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user\nIt's a thoroughly successful example of a 1950s biopic. It has the stalwart and handsome young hero -- well, not so young anymore on screen; superb, if unlikely, direction by Billy Wilder; a stirring fully orchestrated musical score of uplifting scales and, when required, heavenly strings by Franz Waxman; strong supporting players; a gripping story; stunning photography by Hitchcock favorite Robert Burks; and a narrative about a singular historical event.
The film begins with Jimmy Stewart as Charles Lindbergh trying to get some sleep in a Long Island hotel before his epic solo flight across the Atlantic, from New York to Paris. And he can't sleep.
The flight itself is filled with flashbacks to Lindbergh's personal history and the purchase and construction of his unique high-wing monoplane, The Spirit of St. Louis. St. Louis, Missouri, is the home of the partnership that sponsored the flight. (Even in 1927, money talked.) Anyway, the movie HAD to have multiple flashbacks and Stewart's narration. What's the alternative. Observing the unities? Thirty-three hours of watching Jimmy Stewart sitting silently at the controls of his noisy airplane while days and nights come and go? I found the script and the direction impressive for their time. Unpleasant things are of course left out, so as not to introduce more ambiguity than the contemporary audience might manage.
My bet is that the howling mob that surrounds Lindbergh at Le Bourget ripped the airplane to pieces for souvenirs. And of course nothing about the pilot's relief tube, though it would have added more opportunities for humor. Some of today's viewers will find some incidents corny if they think too much about them. Aloft, Stewart chats with a friendly hitch-hiking fly that, in its own quietly concerned way, wakes him up by landing on his cheek at a critical moment. Later, the St. Christopher's medal that Father Hussman gave him taps gently against the glass crystal of one of the instruments just as Stewart is desperately trying to land. The atheist Stewart is saved twice -- once by a fly and once by God.
But never mind that. It's an impressive film. That landing at Le Bourget, with an exhausted Stewart behind the joy stick, confused by searchlights, sweaty with fear and collapsing with fatigue, is really convincing. \"I'm going to tear this airplane up,\" he tells himself, and we can believe him.
Flying a light plane is not at all like driving a car. There is no smoothly curving highway to tell you where to go, no lanes to provide guidance. You're busy every second. You must watch the instruments, check each wingtip to see that they touch the horizon, ditto the airplane's nose, and constantly watch up, down, and sideways for other traffic, although that last wouldn't have been much of a problem for Lindbergh. He was all alone over the ocean.
Why? In one of the movie's folksier moment, Stewart and Murray Hamilton, two gypsy barnstormers of the 1920s, are lounging near their airplanes in a Midwestern field. \"What is it? What makes us love flying so much?\", asks Hamilton. (No answer.) Later, his financial backers try to talk him out of the flight. Five other aviators have already died trying it. \"But don't you understand? It HAS to be done,\" says an impassioned Stewart.
Well, that's not much of an answer either. Why does it have to be done now, and why by Lindbergh? Why NOT wait ten years and stop wasting lives in the meantime? The answer, dear Socrates, lies partly in our glands. Pilots are a placid and confident lot, given to occasional arousal jags. Their chief problem may be an addiction to an internal rush of adrenalin. Just kidding. Some of my best friends are pilots. Still, Lindbergh must have been quite a guy. He deserved to be treated as a hero. Not just because of the flight itself but because of his later demeanor -- quiet, modest, a family man. We can easily forget his admiration for Hitler, since he more than made up for it by testing Corsair fighters in the Pacific and advising the Navy on how to tweak the airplanes and get the best performance out of them.
See it if you have the chance. If nothing else, it's a history lesson told with visual splendor.
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