Have you ever stumbled upon a movie that feels like a hidden treasure, one that’s been overlooked by the masses but holds a peculiar charm? That’s exactly how I felt when I recently revisited Steven Spielberg’s Always on Netflix. It’s not a film that often makes it into the ‘greatest hits’ of Spielberg’s career, but personally, I think it’s a fascinating study of a master filmmaker experimenting with themes that clearly resonate with him. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Always sits in the shadow of Spielberg’s more celebrated works, yet it feels deeply personal—almost like a love letter to the movies that inspired him.
A Remake Rooted in Passion
Always is a remake of Victor Fleming’s A Guy Named Joe, a WWII romance that Spielberg has cited as one of the films that inspired him to become a director. From my perspective, this is where the story gets intriguing. Spielberg and Richard Dreyfuss, who stars in the film, were both obsessed with the original. Dreyfuss reportedly watched it over 30 times, and during the filming of Jaws, the two would exchange quotes from it. If you take a step back and think about it, this level of personal investment is rare in Hollywood remakes. Most are cash grabs or nostalgia trips, but Always feels like a labor of love—even if it doesn’t always hit the mark.
What many people don’t realize is that remakes are often seen as inferior, but Always challenges that notion. It’s not a perfect film, but its imperfections are what make it compelling. The aerial firefighting sequences, for instance, are breathtaking—a testament to Spielberg’s ability to craft visceral, edge-of-your-seat moments. Yet, the chemistry between the leads, Brad Johnson and Holly Hunter, feels off, which undermines the emotional core of the story. This raises a deeper question: Can a film be both flawed and worthwhile? In my opinion, absolutely. Always is a reminder that even geniuses like Spielberg can’t always control every element of a project, but their passion can still shine through.
The Spielbergian Touch in an Unlikely Genre
One thing that immediately stands out is how Always deviates from Spielberg’s typical fare. It’s a romantic fantasy, not an adventure or sci-fi spectacle. This genre shift is bold, especially for a director known for blockbuster storytelling. What this really suggests is that Spielberg was willing to take risks in the late ’80s, a period when he was already a Hollywood titan. It’s easy to forget that even the most successful filmmakers are artists at heart, constantly exploring new territories.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the film’s blend of realism and fantasy. The aerial sequences are gritty and grounded, while the supernatural elements—Dreyfuss’s character returning as a guardian angel—feel almost whimsical. This juxtaposition doesn’t always work, but it’s a testament to Spielberg’s ambition. He’s not just retelling a story; he’s reimagining it through his own lens. Personally, I think this is where the film’s true value lies—in its willingness to experiment, even if the results are uneven.
The Unseen Impact of *Always*
Always may not have been a commercial or critical darling, but its influence is subtle yet significant. It’s a film that lives in the margins of Spielberg’s filmography, yet it speaks to broader trends in cinema. For example, it’s part of a wave of ’80s and ’90s films that explored the afterlife in unconventional ways—think Ghost or Heart and Souls. What makes Always stand out, though, is its focus on love that transcends death, a theme Spielberg would revisit in later works like War Horse and The BFG. If you take a step back and think about it, this film is a precursor to his more mature explorations of loss and connection.
Another overlooked aspect is Audrey Hepburn’s final performance. Her cameo is brief but radiant, a reminder of her timeless elegance. It’s a shame this wasn’t a bigger moment in her career, but it’s a testament to Spielberg’s ability to attract talent, even for a minor role. This raises a deeper question: How do we measure the success of a film? Is it box office numbers, critical acclaim, or its ability to leave a lasting impression on those who watch it? In my opinion, Always falls into the latter category. It’s a film that lingers, not because it’s perfect, but because it’s sincere.
Why Always Deserves Another Look
If you’re like me, you’ve probably scrolled past Always on Netflix countless times. But I urge you to give it a chance. It’s not a masterpiece, but it’s a window into Spielberg’s soul—a film that reveals as much about its creator as it does about its characters. What many people don’t realize is that even ‘minor’ works can offer major insights. Always is a reminder that filmmaking is an art form, and like any art, it’s not always about perfection. Sometimes, it’s about the attempt, the passion, and the willingness to take risks.
As I reflect on Always, I’m struck by how it encapsulates Spielberg’s career: ambitious, heartfelt, and occasionally flawed. It’s a film that doesn’t fit neatly into any category, and that’s precisely why it’s worth watching. So, fire up Netflix, grab some popcorn, and let yourself be charmed by this underappreciated gem. You might just find, as I did, that its imperfections are what make it so endearing.
