Occasionally a movie comes along from Hollywood that sweeps you away with the breadth and scope of its sheer awfulness.
True story - a hank of hair at the International Women's Air and Space Museum in Cleveland thought to be Amelia Earhart's was recently discovered to be, in fact, just thread. This movie is the cinematic equivalent. This movie, thought to be about Amelia Earhart is, in fact, a threaded bundle of cliches and overwrought soap opera moments. If Hilary Swank gave one more brave toothy grin, I thought I was going to have to leave. But I stuck it out to see which was worse, the unconvincing acting, the poor casting, Richard Gere, the costumey looking costumes, or the dreadful Peter Pan soundtrack. But the winner, I think, is the screenplay, which rattles off one maudlin insight after another alternating with scenes of stunning mediocrity played without conviction or chemistry.
If some of this is based on Earhart's real words, then maybe she's just not that interesting a subject for film. My guess is that the forever overly earnest Hillary Swank, as executive producer, buoyed by research and good intentions, convinced Mira Nair that her poetic approach to film-making would be perfect against the pilot's own words of inspiration. The result is a disaster. When you're sitting in the theater having shelled out your ten bucks and you can't wait for Amelia Earhart to die, you know you've gone to the wrong movie.