One of the greatest projects undertaken by Howard Hughes, the eccentric aviator and movie producer, was the building of the Spruce Goose, a giant plane made of wood that could land on water, designed to transport troops and supplies during World War II. The massive airplane took years and millions of dollars to build, and put Hughes’ reputation at stake. Despite his detractors’ warnings that it would never take off, it finally flew. On November 2, 1947, Hughes piloted the giant plane over L.A. harbor for a mile, and it was never flown again. The plane, like The Aviator, was too little too late. Martin Scorsese, who is as innovative a director as Hughes was an aviator, fails to live up to the standard set by his previous films. Though The Aviator provides insight into the private life of Howard Hughes, truly one of the most intriguing and bizarre public figures of the twentieth century, it is never more than the sum of its parts.
When The Aviator does rises above the standard biography, it is through strong performances and Scorsese’s distinctive direction. Leonardo DiCaprio (Catch Me if You Can) is not only believable as Howard Hughes, but infuses sympathy into the role of a man slowly degenerating into insanity (Hughes spent the last 20 years of his life in virtual seclusion brought on by intense hypochondria). The scenes in which DiCaprio alone is directed by Scorsese are the film’s most instense. The two clearly displayed chemistry in Scorsese’s last film, 2002’s Gangs of New York, even if Daniel Day-Lewis rightfully stole most of the critical thunder.
DiCaprio’s performance captures Hughes as both the innovator, testing new planes and flying faster than anyone before him, and as the hypochondriac, obsessively washing his hands. The critics who wrote DiCaprio off for his performance in Titanic will be reminded of his earlier roles in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape and The Basketball Diaries. DiCaprio captures the extensive breadth of Hughes’ character and brings humanity to his relationships with friends and rivals. Though she does her best Katherine Hepburn impression, Cate Blanchett (The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou) never fully embodies the late actress. Alan Alda (MA*SH) is convincing as Senator Brewster, as is Alec Baldwin (Along Came Polly) in the role of Juan Tripp, owner of PanAm, but it’s DiCaprio’s performance that carries the movie.
Despite such strong acting, The Aviator never achieves the greatness of Scorsese’s earlier works. Like Gangs of New York, it is too self-consciously a Martin Scorsese picture. Scorsese’s early films like Raging Bull (1980) and Taxi Driver (1976) were marked by their raw intensity, great dialogue and often brilliant cinematography. Scorsese seems too weighed down by his previous achievements and is loath to take the sort of risks that garnered him such high praise in the first place. He hasn’t sunk to the level of self-caricature that was all too clear in Oliver Stone’s miserable Alexander (2004), but he seems to be slipping in that direction. Though individual scenes display his trademark drama and intensity, Scorsese never develops a cohesive argument or theory about Hughes’ life.
Like other biopics, such as last year’s Ray, The Aviator shies away from making thought-provoking suggestions for the motives behind the subject’s behavior. Recent independent biopics, most notably American Splendor, have been able to achieve a certain depth of understanding with their subjects, but the major studio efforts have consistently either fallen somewhat flat (2004’s Beyond the Sea) or have glossed over some of the more disturbing elements of their subjects’ lives (2001’s A Beautiful Mind). The hype surrounding Scorsese’s Aviator, like that surrounding Hughes’ plane, is, although not undeserved, not quite justified either.
