Amelia

There is something very disconcerting about the first scenes of “Amelia.” The new Amelia Earhart biopic from director Mira Nair ’79 opens with a soft, hopeful score to accompany Earhart—played with wit and charisma by Hilary Swank—on her first trip across the Atlantic Ocean; the year is 1928, and Earhart’s airplane swoops gently over the vast seascapes and mountains of clouds. In “Amelia,” flying is about freedom and joy, an attitude completely forgotten in our modern age, with its long security queues and, since 9/11, vague sense of menace. Today, Earhart’s career is incomprehensible—her solo flights, undertaken simply to set records and to gain publicity, may be viewed with suspicion by audiences unfamiliar with her life before her infamous disappearance.

“How could she be so reckless?” we ask, with perfect hindsight. “Is it reckless?” Earhart responds in the film. “Maybe, but what do dreams know of boundaries?”

At times it seems that “Amelia” is as much about this kind of rosy optimism, and the era that spawned it, as it is about the woman. Set during the Great Depression, the film is, nonetheless, pure escapism, offering the glamour of this summer’s “Public Enemies” without the grit. A perilous moment on one of Earhart’s flights is never excessively troubling; somehow she always escapes the danger and lands among fawning crowds or the occasional confused shepherd. She pursues her ambition to be a “vagabond of the air” without fear, barreling through the obstacles of poverty, peril, and gender bias. Nair ignores not only the connotations that air travel has acquired in recent years but also the incredulity that Earhart’s consuming ambition will inspire in viewers given last year’s financial collapse. We no longer live in Earhart’s era of optimism, passion, and, yes, recklessness. But even with its predetermined ending, “Amelia” does not come across as a cautionary tale; it is homage to a time very similar to ours, save from its refrain from skepticism in order to maintain hope.

Although Nair’s films—from “Salaam Bombay!” to “Monsoon Wedding”—have garnered widespread acclaim from the media, she is a populist at heart, playing more to the audience here than to the critics. This is not a bad thing; although some might find the constant swelling of tympanis and the inconsistent quality of the digital effects to be grating and cheesy, these are forgivable and do not detract from the meaning or pleasure of the movie. Nair’s affinity for the common man also works to her benefit; the crowd scenes are executed with meticulous attention to detail and the extras are allowed to act, a surprising touch in a film with so many high-profile stars.

When Earhart and her future husband George Putnam (Richard Gere) walk to the train station together after meeting for the first time, a trio of rowdy soldiers joking in the background goes a long way in placing the timeless sentimentality of such a encounter in 1927. Wherever Earhart stops for fuel, the camera lingers in close-up on the children who greet her. Her feats inspired a nation in a way that modern figures rarely can, and the children she meets—including a young Gore Vidal—function as silent narrators of her story.

But “Amelia” also introduces us to a more troubled and indecisive character than the one we know from newsreels. Although Earhart is unequivocal about flying, she is often unsure of herself in her relationship with Putnam, and this is where Swank’s talent makes itself most known. Earhart is perfectly comfortable speaking to the press, but she is all awkward limbs and skittishness when meeting Putnam for the first time. After they are married, she submits to his urges to make more publicity appearances because she does not know what else to do; the financial backing for her flights must come from somewhere, and so she squeezes her sprawling personality into advertisements for everything from cameras to a clothing line. Although Earhart’s triumphant press conferences and bold declarations of freedom made her a celebrity in her time and a legend in ours, Swank is best in times of conflict and uncertainty; in one such scene, there is even an ironic tribute to “Patton” for those watching closely.

Despite the degree to which Nair is able to flesh out the aviatrix’s life, Amelia’s primary trait remains her desire to be “transported to a safe, beautiful place where everything is comprehensible.” She gets there through flight, but for those of us hampered by FAA regulations, “Amelia” offers an opportunity for the same experience. It is visually sumptuous, easy to understand, and endowed with the simple romanticism of a Capra film that Earhart might have watched herself. With any other director, it might have become a dark and melodramatic Hilary Swank vehicle. And although some will criticize “Amelia” for not being that, perhaps this is just the kind of film we needed right now.