A Defence of Crowe’s Aloha (2015)

Guest writer Adrian Ho makes a case for the widely contentious Aloha (2015), and argues that there is more to it than meets the eye.

Cameron Crowe is known for his bleeding heart, but lately, his calling card has morphed from endearing signifier to backhanded insult. Critics who once praised him for his deft touch and profundity in early seminal films like Almost Famous (2002) and Jerry Maguire (1996) are now the very same people who would jump at the opportunity to tear him down, or at least suggest his downfall. No one is arguing whether Elizabethtown (2005) or We Bought a Zoo (2011) deserve to be placed in the same category as his earlier works, but viewing his work retrospectively through a binary lens of good/bad seems plainly insincere, especially when considering that despite the accusations of self-parody and mediocrity levied against Crowe for both of those films, they still offered audiences the whimsy that is associated with his brand of filmmaking. Perhaps more importantly, both films continue this grand narrative in his filmography of detailing the American experience in the only way anyone knows how, through their own eyes. In Elizabethtown, Crowe rummages through an American psyche in turmoil and investigates the role of failure in success, and, through a death in the family, harkens back to the idea of community and love to mend the psychic wounds of the country through the emotional rut of a man coming face to face with hopelessness and grief. We Bought a Zoo searches for “an authentic American experience” within alternative spaces, recalling lessons from the counterculture in its journey of rejuvenation. Despite these rich ideas, there is some credit to the notion that Crowe has failed to express them in as compelling a manner as he once did.

Tom Cruise and Renée Zellweger in Jerry Maguire (1996).

Aloha (2015) then, as one of the films unfortunately caught in the Sony hack debacle (remember that?), publicly decried by then-Sony Pictures chair Amy Pascal in her memos for being a “hot-burning couch fire of a mess-in-production”, seemed like the perfect film to bandwagon onto, and to continue the narrative of Crowe as yet another one of those directors who lost his touch over the years. Some may instead position themselves as Crowe apologists, proclaiming Aloha to be a good film, but only if you squint your eyes and watch it from afar. This isn’t one of those reviews. Instead, I offer Aloha as a return to form. Not only does Aloha offer a refreshingly earnest take on the rom-com in a genre that has turned cynical over-the-years, but it extends Crowe’s vision of the world, in only ways he could. If Almost Famous was an exaggerated autobiographical self-portrait steeped in nostalgia for a time when rock-and-roll and journalism was still important—and is, thus, an embodiment of a model of American self-hood—then Aloha is Crowe’s version of the American myth conjured through wishful eyes. A vision of America that triumphs over cynicism, that overcomes capitalist greed and lives up to the spirit of exceptionalism of which it boasts. 

Bradley Cooper and Emma Stone in Aloha (2015).

Bradley Cooper's Brian Gilcrest, a washed-up contractor with a body as broken as he is, is allowed a second chance at an ideal life. A military contractor who almost loses his life in Afghanistan, Gilcrest is a man who’s hit rock-bottom, and must now return back to his home of sorts to right some wrongs. He is hired by a private defense contractor to supervise the blessing of a pedestrian gate, which leads him to negotiate with natives on the sanctuary, relocate ancient bones, and sabotage a mysterious satellite launch before the film ends. He’s yet another one of Crowe’s chewed-up, bleeding heart underdogs that manages to conquer the comeback trail. One wonders if Crowe could have casted someone more in-line with the character, an actor in need of a comeback, or someone who’s just beginning to fade into obscurity rather than Cooper, who’s on the up-and-up. Yet, a statement like that feels ignorant of the habits of Hollywood and its need for star power, not to mention the prerequisites of the genre: two charming bankable well-known leads, regardless of quality. Perhaps this is a flaw of the genre, but this also ignores the charming performances from both Bradley Cooper and Emma Stone who play their part to perfection. Accusations aimed towards the film by Hawaiian groups expressing concern before the release of the film of it representing a whitewashing of native culture seems to culminate in Stone’s Captain Alison Ng, a woman of Hawaiian and Asian heritage. While problematic, Cpt. Alison Ng’s proclamation of her quarter-Hawaiian, quarter-Chinese heritage within the film is often a punchline in and of itself, a running joke more indicative of her floozy characteristic. Arguably a misfire, it's also indicative of Crowe’s blunt, yet earnestly sincere approach towards characters and dialogue. If anything, Crowe makes an effort to cast light on Hawaiian heritage, and even draws inspiration in the mythology of his film from island myths. Whilst his characters and the film itself are all haole – it is also knowingly so. The inclusion of Dennis ‘Bumpy’ Kanahele and his sovereign Nation of Hawaii playing themselves in the negotiations of the land in a crucial plot point of the film feels like Crowe extending an olive branch, and to an extent, recognising the need for permission, whilst also acknowledging the importance of representation on film. Crowe’s love letter to Hawaii obliquely recognises its longstanding history with imperialism, nodding respectfully towards a past and present with which Crowe accepts is out of his depth, and which he does not completely pursue. 

Our Hawaiian and Asian-origin heroine, Emma Stone.

Rather, Aloha’s Hawaii serves both as a romantic destination befitting of the rom-com genre, as well as a personification of Cooper's conundrum, and or that of the American idea; this internal conflict between the America of myth, and the America of reality; one of cynicism and one of hope. Hawaii transforms into a secondary character, one which influences the narrative through its outlook and attitude — carefree, sun-kissed, and spiritual, operated with whimsy and an eye towards the mystic. Crowe embodies the ethos of the romantic comedy, and moves his film not by logic, but by emotion. It’s a perfect pairing for Crowe’s mantra, which is perhaps why his films have tended to lean this way since the very beginning. Aloha, in all its incongruence of tone and heightened expression, merely seeks to express the world in ways only a rom-com could, in ways which Crowe seems to wax nostalgic for. Aloha is a journey of imagined relief, one which ends with an anti-climax that tests the loyalties of the viewer. Which one are you? A cynic or a believer?