The Aviator

Now that’s my idea of a “Best Picture,” and not just because it’s Marty’s turn. I had no idea Howard Hughes could be such an interesting character, genuinely the aviator of the title, not just the billionaire weirdo recluse he became, and Leonardo DiCaprio superbly embodies his charm and drive. (The character’s forceful passion for flight, and his ability to back up his ideas with energy, made me think of my good old friend, Tom Krens, director of the Guggenheim, the only world-class Archimedean mover that I know personally.) And Hughes’ high-flying passion is matched by Scorsese in his daring, go-for-broke direction. He outdoes his undervalued New York, New York in three singing and dancing scenes set in LA’s Cocoanut Grove nightclub over the span of two decades. He orchestrates several exciting and even witty plane crashes. He sweeps in passing characters from Jude Law as Errol Flynn to Alec Baldwin as the head of a rival airline and Alan Alda as his bought and paid for senator. Cate is no Kate, but once you get past the mismatch in mimicry, Blanchett gives a very effective performance as Hepburn, who was herself all performance. Kate Beckinsale was a weird choice to play Ava Gardner, but also brings a sense of the personality if not the person of the star. The whole movie is saturated with movie love, which makes it a likely favorite with the Academy and almost forgives the film’s major flaw, its lifting from Citizen Kane of a Rosebud-like motif to explain Hughes’ descent into madness, his mother’s quasi-erotic warning against cooties. Much better if the film had merely observed the gradual incursions of obsessive-compulsive mania, instead of offering a facile explanation. One thing The Aviator does very well is demonstrate the thesis of Malcolm Gladwell’s book of the moment, Blink, which argues that decisions made instantly, almost impulsively, can be better than carefully reasoned decisions. Watch DiCaprio as Hughes look at blueprints and see him make instant decisions. At other times, watch the circuits overload and see him go into manic repetition of phrases like “show me all the blueprints.” Scorsese draws the two traits into connection by using whiteouts to convey the mental transition into total understanding or breakdown. DiCaprio and Scorsese do not make Hughes into an understandable or appealing character, but do give him (and the film) a compelling, outsized energy. (2004, AMC Theater, n.) *9-* (MC-77, RT-89)