| | I loathed The Aviator. Because it showed (briefly) the undeniable milestones in the giant life of a hero, and then focused languidly and lovingly (Scorcese's obvious interest in Hughes lay not in his achievements but in his flaws) on utterly unsubstatiated interludes of helplessness and madness, this effort is worse, to me, than a movie that simply glorifies mediocrity. Scorsese was mediocritizing greatness. If you know anything about Hughes's real life, you know that ALL of the scenes where Hughes is alone in a bathroom freaking out, alone in his office bugging out, alone in his screening room filling jars of piss, alone here, alone there, every time turning into Mr. Hyde between the publicly known and witnessed depictions of his extraordinary accomplishments, are complete fabrications -- and you will be sick to your stomach at the intent of this film. All of these degrading scenes were made up from whole cloth to try to patch together the kind of schizophrenic persona that could lead to the portrait some have speculated Hughes had become by the end of his life -- which rumors, by the way, were denied by all of his friends and business associates. They present a jarringly confused movie, two movies seem to have collided, actually, creating an impossible man. A fictitious visit by Ava Gardner is even inserted to explain how he went from a naked, quivering savage in one scene to taking on the entire U.S. Congress (and winning) the next day, which, thankfully, was captured on film at the time.
Howard Hughes's recusal from public life is explainable by much simpler means than by inventing a split personality no one ever witnessed in reality. He suffered a horrible plane crash most would have perished in, and was disfigured by burns over most of his body. He had already conquered the world, had the greatest beauties on Earth in his bed, was the richest man, the fastest man, the aviation engineer who had invented commercial air travel and some of the most remarkable flying machines ever conceived. And then the government closed in on his life and invaded every aspect of his private and professional existence. It is far more likely that he just said, "TO HELL WITH ALL OF YOU," and retired to his own private Galt's Gulch for the rest of his days. Making up a story about his mother instilling paranoia about germs is simply not necessary or even artistically honest. Half of The Aviator is true (the public half, the half we have witnesses for, and film records, etc.) The other half is COMPLETELY MADE UP by the filmmakers, and always occurrs in private or unrecorded moments that are purely the speculation of Scorsesee and the screenwriters. And the film is clearly weighted toward these speculative imaginings of private madness. It is as though the world, when Hughes was alive, had to attack him because he stood so high above the crowd, and it is as though the filmmakers today ironically shared the same sentiment that drove him to say goodbye to all that.
So there's a different take on The Aviator.
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