Director Report Card: Steven Spielberg (1989) - Part Two

15. Always

During the making of “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” the pyrotechnic intensity of the film had Spielberg longing for the spirituality of “Close Encounters of the Third Kind.” Out of this desire to return to a gentler, more contemplative atmosphere arose “E.T.” Thus a pattern was born throughout Spielberg’s career, of often following up his special-effects filled blockbusters with more sentimental, quieter stories. After unleashing "The Last Crusade" on audiences in May, Spielberg would have "Always" on theater screens by Christmas of the same year. The project had its origins during the filming of "Jaws," when Steven and Richard Dreyfus discovered they both loved the 1943 Spencer Tracy romance/fantasy "A Guy Named Joe,” that both desired to remake it. Though it took fifteen years, the idea would come to fruitarian by the end of the eighties. 

"A Guy Named Joe's" World War II-set story is updated to the modern day, switching out fighter pilots for an aerial firefighting crew. Pete is the best pilot in his team, though his risky behavior often causes his girlfriend, air traffic controller Dorinda, to panic. After Dorinda and Pete's best friend, Al, talk him into taking a teaching position in Arizona, he's called out on an emergency mission. He saves Al's life from a burning engine at the cost of his own. Pete awakens in the afterlife and is told by an angel named Hap that it's now his job to inspire the living to do their best. Pete's suggestions appear as thoughts, intuitions, and dreams to the living. He finds himself teaching an up-and-coming pilot named Ted his trade. Ted also begins to form a romance to the grieving Dorinda, who is still struggling to get over her loss. 

Romance had never been an especially compelling part of Spielberg's movies before. The romantic subplots in the "Indiana Jones" movies might've been cute but were clearly secondary to everything else. "Jaws" and "The Color Purple" downplayed the relationship entanglements in their source materials. With "Always," Spielberg leaped full-force into the lovey-dovey side of his soul. There's a couple of problems with this though. Pete and Dorinda's relationship is established over the course of only a few scenes before he dies. This doesn't give us much time for the romance to feel especially real and lived-in. Moreover, from the first moment, Pete's eventual death is heavily foreshadowed. The first dialogue they exchange is Dorinda chastising him for his dangerous stunts. His attempts to tell her how he feels are drowned out by the roar of the propellers, an overly ironic touch that seals his fate. It's difficult to care too much about these two when we know, right from the get-go, that one of them is going to die. 

Another, even more pressing issue facing "Always" is that its love story is more sappy than scintillating. The central relationship is defined more by cutesy gestures than any visible bond between the two. Paul buys her a sparkly, pink dress for her birthday — which he always remembers as being two days before it actually is — and they share a dance while their song plays. Meanwhile, the other guys look on in envy. That’s a teenager’s conception of what a romantic gesture is, which does little to dismiss the notion that Spielberg is just a big kid inside. A later moment, where Dorinda recited a shopping list in her sleep while Paul’s spirit communicates with her, is similarly too quirky and cute to be believable. The challenge and compromises of a real relationship are never apparent, nor the genuine endearment you’d expect these two to feel for each other. It’s the gift shop greeting card version of love. The chemistry between Richard Dreyfus and Holly Hunter is almost enough to salvage this element but “Always’” fatal flaw remains its syrupy approach. This becomes all the more obvious as the movie glides towards its maudlin conclusion.

“Always” works better when focusing on its depiction of the aftermath. The moment when Pete realizes he's dead is probably the film's best scene. He awakens in a burnt-out forest, the earth brown and the trees blackened. Yet there is a single oasis in the form of a blossoming tree and a ring of untouched grass. It's a fittingly dream-like setting, linked to the movie's reality but off-beat enough to suggest the otherworldly. The white gowns and heavenly harps associated with the cliched depictions of Heaven are suggested by Hap's spotless white pantsuit. The "life flashes before your eyes" premise is delved into when Hap takes Paul to the golden field of wheat where he first flew. (Further cementing Spielberg's linking between flight and a sense of wonder.) It's the only time "Always" really grasps the spiritual, magic feeling of awe Spielberg so captured in "Close Encounters" and "E.T." This might entirely be because Audrey Hepburn is here as Hap, in her final film role but as spritely and graceful as ever. 

The script's take on the afterlife, in general, produces some interesting moments. Once again, the wings and halos you'd expect from the guardian angel premise are discarded. Pete simply appears wherever Ted is. The other man picks up on the suggestions and things Pete says subconsciously, sometimes misconstruing the meaning in amusing ways. Those misunderstandings, when Pete guides Ted in unexpected ways, tend to get the biggest laughs. Such as when a meeting in a bar goes differently then expected. Or when Pete's words are seemingly picked up by a ranting homeless man. (Played by a perfectly deployed Roberts Blossom.) Scenes like this are cute in a good way, the rare times when the film's whimsy works in its favor. 

