West Point of the Air: Just a Lot of Yelling and Propellers

Is this actually worth the watch?

Look, if you have a soft spot for old black-and-white training montages and guys in leather flight caps looking stoic, you might find something to like here. It is not exactly high art, but it is a solid slice of 1935 studio filler. If you hate movies where the plot is mostly just 'man needs to learn respect,' stay far away. ✈️

Wallace Beery plays the sergeant with a growl that sounds like gravel in a blender. He is constantly chewing on something, either a cigar or his own words. Watching him try to teach Robert Young how to be a 'real man' feels like watching a stubborn donkey try to push a wall over. It’s loud, it’s sweaty, and it’s very, very repetitive.

There is this one scene—honestly, it feels like it lasts for an entire hour—where they are just practicing landings over and over. You can feel the director going, 'Okay, one more take, make it look more intense!' and the actors are just exhausted. By the tenth time a plane touches down, you kind of wish they’d just stay on the ground.

I was reminded a bit of the stuff in Little Women, not because they are the same movie, but because of that specific 1930s way of talking where everyone is always projecting their lines to the back of the theater. Everything is just a little too deliberate.

The flying stunts are actually kind of neat, if you don't mind the obvious rear projection. The planes look like they are vibrating against a cardboard background, but there is a certain charm to it. It’s better than the fake-looking digital stuff we get now, at least this was real wood and fabric hitting the sky.

• Wallace Beery’s eyebrows deserve their own credit.
• The dialogue is about 40% shouting, 30% flying jargon, and 30% daddy issues.
• I’m pretty sure one of the extras in the background is just reading a newspaper during a high-stakes briefing.

It’s not a masterpiece. It’s not even a particularly good drama. But it has this weird, earnest energy that makes you keep watching, even when you know exactly what’s going to happen next. It’s like eating a lukewarm meal—not great, but it fills the spot.