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Joe Johnston clearly loved the serial adventure stories of the 30s-50s. He also clearly loved the daredevil adventure films of Errol Flynn. While The Rocketeer is an open-hearted tribute to both of these things, it manages to goof up its hero, substituting the rascals of Flynn or the tough-but-square types that populated serials with a bland leading man. Still, The Rocketeer manages to leave a lasting impression of a sweet-natured, thrilling spectacle thanks in no small part to Johnston’s clear devotion to his inspirations.
Based on the comics of Dave Stevens, itself a hodgepodge of influences thrown together into a delightful concoction, the film version captures much of that tone, even if it does lose some of the character along the way. Mainly, Cliff Secord, our Rocketeer, is a bit on the stiff and bland side. Is it that Billy Campbell’s performance is too stiff, or is it that some of the more unique and dynamic aspects of the character got a little lost in the editing room? Stevens claims the latter, and I’m inclined to believe him. Campbell’s good looks and awe-shucks persona feel right for the era and character, so something must have been lost in post-production.
It was probably interference from Disney, they wanted toys and merchandise after seeing the mountains of money and critical prestige that Tim Burton’s Batman and Warren Beatty’s Dick Tracy amassed. Unfortunately for them, the film bombed. But sometimes works have curiously long lives after-the-fact. The Rocketeer is now embraced as a cult-film, and it deserves it. Despite the probable studio tinkering, the film glows with the warmth and humor of a retro-action/adventure film.
It was so nice coming into this film’s many and various action scenes and watching as they visibly displayed the spatial relations between characters and objects with clarity. I don’t know why modern blockbusters have fallen into such kinetic frenzy of blurred spatial relations and frantic editing, but being able to tell what was going on in The Rocketeer was admirable and endearing. It was also refreshingly lower-stakes in the big climax. Think of how many comic book films descend into a third-act which is nothing but mass destruction, rubble raining down from the sky, and the fate of the world resting on this battle.
All Cliff needs to do is stop the Nazi spy movie star from getting away. Aiding him along the way are Howard Hughes, a fatherly figure mechanic, his plucky girlfriend (who is blessedly not a damsel-in-distress), members of the Italian mafia, and the FBI. It’s a colorful group of supporting players, and it’s populated by an equally colorful group of character actors. Paul Sorvino is the head of the mafia, Terry O’Quinn is Howard Hughes, Alan Arkin as the fatherly mechanic, and Jennifer Connelly looks era perfect as the girlfriend.
Towering over all of them is Timothy Dalton’s work as the truly hissable villain Neville Sinclair. Patterned after Errol Flynn and a secret Nazi spy, Sinclair is the type of deliciously hammy villain that actors dream of playing. He runs circles around the hero in who’s a more memorable character, and Dalton plays him up with élan. Making the casting choice even better is knowing that Dalton was the James Bond of this particular time frame.
The Rocketeer is pure charm, and a quiet reminder of how homespun some of the earlier comic book movies could be before the template became hardened. Shame that they couldn’t get the formula right between story pacing, action scenes, and character development, often times leaning too hard on one or another. What emerges is a likable and endearing cult film, and one wonders what could have been if the intended franchise had taken off. Pity it didn’t. I’d love to visit this bunch of characters and their world once more.
