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Billionaire, playboy, inventor, pioneer, film director, oddball, germaphobe. Howard Hughes was all of these things and Martin Scorsese's luscious new biography races through one of the most extraordinary lives of the twentieth century at full throttle. This is a consistently and hugely entertaining film that leaves the viewer wanting more, such is its intoxicating nature. Bound to be a serious contender come awards time, it's arguably Scorsese's finest work in twenty years.
Considering the scale and achievements of Hughes' life, it's an ambitious project to pull off even a half-decent attempt to film it, but John Logan's clever script hits nothing but high notes. We first see Hughes as film director, with The Aviator's opening sequence lovingly recreating his attempt to produce and direct Hell's Angels in 1927, a project which he spent $2m and two years shooting before deciding to spend the same amount of time and money reshooting it as a talkie. He went on to challenge the censorial powers of American cinema tackling violence in Scarface and sex in The Outlaw.
The script soon makes it clear that his parallel passion for aviation would, however, become his first love, and the film chronicles his early attempts to break the airspeed barrier, to the planes he developed and built for the USAF as well as his infamous Hercules, popularly christened the Spruce Goose. And then there was creating and running TWA and the enormous backlash the incumbent air industry leaders (notably Pan Am) launched against what they saw as a Texan upstart.
Along the way there were women, including what seemed like every Hollywood starlet around such as Jean Harlow (Gwen Stefani), Ava Gardner (Kate Beckinsale) and a notable relationship with Katherine Hepburn (Cate Blanchett), portrayed here at some length.
As if all of this was not fascinating enough, Hughes' growing mental anguish is skillfully handled and wonderfully portrayed by Leonardo DiCaprio. His disorder, emanating from his mother's continued speeches to him about the danger of disease, spirals as he grows older. What begins as a penchant for order and cleanliness develops into a full-blown obsessive/compulsive disease, as he shuns shaking hands, insists on gloves for all around him, fears door handles, washes his hands until they bleed and eventually leads him to seclude himself from the outside world. It is this lengthy scene, in which a naked DiCaprio holes himself up in an infested screening room, which perfectly sums up why the actor's ambition to play the role has been vindicated, despite his physical handicaps (his lesser stature and still-boyish looks).
Scorsese's direction is spectacular when required, giving some of the scenes a distinct period flavour, but he doesn't let gimmickry get in the way of telling the story. Cinematography, art direction and costume are all also notably sumptuous. While one or two of the bigger digital effects don't quite appear as convincing on the big screen, a devastating air crash that nearly killed Hughes in 1946 is terrifyingly depicted.
DiCaprio dominates the picture - although admittedly his portrayal initially takes a little while to get used to. But slowly he reveals the true complexity of the man, and impressively portrays his inner demons. The cast is rounded out with well-known faces who all thoroughly deliver, among them John C. Reilly as Hughes' much put-upon business manager, Alex Baldwin as the greasy head of Pan Am, and Alan Alda as the Senator in Baldwin's pocket desperately trying to publicly demonise Hughes.
Undoubtedly one of the year's best films, and a masterclass in its genre with production values that are at times as mind-boggling as anything Hughes might have attempted, The Aviator is an exhilarating and immensely satisfying cinematic experience. Reserve the front row at next year's Academy Awards for Mr. Scorsese and friends.