AT a long-haul three hours, DiCaprio pilots a turbulent flight through the life of inheritance tycoon, playboy and aeroplane fanatic Howard Hughes.

Launching into a sumptuous 1920s world of high society, Hughes' oil industry parents are dead, leaving him to experiment as a maverick movie director.

By day he hurls money at a huge World War One production in the desert, by night he loiters in dance halls and seduces movie starlets, most notably Katharine Hepburn (Blanchett).

The war film drags on but Hughes burns more cash as the accountants and yes-men tear their hair out.

A pattern emerges. Hughes' flamboyance and genius carries over into the aviation world, where, in sudden urgent outbursts to his workers, he sets new records and reinvents planes.

In one scene he sketches up a new aircraft and then immediately turns to design a new bra to show off a generous bosom in one of his films. But the broad brushtrokes of his vision are offset by a deepening germ-obsessed perfectionism that fractures his relationships and leaves him clinging to the edge.

Dominated by an impressive DiCaprio and punctuated by strong supporting roles, Aviator wallows, drifts and almost bores for the first hour before lifting clear of the clouds.

Directorial god Martin Scorsese has engineered some haunting scenes - a roof-skimming aircrash among Hollywood mansions; DiCaprio duelling with a crooked senator (Alda); and a broken Hughes facing a breakdown alone in his private cinema.

By the time the story hits the late 1940s and Pan Am boss Juan Trippe (Baldwin, on form) gets ready to buy up Hughes' fleet, DiCaprio has triumphed in capturing our hearts. At this point, it feels like we are flying. Expect an Oscar nomination.

Mono rating: seven out of ten.