Though he’s written, directed and produced several films, Warren Beatty is first and foremost a movie star. His first film in 15 years is about movies and movie stars; he centres actors in the frame, knowing when to hold on their faces and let their expressions carry a scene. Lily Collins and Alden Ehrenreich are almost too good here; too beautiful and too precise. It’s Beatty who is the main event, delivering an inward-looking performance, casting himself as the eccentric, increasingly erratic Howard Hughes, and even writing himself a sex scene (an invocation of Beatty’s promiscuous star persona, perhaps).
Looser, weirder and more fun than a big-budget biopic might purport to be, it takes place in Hughes’s Hollywood. The aviation junkie and billionaire film-maker was an enigma who kept almost 30 actresses under contract, footing their living expenses and promising roles in his movies, but rarely meeting them in person. Devout Baptist and self-proclaimed square Marla Mabrey (Collins) is one such ingenue; talkative, hopeful and willing her big break to happen, she becomes fast friends with her dashing chauffeur Frank Forbes (future Han Solo Ehrenreich). What plays out between the pair is an exquisitely costumed romantic comedy, unfolding against the backdrop of a rapidly changing California and its first brushes with the sexual revolution.
Meanwhile, Hughes’s moviemaking empire grows unstable; the descent of both his business and mental health quickly become Beatty’s primary concern. The film’s success hinges on which story you find yourself more invested in; the romcom or the biopic (Martin Scorsese’s The Aviator offered a more serious attempt at this). But its unevenness isn’t a deal-breaker; instead, it makes for something sloppy, lively and joyfully fast-paced.
