Pundits assert that The Aviator is something of a masterpiece, one of Martin Scorsese’s great works, a triumph of filmmaking that richly deserves the Academy nods it received. Certainly this stirring account of billionaire entrepreneur, filmmaker, aviator, inventor and part-time urine-drinking nutter Howard Hughes (Leonardo DiCaprio) is a wonderful series of exhilarating moments. There is much to love and much with which to be swept along; Cate Blanchett and Kate Beckinsale as love-interests Katherine Hepburn and Ava Gardner are two fine examples. 

While The Aviator flies on all engines it remains at a distance; a fault-line emerges that neither cast, crew nor audience is able to jump and one that ultimately prevents us revelling in the emotionally charged journey. It’s at odds with the film’s style for this is a gorgeous production. Set in Hollywood’s golden era and replete with Los Angelean glitter, Scorsese has much to work with as Hugh’s tackles movie studios to produce Hells Angels, one of the most expensive films ever made. His passion for aviation (ironically Scorsese is terrified of flying) anchors the film’s second third until a compulsive disorder cripples his life prior to the rousing denouement.

It’s quite a journey for any actor and one that DiCaprio never completes despite his assured bravado. Convincing as a gung-ho youngster, he falls back on a mannered style when the film needs credibility most. As a troubled 40-something, he stretches faith. Not that he’s bad but, rather like The Aviator itself, he fails to deliver greatness. And at nearly three hours, greatness is what we need.

// COLIN FRASER