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By
NICK ZEGARAC
"The Aviator" (2004) is
director Martin Scorsese's send-up of Hollywood's
mythology and glamour during the golden thirties
and glittering forties. A quick recap of
Scorsese's career finds that he has delved into
various time periods throughout his film canon in
an attempt to make the past live again. On some
occasions -- as with his fifties pastiche done in
snapshots for "Raging Bull" or "Goodfellas," or in
his sixties rekindling used in "Casino," Scorsese
is bang on, and generates a genuine flair. Other
attempts, like his reconstruction of turn of the
century city life, in "Gangs of New York," or
exploring the cultured set in "The Age of
Innocence" have faired less than ably -- perhaps
hinting of a sniff of formaldehyde dabbled in
sensibilities and mannerisms that are too
contemporary to fit in.
"The Aviator" ranks somewhere between these two
extremes in the director's film making prowess.
Like his previous efforts to celebrate the forties
in "New York, New York," "The Aviator" proves
equivocally that Scorsese has trouble evoking this
sort of past without adding something of a
contemporary vein to it. From his recreation of
Hollywood's legendary Cocoanut Grove through his
valiant attempt at recapturing the pioneering
spirit that made intercontinental flying such an
exciting prospect in the first place, Scorsese's
master craftsmanship is once again hampered on
this occasion by his casting of effeminate and
prepubescent-looking Leonardo DiCaprio as the
legendary Howard Hughes.
Hughes -- at least in the photographs I've seen
that were taken in his youth -- was studly yet,
quite clearly looked every bit his age, in a way
that men of his generation tended to have a more
careworn façade that was both sexy and mature,
much more than today's youth. DiCaprio has
something of the coloring of Hughes' wanton and
maniacal flair for the dramatic -- at least in
spots -- but it gets mired in his own disbelief of
acting the part, as though he suddenly awakens
half way into his lines and realizes that he's
just Leonardo DiCaprio and not Howard Hughes.
Hence, the suspension of belief for an audience in
his characterization only comes to life in fits
and sparks -- most often dying slowly -- and
rather painfully -- before our very eyes.
But enough about DiCaprio's shortcomings. I remain
at an even greater loss to explain why so many
critics found Cate Blanchett's take on Katharine
Hepburn the definitive evocation of this great
lady. Having seen every Katharine Hepburn movie
ever made -- at least twice -- and, owning more
than a handful of her best performances for repeat
viewing after seeing this film -- as well as
owning no less than four documentaries in which
Hepburn speaks about her life, the movies, Spence
and so on -- I must reiterate for this review that
Blanchett is nowhere near the stature or
embodiment of Kate Hepburn any more than I could
pass for Cary Grant! In both her mannerism and
behavior, Blanchett presents us with a gross
caricature of Hepburn, something in the subtext of
a manic latex puppet with a New England brow.
The story of Hughes and his romantic goings on
with Hepburn fuel the first half of Scorsese's
film. In pacing and style it does come together
rather nicely in spots, but there is never a sense
of the characters being lived in or the places
they occupy seeming as anything more than highly
stylized sets. The clothes worn are not attire,
but costumes that feel out of vogue with
Scorsese's handling of the material. Hence, the
whole affair comes across as something of a
gavotte in horse's harness -- an impeccably lit
and beautifully photographed fake of an era,
instead of a living snapshot of the world circa
1920-1949. To go any further with the plot of this
film seems moot, since it isn't a very glamorous
story -- made even less glamorous by its two
leads. Best then, to simply state that, although
the film was generally applauded as Scorsese's
most accessible work (a comment I find rather
insulting, since it has the faint echo of being
talked down to or, at the very least, suggesting
that Scorsese has sold out by talking down to his
audience), I suspect that Academy voters were not
fooled by either the film or its performances --
at least not enough to give either the picture or
its director statuettes.
Now, for the good news. Warner Home Video's
widescreen transfer is reference quality. The
anamorphic picture is stunning with a sumptuous
color palette that absolutely jumps off the
screen. There are moments when the image will
almost appear three-dimensional for those watching
it on larger projection units. Rich, deep and
solid blacks, very clean whites and some
beautifully rendered night scenes -- in which even
extreme background detail is obvious, but never
digitally harsh, leave much to recommend this film
as a visual experience. The audio is 5.1 and a
marvel to listen to, with even the subtlest
clanging of dinner and flatware evident from
various channels of one's surround sound. Extras?
Too many to get into in this review. The standouts
are "The Age of Glamour" and "The Role of Howard
Hughes." Scorsese's commentary track for the film
is also a highlight not to be missed. |
