THE AVIATOR--STAIRWAY TO PARADISE

"Movies are movies," a character observes in THE AVIATOR. "Not real." Movies may not be real, but often, anchored by a bounty of exhilarating spectacle informed by the tantalizing threat of colossal failure, movies can attain a level of high wire dramatic tension all too real and often all too explosive.

Such a film is THE AVIATOR, Martin Scorsese's lavish and mammothly entertaining new epic. Written by John Logan and directed by Scorsese, this account of eccentric billionaire Howard Hughes in his prime explores a relentless drive fuelled by insatiable ambition and undermined by the shackles of mental instability. As played in a spectacular, tour de force performance by Leonardo DiCaprio, Hughes is presented as a twentieth century Icarus, a young and rich visionary who shook up Hollywood and the aviation industry but whose mania forced him to fly too close to the glowing sun of everlasting achievement. In THE AVIATOR, Hughes soars and literally crashes, and while this may invite easy but justifiable comparisons to "A Beautiful Mind," the journey in Scorsese and DiCaprio's more than capable hands never feels less than enthralling. Nor unnerving.

THE AVIATOR begins with a flashback (Eerily reminiscent of "Alexander") of Hughes as a young boy. As his paranoid mother gives him a bath, she makes him spell out "quarantine" and gently fills his head with alarming notions of germ related diseases. The scene works in this instance because from the beginning the fate of this legendary obsessive compulsive seems tragically preordained. While the film passes on the tycoon's sad and reclusive last two decades, where Hughes became a virtual shut in, Logan's script doesn't shy away from the dementia that ultimately resulted in this final solution. Hughes' phobias are impeccably sprinkled throughout course of film, particularly a pathetic sequence where the obstinate Hughes refuses to pass a handicapped fellow a towel in a men's room.

From here THE AVIATOR lifts off into Hughes' other equally famous obsessions. Pic's dynamite first half hour chronicles the three year filming of 1930's "Hell's Angels," a bankbusting war picture in which independent producer Hughes risks the fortunes of his inherited Houston based oil company all for the sake of a demented need to film the most realistic aerial combat sequences ever staged. The egomaniacal joke seems pointed at former DiCaprio director James Cameron, particularly when Hughes, with a small air force at his command, grounds shooting for months at insane personal expense for lack of clouds. The heavily computer generated recreations of the dogfights, with Hughes personally operating a camera amidst an armada of racing, seemingly out of control planes whizzing past in hair raising close proximity, breathlessly illustrates the madcap lunacy of this brash, untethered spirit.

One of the triumphs of THE AVIATOR is that it rarely budges for a moment in its easy going, near three hour length. There exists an undeniable aura of grandeur and energy here that couldn't be sustained as equally in Scorsese's last epic "Gangs of New York." Ofcourse one of THE AVIATOR'S grandest and most passionate recreations is Katherine Hepburn, brought magnificently to life by the sublime, note perfect Cate Blanchett. A momentous intimacy is borne from the relationship of Hughes and Hepburn, especially in a lovely sequence where Hughes takes her for a night time flight over Hollywood in one of his own personal planes.

The subject of Hughes' legendary prowess is surprisingly given short shrift (Although there is a magnetic intensity to Hughes' "I want to learn what pleases you" seduction of a cocktail waitress at the opulent Cocoanut Grove), but the chemistry between DiCaprio and Blanchett remains consistently electric (That between him and Kate Beckinsale as Ava Gardner is less so), and gives film some of its most touching scenes. There is a spark of genuine cruelty when Hughes screams "You're a movie star! Nothing more!" to Hepburn during their charged break up. As much sensitivity as DiCaprio finds in Hughes during the more tender scenes with Hepburn, there remains a palpable ego to all of Hughes' dealings, and his starlet womanizing is no exception.

