Robertson (who also directed) is a near perfect pilot with North American Airlines or whatever that fictional name is. Never even a question about a fender bender after some thirty years with Global Circumcisional Airlines, nor a whisper of one. He seems to have second sight about problems like the weather ahead. But his co-pilot and his flight attendant are uneasy, as is his girl friend, Diane Baker. Robertson has this little problem.
It's nothing drastic. He doesn't have a closet full of ladies' shoes or anything but he tipples all the time. He even has a flask ("my spooker") hidden away on the airplane, thoughtfully taped to the underside of the wash basin in the head. He's as cool a San Francisco in August. Nothing rattles him and he radiates self confidence. But he needs a few belts during a flight to keep him at the right altitude. At home, off duty, his self-imposed limits relax and though he's still cool his mind drifts and his words begin to run into each other.
This is a serious business. I've known pilots who wouldn't drink a glass of beer at lunch because they were going to fly later that afternoon. If National Transgender Airlines ever found out about Robertson's little habit, it would be good-bye wings and four stripes. The flight attendant suspects something is up because of Robertson's many visits to the loo and Robertson's never having mentioned a problem with Crohn's disease. She's kept a notebook timing his visits to the john. Well, she merely suspects that Robertson is drinking but his first officer, Converse, knows about it. He's been flying with Robertson a long time and the flight deck is a small community -- in which members don't squeal on one another to the authorities.
After one tense flight, when Robertson's flask leaks most of his booze, he decides to gamble on a long flight even though their fuel supply is low. He needs to set down in a city where he can get a drink pronto. According to the American Psychiatric Association, what Robertson suffers from is alcohol dependency. He doesn't need to get sloppy drunk but he needs alcohol on a regular basis to continue his normal functions. It's not acute alcoholism. That's the diagnosis for people who go on binges and stay drunk until they can't take it any longer. An example is director John Ford, who would stay bombed for several weeks at a time but allowed no drinking by anyone while shooting a movie. Of course a lot of individual cases fall in between these two categories. Now, if someone will help me out of this lab coat -- thank you,
Anyway, the boss at Worldwide Transcendental Airways, Gordon MacRae, who in real life was in a position to know about these things, decides to plant a mole, Binns, aboard Robertson's airplane, flying as co-pilot, just to keep an eye on him and see if anything is up. Nothing seems up at first but then, after an abruptly aborted takeoff prevents a calamity, Robertson heads straight for his spooker and is caught in the process. MacRae offers Robertson time off to get treatment but Robertson quits both booze and Escher's Infinite Airlines and returns to crop dusting where his heart has always been.
The film rests on Robertson's shoulders and he carries it well. The recent movie, "Flight", with Denzel Washington, is full of action and drama based on alcohol, crack, furious fireball-fomenting airplane crashes, and Washington's self righteousness. It could be a faster-paced and more violent variation on the theme established in "The Pilot." There are no fireballs here. Kids may find it sluggish and dull. But there is an abundance of tension and Robertson's performance is quite good.
His last scene with Converse has the two of them recovering from a near accident by having drinks in Robertson's hotel room. Converse says, "Now I really need this myself," but as he pours the whiskey, we see that his glass is half full of ice cubes and they get only a good splash, while Robertson's tumbler is neat and half full. That's not a picture of two people talking. It's the language of movies.
It's nothing drastic. He doesn't have a closet full of ladies' shoes or anything but he tipples all the time. He even has a flask ("my spooker") hidden away on the airplane, thoughtfully taped to the underside of the wash basin in the head. He's as cool a San Francisco in August. Nothing rattles him and he radiates self confidence. But he needs a few belts during a flight to keep him at the right altitude. At home, off duty, his self-imposed limits relax and though he's still cool his mind drifts and his words begin to run into each other.
This is a serious business. I've known pilots who wouldn't drink a glass of beer at lunch because they were going to fly later that afternoon. If National Transgender Airlines ever found out about Robertson's little habit, it would be good-bye wings and four stripes. The flight attendant suspects something is up because of Robertson's many visits to the loo and Robertson's never having mentioned a problem with Crohn's disease. She's kept a notebook timing his visits to the john. Well, she merely suspects that Robertson is drinking but his first officer, Converse, knows about it. He's been flying with Robertson a long time and the flight deck is a small community -- in which members don't squeal on one another to the authorities.
After one tense flight, when Robertson's flask leaks most of his booze, he decides to gamble on a long flight even though their fuel supply is low. He needs to set down in a city where he can get a drink pronto. According to the American Psychiatric Association, what Robertson suffers from is alcohol dependency. He doesn't need to get sloppy drunk but he needs alcohol on a regular basis to continue his normal functions. It's not acute alcoholism. That's the diagnosis for people who go on binges and stay drunk until they can't take it any longer. An example is director John Ford, who would stay bombed for several weeks at a time but allowed no drinking by anyone while shooting a movie. Of course a lot of individual cases fall in between these two categories. Now, if someone will help me out of this lab coat -- thank you,
Anyway, the boss at Worldwide Transcendental Airways, Gordon MacRae, who in real life was in a position to know about these things, decides to plant a mole, Binns, aboard Robertson's airplane, flying as co-pilot, just to keep an eye on him and see if anything is up. Nothing seems up at first but then, after an abruptly aborted takeoff prevents a calamity, Robertson heads straight for his spooker and is caught in the process. MacRae offers Robertson time off to get treatment but Robertson quits both booze and Escher's Infinite Airlines and returns to crop dusting where his heart has always been.
The film rests on Robertson's shoulders and he carries it well. The recent movie, "Flight", with Denzel Washington, is full of action and drama based on alcohol, crack, furious fireball-fomenting airplane crashes, and Washington's self righteousness. It could be a faster-paced and more violent variation on the theme established in "The Pilot." There are no fireballs here. Kids may find it sluggish and dull. But there is an abundance of tension and Robertson's performance is quite good.
His last scene with Converse has the two of them recovering from a near accident by having drinks in Robertson's hotel room. Converse says, "Now I really need this myself," but as he pours the whiskey, we see that his glass is half full of ice cubes and they get only a good splash, while Robertson's tumbler is neat and half full. That's not a picture of two people talking. It's the language of movies.