Ultimately though, I can't escape this feeling that "Always" is trying too hard to be funny, cute, and meaningful. This is most evident in the dialogue. Pete and Al trade Hawksian banter that is fast-paced and full of colorful turns-of-phrase. I'm normally all for memorable conversations like this but it feels mawkish in "Always," as if the film is working overtime to win the audience over. Look at the scene where Ted attempts to charm Dorinda with a mediocre John Wayne impression, while Pete looks on in bemused horror. It's too stylized to be grounded but too heavy-handed to be funny. A lot of "Always" feels that way, such as in the aforementioned dress scene or a sequence where Pete talks Ted into dropping extinguishing dust on Al. The tonal balance is off. 

And let's talk about this Ted guy. While the romance between Pete and Dorinda is never fully believable, they are at least played by likable performers. Richard Dreyfus and Holly Hunter are so down-to-Earth and lovable that it's almost impossible not to like them a little bit, no matter the quality of the film around them. The role of Ted was, supposedly, intended for Tom Cruise but ultimately played by former Marlboro Man Brad Johnson. And there's just nothing charming about this guy. Everything about the twinkle in his smile and his lantern-jawed good looks feels calculated and insincere. This is especially troublesome as Ted is the guy who will ultimately take Pete's place as Dorinda's lover. In order for this subplot to work, we have to see Ted as a worthy successor, not a usurper. Because the script sticks Johnson with its most cloying dialogue, and because there's something innately phony about the performer, it just doesn't happen. 

Johnson is the exception in an otherwise excellent cast. By this point, we already knew that Dreyfus could bring a delightfully smarmy edge to everyman roles, without loosing an innate charm. He might not be the first choice you'd expect for a tough guy profession like a firefighting pilot but Dreyfus mostly makes it work. Meanwhile, Holly Hunter and John Goodman's established personas as actors are already so perfectly attuned to Spielberg's style that I can't believe they didn't already work with him before this. Hunter's incredible ability to mix a down-to-Earth toughness with a girl-next-door vulnerability is reflective of so many past Spielberg heroines. You can really see her starring in “The Sugarland Express.” She's adorable here. Goodman's own ability to combine a blue collar affability with an incredible warmth – not to mention the ability to bend any phrase into pure poetry – is similarly suited to this world of everyday guys with big personalities and even bigger hearts.

That “Always” is let down by its own overbearing sentimentality is all the more frustrating because, in the times when it pulls back a little, it proves rather effective. Pete's death is bluntly depicted, his plane exploding with little warning, the characters all unprepared for it. The following scene, where Al tells Dorinda what happened, is depicted in silence, the camera watching through a window as they talk. Scenes like this emphasizes the suddenness of deaths like this and the shocking effect they have on those who survive. Another small, stand-out scene occurs when a bus driver has a heart attack in the middle of the road. Ted manages to successfully revive him but, for a moment, he's dead and standing next to Pete. The two exchange a look and then the man awakens. “Always” needed more subtle, observant filmmaking like that.

Even though “Always” fits in comfortably as one of Spielberg's spiritual films, the director still includes some special effects filled bombast. The flying sequences include a lot of green screen and miniature technology, that is about as seamless as they could have been at the time. The forest fires insure there's plenty of pyrotechnics. This is especially true in the last act, when the cameras get down in the pits of a forest as it goes up in flames. There's blazing logs rolling past the characters and fire right in everyone's faces. The whole sequence makes you come to the obvious, inevitable conclusion that Spielberg would direct the hell out of a disaster movie. “Always'” weakness are evident in that none of the main characters are down in this fire, making it less dynamic then it could've been. But it's still a hell of a set piece.

This is, of course, largely because Steven Spielberg never half-asses anything. “Always” may have been destined to go down in film history as minor Spielberg but it sure looks pretty. Collaborating with cinematographer Mikael Salomon, who shot “The Abyss” the same year, the director packs “Always” with memorable, lovely images. Pete's scene in the bar with Ted is beautifully filtered through shadow and smoke, with its share of purple and blue-ish tones that create an unforgettable atmosphere. Those precise lighting and coloration choices reappear all throughout “Always,” right down to its moonlit, weepy climax. And it looks fantastic, if nothing else.

The tendency for the film to both be too sentimental and strangely forgettable is also apparent in John Williams' score, which can be described with the same words. The most memorable touch of the score is the way Williams pipes “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” Pete and Dorinda's song, throughout. (Unsurprisingly, the central melody was supposed to be the Irving Berlin song that shares the film's title but the rights couldn't be secured.) “Always” did okay at the box office in 1989, though it fell far short of the director's biggest hits. The reviews were largely mixed, with even Spielberg's biggest fans agreeing that this one was a bit too much on the sappy side. The director's sugary side definitely took the lead on this one, a film that certainly isn't without its moments but proves compromised in many ways. [Grade: C+]