Film review: 'The Aviator'
I realize I'm one of the last people on earth to see The Aviator, so I'll keep the review short.
Didn't like it a whole lot. I'd give it 2.5 out of 5 stars.
It wasn't the fault of Leo diCaprio, who actually I don't mind. (I even liked him in What's Eating Gilbert Grape? and Catch Me If You Can.) It wasn't the fault of any actors, really. Trouble is I'm tired of these "Great person going batshit insane" stories that Hollywood is so in love with. (Cf: Shine and A Beautiful Mind for just two recent Oscar-darling examples.) Sure, the Academy heaped Oscars on Return of the King, but I think they secretly wished the whole trilogy had been told from Denethor's point of view. I think Hollywood is obsessed with tearing down the mighty--tearing down everyone, in fact--and I find it degrading. I would kind of like to see a biopic where the subject was not mentally unstable and did not have a deeply sleazy personal life.
Also, there's the inherent problem of dramatized nonfiction: throughout, I found myself thinking, "That's interesting, but is that really how it happened?" I didn't know much about Howard Hughes going in. But he probably didn't have that exact conversation with Ava Gardner. He probably didn't buy that particular company at that particular time. He maybe never had that particular argument with Kate Hepburn. Maybe the film would have been better as a straightforward documentary, since the main attraction for me was learning stuff I didn't know about Howard Hughes--which was spoiled somewhat by the Hollywood doubt factor.
Another thing Hollywood loves to pieces: films about Hollywood, even when they aren't flattering (which they usually aren't). The moviemaking business came off as no less sleazy than the politics-and-airplanes business. And that was probably the point. Oh, the critics do leave these cynical films, where the moral is, "Everything is sordid. Life is ugly." Sure, Hughes accomplished amazing things anyway, in the face of all the doubters and interlopers and grudge-holders and his own neuroses. But getting the Spruce Goose to glide for a few minutes above L.A. Bay, at the end, struck me as insufficient reward for all the crap he had been through. "Everything is sordid" still hung in there strong as the theme.
The effects were good. The planes looked cool. The dialogue and exposition was decently put together. Everyone looked beautiful. The scene where Hughes and his scientist (Ian Holm) defend the appearance of Jane Russell's "mammaries" was quite funny. Modern actors playing old-time actors was entertaining. But, really, for the latter I'd rather just watch a 60-minute reel of impressions. 5 minutes apiece: Jude Law as Errol Flynn, Kate Beckinsale as Ava Gardner, Cate Blanchett as Kate Hepburn, etc. (We can skip Jennifer Love Hewitt as Audrey Hepburn if it's all the same to everyone.) I emerged somewhat intrigued but mostly depressed.
Wish I had gone to see Hitchhiker's Guide instead.
Didn't like it a whole lot. I'd give it 2.5 out of 5 stars.
It wasn't the fault of Leo diCaprio, who actually I don't mind. (I even liked him in What's Eating Gilbert Grape? and Catch Me If You Can.) It wasn't the fault of any actors, really. Trouble is I'm tired of these "Great person going batshit insane" stories that Hollywood is so in love with. (Cf: Shine and A Beautiful Mind for just two recent Oscar-darling examples.) Sure, the Academy heaped Oscars on Return of the King, but I think they secretly wished the whole trilogy had been told from Denethor's point of view. I think Hollywood is obsessed with tearing down the mighty--tearing down everyone, in fact--and I find it degrading. I would kind of like to see a biopic where the subject was not mentally unstable and did not have a deeply sleazy personal life.
Also, there's the inherent problem of dramatized nonfiction: throughout, I found myself thinking, "That's interesting, but is that really how it happened?" I didn't know much about Howard Hughes going in. But he probably didn't have that exact conversation with Ava Gardner. He probably didn't buy that particular company at that particular time. He maybe never had that particular argument with Kate Hepburn. Maybe the film would have been better as a straightforward documentary, since the main attraction for me was learning stuff I didn't know about Howard Hughes--which was spoiled somewhat by the Hollywood doubt factor.
Another thing Hollywood loves to pieces: films about Hollywood, even when they aren't flattering (which they usually aren't). The moviemaking business came off as no less sleazy than the politics-and-airplanes business. And that was probably the point. Oh, the critics do leave these cynical films, where the moral is, "Everything is sordid. Life is ugly." Sure, Hughes accomplished amazing things anyway, in the face of all the doubters and interlopers and grudge-holders and his own neuroses. But getting the Spruce Goose to glide for a few minutes above L.A. Bay, at the end, struck me as insufficient reward for all the crap he had been through. "Everything is sordid" still hung in there strong as the theme.
The effects were good. The planes looked cool. The dialogue and exposition was decently put together. Everyone looked beautiful. The scene where Hughes and his scientist (Ian Holm) defend the appearance of Jane Russell's "mammaries" was quite funny. Modern actors playing old-time actors was entertaining. But, really, for the latter I'd rather just watch a 60-minute reel of impressions. 5 minutes apiece: Jude Law as Errol Flynn, Kate Beckinsale as Ava Gardner, Cate Blanchett as Kate Hepburn, etc. (We can skip Jennifer Love Hewitt as Audrey Hepburn if it's all the same to everyone.) I emerged somewhat intrigued but mostly depressed.
Wish I had gone to see Hitchhiker's Guide instead.