The Aviator (2004)

Premise: Following the life of Howard Hughes (Leonardo DiCaprio), aviator and film producer who was as known for romancing starlets such as Katherine Hepburn (Cate Blanchett) and Ava Gardner (Kate Beckinsale) as he was for aeronautic advances. Despite his encroaching madness, Hughes took on PanAm head Juan Trippe (Alec Baldwin) and Senator Ralph Owen Brewster (Alan Alda) to put an end to an attempt to monopolize the sky.

I just want to comment that it has been very difficult for me to avoid press about a movie I have been anticipating since June. That said -

Vindication! That's my first feeling. Vindication on so many levels. First and foremost - DiCaprio. I did my best to conceal the favour I had long ago bestowed on him when it became unpopular to like him as an actor. Still I held on, and now vindication is mine. Hughes would have been nothing but a whiny germaphobe in a lesser actor's hands. DiCaprio may not possess the sheer physical presence of Hughes, but he is the only actor I could think of that could say to a lowly cigarette girl "I want to know what pleases you", turn her into Jean Harlow (Gwen Stefani), and not walk away from the whole thing dripping in slime. Watching his sinewy body caress the curves of planes and women is something else. Nothing can compare, though, to seeing him take on Juan Trippe across the dinne table with fiery passion, only to become trapped in the men's room when he cannot bring himself to turn the door handle. DiCaprio is devastating.

And again! Vindication for never liking Beckinsale. Maybe it was her sweet but lackluster performance as Hero is Kenneth Brannagh's sun-soaked, Tuscan Much Ado About Nothing, or maybe it was something else. Somewhere along the way, I decided that Beckinsale was terrible. And I am right - that was the worst Ava Gardner I have ever seen. I saw Beckinsale on Oprah talking about how she only had one night to prepare for the role, and it shows.

Of course, it's just plain cruel to compare Beckinsale to Blanchett. I've been keeping my eye on Blanchett since Elizabeth. I don't know how she does it, but Blanchett manages to channel Hepburn here. The way she turns her nose up and that short little laugh are deadly. Her Katherine is a whirlwind. It's no small wonder that Hepburn forever stole Hughes' heart, and her scenes with DiCaprio are phenomenal.

Saints be praised that Baldwin is no longer trapped in the role of leading man. He dives into this fat cat role with terrific restrained gusto, and Alda is there to match him step for step.

John Logan's screenplay, full of fury and understatement, works brilliantly Martin Scorcese's direction. Part of the film was done in Montreal (thank you, end credits!), so I will happily take vindication for that as well. Should anyone ever ask you, all of Martin Scorcese's films (at least the ones I have seen) are about what makes a man. Not what separates him from a woman, but what makes him his own entity: what makes a man a man. He is unabashed in the pursuit of this goal.

Still, while I was breathless with anticipation over whether or not the Hercules really would fly, the rest of the theatre didn't seem as concerned. I have given up on fellow audience members doing anything short of inciting me to violence, but the 169 minute running time did make me a little sympathetic. A -