Propeller One-Way Night Coach

Propeller One-Way Night Coach tells a simple story, but with such detail and nuance that we come away feeling that we really understand these people and their times.

For all its paeans to flight (as well as a father’s celebration of his daughter’s big-screen possibilities), “Propeller” doesn’t soar, but it does reach a comfortable cruising altitude.

This old-fashioned tale may not appeal to kids today. But it’s hard to be down on a film that gets up in the air and back down to land inside an hour, entertaining its audience with wit and whimsy.

A sweet, odd diversion – more eccentric, maybe, than Travolta intended.

The sheer enthusiasm is at times infectious, and at other times you wish he’d worked with a forthright script editor. Still, it’s diverting to see an authentic and genuine oddity of a project.

It is normal to be bored by dreadful films, or even annoyed by them. But I don’t believe I have ever felt as sorry for one as I do John Travolta’s directorial debut, the viewing of which is like watching a toddler walk into a lamp post.

Playing like an extended fever dream defined by shallow snapshots of memories, incessant narration by Travolta himself, a gallery of cartoonish, one-note characters, and a poisonous, perfunctory sense of nostalgia, it’s a disaster that leaves no survivors.

This film is based on John Travolta's 1997 book and it’s also his directorial debut. It follows a boy who loves aviation and takes a trip with his mother on a cross-country flight in 1962, when people still dressed up to fly and even freely smoked on board. The film’s greatest asset is the beautiful recreations of the terminals and aircraft (including the TWA Hotel at JFK Airport). As for the script, it’s continually precious, which might work for a young audience or a child’s POV, but it gets downright hokey after a while. Considering that he’s so excited about his flight experience, Clark Shotwell is rather flat in the role (after all, he is essentially Travolta). As his mother, Kelly Eviston-Quinnett is appropriately motherly, while being pretentious. I must mention that his daughter, Ella Bleu Travolta, is lovely as the friendly flight attendant (or stewardess in those days). Travolta narrated, has a brief cameo and cast other family members in various roles. It’s unquestionably a vanity project. While I appreciated the lovely imagery, I found the film was trying too hard to be poetically sweet and wondrous and that effect didn’t translate to the screen.

John Travolta took his children's novel about a long plane trip and turned it into an... audiobook? In this film, we hear him narrating nonstop for an hour, describing what the characters are doing and thinking. Adding insult to injury, the story couldn't be more corny, repetitive, and boring. It's practically just about a kid flying to Los Angeles with his mom. Exasperating and saccharine from beginning to end.

If you turn off the sound and just ogle the production/costume design, it's awesome!