A nice cast in a somewhat unimaginative film -- Van Johnson, Walter Pidgeon, Louis Calhern, Keenan Wynn, Frank Lovejoy. Calhern is James Michener, famed author of "Tales of the South Pacific," who visits an aircraft carrier during the Korean war, has the various devices and routines explained to him (and us), and is told a long story in flashback by Pidgeon, the Medical Officer.
Tales of the Aviators comes in two parts, it seems. The first two thirds of the flashback shows us the dangers of flight and the conflict between two kinds of personalities among the fliers. Keenan Wynne is 37 years old, a man who fought in World War II and feels he's already had his share of combat. He has a wife and several children at home. He questions the goals of the Korean conflict and is determined to "look out for Number One." He manages to convert young Dewey Martin but does nothing more than draw silent scorn from Van Johnson. Johnson believes that "a man has to do what he has to do." Or, to put it another way, "a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."
If that sounds bromidic it's because it is. In fact, many of the lines and the ideas behind them ring hoary with age. Calhern: "I guess a man's life is a search for himself." What, exactly, is that supposed to MEAN? James Michener, on whose stories this film is based, is far too skilled to have written that sentence. And how about, "A man's gotta look out for himself cause nobody else will"? Or, "It's not what a man says, it's what he does"? Not that the dialog or the notions it's supposed to represent matters much. Nobody acts in accordance with their own credos. The cynical Wynn goes back to the danger zone to look for a comrade and nothing is made of it.
Things get more tense during the final third of the flashback, in which Dewey Martin is blinded by anti-aircraft fire over the target and must be guided back to the carrier and coaxed through a landing on the flight deck by Van Johnson. Neither actor seems to put much into it but the situation itself is so gripping that a viewer is drawn into the story. We've already seen one aviator crash and die during a landing, so we know that it can happen again.
I always thought those Grumman Panthers were beautiful airplanes, perhaps the last of the machines that actually LOOKED like a real airplane, with straight wings, an identifiable tail assembly, and the rest of the old-fashioned accouterments. I was thrilled in Monterey Bay, watching them practice touch-and-go landings on a carrier from the deck of another ship, all sleek and glossy blue. I never liked modern airplanes. They look either like fancied-up darts, some kind of flying bug, or a nightmarish origami. Pfui.
The flight scenes are still beautiful in this film but the moment the images shift from the Panthers that are flying around for the movie, to gun cameras or newsreel footage, the charm deliquesces. The editors and producers handle the ancillary footage clumsily. One moment a Panther dives in for an attack, then, in the blink of an eye, it becomes a propeller-driven Corsair. If a Panther cracks up on the deck, it momentarily morphs into a Douglas Skyraider before reverting to its designated form.
The movie is crowned with about ten loooong minutes of home movies that have been sent to the ship to be shown to the aviators on Christmas day. "Hello, darling. I can't wait for you to come back. I've been trying on wedding dresses. How about this one?"
Well? How about it?
Tales of the Aviators comes in two parts, it seems. The first two thirds of the flashback shows us the dangers of flight and the conflict between two kinds of personalities among the fliers. Keenan Wynne is 37 years old, a man who fought in World War II and feels he's already had his share of combat. He has a wife and several children at home. He questions the goals of the Korean conflict and is determined to "look out for Number One." He manages to convert young Dewey Martin but does nothing more than draw silent scorn from Van Johnson. Johnson believes that "a man has to do what he has to do." Or, to put it another way, "a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."
If that sounds bromidic it's because it is. In fact, many of the lines and the ideas behind them ring hoary with age. Calhern: "I guess a man's life is a search for himself." What, exactly, is that supposed to MEAN? James Michener, on whose stories this film is based, is far too skilled to have written that sentence. And how about, "A man's gotta look out for himself cause nobody else will"? Or, "It's not what a man says, it's what he does"? Not that the dialog or the notions it's supposed to represent matters much. Nobody acts in accordance with their own credos. The cynical Wynn goes back to the danger zone to look for a comrade and nothing is made of it.
Things get more tense during the final third of the flashback, in which Dewey Martin is blinded by anti-aircraft fire over the target and must be guided back to the carrier and coaxed through a landing on the flight deck by Van Johnson. Neither actor seems to put much into it but the situation itself is so gripping that a viewer is drawn into the story. We've already seen one aviator crash and die during a landing, so we know that it can happen again.
I always thought those Grumman Panthers were beautiful airplanes, perhaps the last of the machines that actually LOOKED like a real airplane, with straight wings, an identifiable tail assembly, and the rest of the old-fashioned accouterments. I was thrilled in Monterey Bay, watching them practice touch-and-go landings on a carrier from the deck of another ship, all sleek and glossy blue. I never liked modern airplanes. They look either like fancied-up darts, some kind of flying bug, or a nightmarish origami. Pfui.
The flight scenes are still beautiful in this film but the moment the images shift from the Panthers that are flying around for the movie, to gun cameras or newsreel footage, the charm deliquesces. The editors and producers handle the ancillary footage clumsily. One moment a Panther dives in for an attack, then, in the blink of an eye, it becomes a propeller-driven Corsair. If a Panther cracks up on the deck, it momentarily morphs into a Douglas Skyraider before reverting to its designated form.
The movie is crowned with about ten loooong minutes of home movies that have been sent to the ship to be shown to the aviators on Christmas day. "Hello, darling. I can't wait for you to come back. I've been trying on wedding dresses. How about this one?"
Well? How about it?