Witness how Hughes takes a delicate reprieve to lovingly inspect Hepburn's naked back during their date. This instantly cuts to Hughes scrutinizing one of his custom built planes with the same meticulous attention to definition and engineering craft. Most of THE AVIATOR is devoted to Hughes' greatest passion (Hence the title). It is in this field that the tycoon forges his most definitive legacy (The film proposes). Buying TWA Airlines to the absolute chagrin of Pan Am owner Juan Trippe (Alec Baldwin) and enduring countless setbacks (Including an intensely frightening and life threatening plane crash in a Beverly Hills neighborhood), Hughes defined modern day aviation for future generations by introducing the then ludicrous concept of cross country and cross Atlantic flights for any and all consumers. THE AVIATOR concludes with Hughes appearing before a Congressional hearing to deny charges of war profiteering brought by corrupt Senator Owen Brewster (A superb Alan Alda) and a test flight of the gargantuan "Spruce Goose," but the trauma of multiple crashes and an already debilitating default on his phobias has already begin to seize hold of Hughes and further pull him to the dark side.

DiCaprio, for all his vengeful emoting in "Gangs of New York," quite frankly was obliterated from the screen by co-star Daniel Day Lewis. In THE AVIATOR the character actor trapped in a matinee idol's body lords over the screen with the dogged prominence of an acting heavyweight--the former king of the world has jumped ship and reaches for film greatness. DiCaprio is asked to flex a lot of acting muscle here and for the most part unequivocally pulls it off. His Hughes is an implacable manchild ahead of his time whose vision consistently exceeds his grasp, but registers so close he can taste the marmalade tinge of success.

The looming tragedy of THE AVIATOR is that the limitations of Hughes' professional output--more a failure of technology than any lack of will power put forth by Hughes or his team--is not curtailed in the same easy manner with which the unhinged wrath of his illnesses manifest. It's no accident that the catastrophic destruction of a test flight in which Hughes suffers multiple burns and injuries that would have consumed a lesser mortal isn't half as haunting as Hughes' meltdown where he uncontrollably spits out the phrase "Show me all the blueprints" like a maddening mantra of psychological unravelling. The sequence is a demented beauty, and showcases DiCaprio for the force of acting nature he so effortlessly is.

As for THE AVIATOR's production values--impeccable. Dante Ferretti's sensational set designs are of a herculean order that perfectly compliment the over the top nature of Hughes himself. The recreation of the swank Cocoanut Grove is like a portal into another more opulent universe. Sandy Powell's gorgeous costumes evoke the glimmering golden age of Hollywood past. Robert Richardson's photography? Stellar. The ace cinematographer's work on the "Kill Bill" films seems but a prelude to his workload here--vibrant, sunny lighting in the film's first half and sobering, darker hues during Hughes' more isolated, manic moments.

What can anybody say about Martin Scorsese that hasn't already been uttered ad infinitum? One of the last remaining relics from the 1970s, the poet of misfit, urban alienation has of late found himself on terra firma in the land of motion picture epics. Where "Gangs" suffered from too much bombast during its final violent act, THE AVIATOR has the luxury of being more focused, even as luxury remains one of pic's most prominent assets, serving the larger than life subject matter splendidly. Where else can viewers have the opportunity to see a character like Howard Hughes pilot a plane nonchalantly to a beach side film set just to meet the incomparable Kate Hepburn? Talk about first impressions.

Even as Scorsese, who knows a thing or two about battling film censors, can't contain his glee in staging Hughes' own ludicrous fronts with the censors of his time (Jane Russell's "mammaries" in 'The Outlaws" were on display too prominently), THE AVIATOR is tempered by the dark side of personal and professional fulfillment. For a change Scorsese has made a film that is unabashedly thrilling, exhilarating in its gargantuan, epic storytelling. And yet for a filmmaker who revels in the violent confrontations between sparring warriors, the battle lines drawn in film are of a more subtle, more sophisticated, altogether more dangerous nature. Who can forget Hughes' uneasy sitdown with Brewster at the Mayflower Hotel, in which the slippery senator essentially tries to blackmail the tycoon into selling his TWA stock? "We just beat Germany and Japan," Brewster tells Hughes. "Who the hell are you?" In THE AVIATOR, the raging bull of American cinema crafts an unapologetically entertaining testament to a man who soared above the conventions of his time on the wings of good fortune, only to be untimely grounded by internal demons beyond his control.