathing him while instilling misleading warnings on the dangers of germs and disease), and his inheritance into the oil and drill bit business earns but a brief mention in order to set the stage. Hughes (Leonardo DiCaprio, in a sensational performance), is already in production for Hell’s Angels in the late 1920’s, at the advent of talkies. The young director pumps $4 million into the project, the most in history up to that point (a grand opening is depicted when it is finally completed after 3 years, however Scorsese conveniently neglects to include information as to whether the money was ever recouped; history shows that it did). Hughes becomes an even bigger success and a household name.
His exhaustive work on the feature leads to some personal discoveries, such as a lifelong devotion to the design and construction of new and faster airplanes, and a relationship with the young actress Katharine Hepburn (Cate Blanchett), who seems able to connect with (and even, to an extent, understand) Hughes’s peculiarities and initially subdued paranoia. The U.S. government enters into a contract with him to manufacture a fleet of aircrafts for the Second World War. These threaten to fall through because of soaring production costs, and when the pressure mounts, Hughes estranges himself from Hepburn. He bounces from fling to fling until finally landing with Ava Gardner (Kate Beckinsdale). She categorically denies needing any of his wealth and riches, and, in a touching scene late in the film, she finds herself caring for him with detached but maternal concern.
As mentioned earlier, this is not your typical Scorsese picture. The story is not sublimated by dizzying camerawork (although Hughes’s infamous solo crash landing in Beverly Hills is spectacularly shot). With each new scene, the pace races forward until we are left desperately wanting more by the time the credits roll. This is thanks in large part to a screenplay by John Logan that does not gloss over any of Hughes’s accomplishments or setbacks, but nor does it linger too long on any specific incident, which would have been very tempting to do.
DiCaprio is particularly solid, carefully taking us into a complex individual’s mind as much through how he looks at people and through what he does not say than anything actually spoken. Blanchett, Alec Baldwin as Juan Trippe, and Alan Alda as Senator Owen Brewster are also very strong, and are likely to nab Oscar nominations for their supporting work here. A special mention can be made for an unmentioned character, namely the paparazzi, or the flash and glare of the media spotlight. With each blinding flash bulb pop and cold, harsh snap of the relentless cameras, Scorsese makes us feel a small bit of the claustrophobia that would plague Hughes throughout his life.
All too often, movie biographies either shower too much sunshine down on their subjects, or make their trials and tribulations so heavy-handed that we can’t see the forest for the trees. Here, we observe and appreciate the business savvy used, and the enormous risks Hughes took, in order to build and sustain his fluctuating financial empire. Yes, the man had his personal demons, but Scorsese takes great care to emphasize that these were only one facet of the man. When we think back on what we have seen, we can take all pieces away in equal portions and formulate our own conclusions, whatever they may be. This is an enormously entertaining and even more fascinating work that soars as high and with as much gleeful exuberance as Hughes himself sometimes did.
