Review: Living in the Age of Airplanes (2015)

 

98/100

Take a look at that image. What do you see? I see a messy body of water, scattered across a mass of land. But others may be more focused on its colors. The patterns of the water. It's almost like a work of art. An unfinished, impressionist painting by Vincent van Gogh. But let me tell you, people: it is part of our Earth. Specifically, a swamp in Alaska.

But if we humans are land beings, then how could we ever think of this from an aesthetic standpoint? Decades ago, the biggest thing we had were hot air balloons, and even they are a hassle. Around 10 people for the maximum capacity. Not all balloonists can pilot it for long-haul travel, and who would want to spend days exposed to cold air just to reach the other side of the continent? We live in the age of airplanes, an age of everything maximum. Not just speed and comfort, but also contemplation. Resonance. Perspective.

In Living in the Age of Airplanes, producer-director Brian J. Terwilliger provides a whole set of perspectives we can think of as our plane journeys through land and sea. This 47-minute documentary is divided into five chapters, with the first few exploring the history and different aspects of aviation, and the final being like the roundup of the previous chapters. As an IMAX film, it is filled with vibrant cinematography galore, serving as a visual aid to Harrison Ford's narration. Whether or not the camera looks at an airplane in a shot, we can feel its presence. What this film succeeds in is its ability to make the viewers feel in-flight.

I can't tell what exactly is the film's style, but I feel like the more I think of my guesses, the more it becomes all of them. I have established my aviation geekiness in my review of To Fly! (1976), and with that background, Living in the Age of Airplanes becomes truly heartfelt. It becomes no wonder that Terwilliger himself is a geek, having made the aviation cult film One Six Right in 2005 (which I am looking forward to when I get the cash for it). I am not being weirdly hyperbolic when I say that I was reduced to a bean, watching as the pulses of my heart flow through the film. Every single shot, every single piece, every single word... it is exactly what my heart was thinking. It felt as though my feelings are radiated to the screen. Also a keyword I've heard among One Six Right fans, this film is a very personal work.

It's also important to note, again, that this film was formatted for IMAX exhibition and primarily released in it. I envied those who managed to catch a screening back in 2015, when I was too young to understand what IMAX even is. The question may be: if this film is shot in a 1.78:1 aspect ratio while IMAX screens are the taller at 1.43:1, why is this film marketed for IMAX? Is there a purpose? Monetary or related to the film? Did the filmmaker want it to be IMAX-shot and just happened to be low on budget?

I think it could be all of them. But what's most resonant for me when watching it is that IMAX just suits best. Terwilliger and Ford together made a meditative essay on technology and life, an educational entertainment that teaches us to be optimistic about the things around us, a reminder of the beauty hidden in every corner. Such works deserve to be seen on the biggest screen, slapping audiences with each of its beautiful frames in a dimmed, chill room. It is, in a way a conventional audience might not vocally understand, very escapist, in that Terwilliger demands your attention for 47 minutes, get rid of the other things you have in mind, and just think. And when the final chapter rolls, it interacts with your thinking, and although there may not be a definite answer to the question "How can I enjoy flight", he then provides you with his magnificent answer, transcending the cruising altitude and touching the face of God.

When it decides to slightly tone down its heavy nature, it becomes a very fun giant-screen treat, its transition never jarring thanks to editor Brad Besser's efforts. As we feel the speed of air cargo, the late James Horner provided us with scores that drive us as the film drives through places and situations, culminating in a time-lapsed takeoff and subsiding with a  slow contemplative pan around a house filled with items shipped in no time thanks to airplanes. Some reviews have panned Living in the Age of Airplanes as a PSA or aviation propaganda meant to spike ticket sales after the slightly decaying reputation of air safety. But putting aside the fact that cars suffer more accidents than planes, this film is in no way feeding us with Terwilliger's beliefs. Sure, it may be inspired by it, but the point of the film is to acknowledge the power of aviation beyond the flights themselves. Aviation has literally affected humanity, technologically and emotionally.

Some reviews, I've heard, called the film not a documentary and merely a collection of National Geographic videos (for context, NatGeo distributed the film). But I don't think it's that. What's a documentary anyway? CCTV footage? That's one documentary technique: fly on the wall. This is an essay film, an examination of the outside world with an audiovisual aura. But this is also an expository documentary, poetically observing factual occurrences, connecting them flawlessly, and compressing them to one profound theme. Sure, this is not a perfect documentary on airplanes with some scenes definitely feeling a bit preachy, and I'm sure Terwilliger is looking forward to people who can continue his message, but for now, it did its job. There are so many layers to Living in the Age of Airplanes, but to summarize its message... why is it amazing that we can fly? Well, for one, it's that we can fly.

Living in the Age of Airplanes is available digitally and physically.