Flyboys is a WWI action/drama inspired by the Lafayette Escadrille, a French Air Service squadron comprised largely of American Soldiers. The soldiers were aspiring pilots volunteering long before the United States entered the war, making them the nation's first fighter pilots. Now I say inspired because if it were based upon the facts, it would be neglecting them, as well as the laws of gravity.
Although there were many French soldiers in the squadron, the film ignores them, instead focusing on a roster of starry-eyed, all American boys. It's most prevalent face is James Franco's, who plays Blaine Rawlings, the heroic GQ hunk and, if he were real, inventor of the frosted tips hairstyle a century before their fashion. Our only French militant is Captain Thenault acted by surprise, surprise Jean Reno. He is a respectable buffoon and delivers some of the film's best moments
The boys are not daunted by the three-week life expectancy, nor by Cassidy, an American who just won't go home. After two dozen kills, he is still waiting to take down Germany's Black Falcon, a vicious MaCguffin (an ambiguous plot device that gives motivation but little relevance.)
Following a brief montage of grassroots training, the boys are ready to go airborne and blast countless bullets in countless rounds of combat. The action is chaotically choreographed with hair-raising spectacle. Each battle interspersed with Blaine trying to romance a homely French woman.
Although it is not the type of movie I would pursue on my own wallet, Flyboys understands it's audience and caters to their amusement. It has a self-conscious coyness, coming off as completely unpretentious. Unlike Pearl Harbor, it does not bombard us with botched patriotism and the harshness of war. Flyboys offers about as much insight into war as PS2's Socom.
It gives us what we expect in unexpected ways. When the pilots crash land, they are healed by savory French ladies. But instead of your typical nurses, they are prostitutes from the local brothel.
While the pilots may be charming, their characters are so vague and easily transformed that once they strap on their goggles, there is nothing left to advance their journey. When they do exhibit change, it is barely internal. Beagle learns how to hit a target; Briggs learns to work with a black man; Lyle learns that no matter how strong his faith in Jesus, the Lord cannot save him from ammo to the face.
To regress to my Socom comparison, Flyboys starts to become a video game. Gradually distancing itself from reality until, in one scene, a German sprints atop an exploding Zeppelin. Each fight becomes less and less significant, lingering on, making me wish for a cheat code that will wrap the game.
But it's a fun game, and if I didn't have better things to do with my life, I would continue with it until Flyboys 2: Operation Hitler-Takedown replenishes my amusement.
Although there were many French soldiers in the squadron, the film ignores them, instead focusing on a roster of starry-eyed, all American boys. It's most prevalent face is James Franco's, who plays Blaine Rawlings, the heroic GQ hunk and, if he were real, inventor of the frosted tips hairstyle a century before their fashion. Our only French militant is Captain Thenault acted by surprise, surprise Jean Reno. He is a respectable buffoon and delivers some of the film's best moments
The boys are not daunted by the three-week life expectancy, nor by Cassidy, an American who just won't go home. After two dozen kills, he is still waiting to take down Germany's Black Falcon, a vicious MaCguffin (an ambiguous plot device that gives motivation but little relevance.)
Following a brief montage of grassroots training, the boys are ready to go airborne and blast countless bullets in countless rounds of combat. The action is chaotically choreographed with hair-raising spectacle. Each battle interspersed with Blaine trying to romance a homely French woman.
Although it is not the type of movie I would pursue on my own wallet, Flyboys understands it's audience and caters to their amusement. It has a self-conscious coyness, coming off as completely unpretentious. Unlike Pearl Harbor, it does not bombard us with botched patriotism and the harshness of war. Flyboys offers about as much insight into war as PS2's Socom.
It gives us what we expect in unexpected ways. When the pilots crash land, they are healed by savory French ladies. But instead of your typical nurses, they are prostitutes from the local brothel.
While the pilots may be charming, their characters are so vague and easily transformed that once they strap on their goggles, there is nothing left to advance their journey. When they do exhibit change, it is barely internal. Beagle learns how to hit a target; Briggs learns to work with a black man; Lyle learns that no matter how strong his faith in Jesus, the Lord cannot save him from ammo to the face.
To regress to my Socom comparison, Flyboys starts to become a video game. Gradually distancing itself from reality until, in one scene, a German sprints atop an exploding Zeppelin. Each fight becomes less and less significant, lingering on, making me wish for a cheat code that will wrap the game.
But it's a fun game, and if I didn't have better things to do with my life, I would continue with it until Flyboys 2: Operation Hitler-Takedown replenishes my amusement.