Shadow & Substance is a column that explores the world of film and TV, especially in the genres of sci-fi and horror. Asking the questions and exploring the answers that lie in the middle ground between light and shadow.
Foundational Storytelling: The Enduring Charm of The Rocketeer
I had a pretty stressful week, so as the weekend rolled around, I decided to take a break, kick back, crack open a soda, and relax by watching a movie. Of course, in the era of streaming, one is instantly overloaded with choices of what to watch, and after what felt like an hour, I decided to forgo my normal choices, revisit something from my past, and indulge in a bit of nostalgia.
I settled on the Disney classic The Rocketeer from 1991, starring Billy Campbell, Alan Arkin, Jennifer Connelly, Timothy Dalton, and Terry O’Quinn, among others. This picture had always been a favorite of mine since childhood, and it had been a long time since I had seen it. It was just as enjoyable revisiting it as I had hoped. It’s a thrilling adventure story with great characters, special effects that still look good, and an oh-so-beautiful Jennifer Connelly.
It’s the type of picture that makes one forget where they are for 100 minutes as one is drawn into the hyper-stylized world of late 1930s LA. The picture, in many ways, feels like it could exist in the same world as the romantic comedy I.Q. from 1994, as they both share a similar hyper-realized period existence that is outside our world but still about 95% similar.
But I digress. As the credits rolled, I sat in my room and watched the names roll by, slightly sad that my journey into The Rocketeer’s world was already over. I began to think about how motion pictures like this are just not made anymore. I tried to pinpoint just what it was about this particular story that felt so vastly different from the ones that are released today.
The Rocketeer had a soul and a heart; it had an identity. It was not released just to fill a quota or to keep the rights from expiring. It came into being because someone had a story to tell and set out to craft a motion picture to tell it. The special effects could not rely on CGI, and a monumental amount of work was needed to bring the flying scenes to life. The climactic zeppelin set piece took four months and almost half a million dollars to come into being. It took real creativity and ingenuity to bring everything to life.
The script relied on the foundational simplicity of storytelling to get its story across. The heroes are very good, the villains are very bad, and love and friendship are important. At the core, we see the simple trials of our characters: Jenny wants her boyfriend’s attention, and Cliff wants to be a good pilot. They are selfish at times, but in the end, the goodness of their hearts wins out.
Its world is hyper-stylized and colorful; it’s an idealized world that the viewer wants to live in, where people help each other and adventure lies right around the corner. I am not going to try to explain why modern pictures don’t have this same feeling, but there is a reason film watchers always go back to the “classics.” At the end of the day, those stories have a soul, a heart, and an identity.\
So, maybe this weekend, pull up The Rocketeer and let yourself be transported to the world of late 1930s LA. Fly along with Cliff and Jenny; you will be better off for it and come out with a greater appreciation of pictures like it.
