To return to a parlance that my colleague Mike Ward continues to hit upon, Sully is an odd duck. The American hero’s homage/introspective biopic from director Clint Eastwood is at once a moving portrait of accidental heroism and an undisciplined head-scratcher. As expected, Tom Hanks flies high as the titular pilot-turned-national-icon, joined by an Aaron Eckhart who for the first time in years seems interested in revitalizing his sagging career. There’s moments of emotional tumult and high-flying glory joined to editing that defies explainable and a weirdly non-linear act structure that has the film kinda just starting and kinda just ending and the resulting jumble is a mix of good and bad that still somehow works for the most part. So for those in the market for a good ol’ fashion celebration of aw-shucks American gallantry fixed to sturdy performances, taut set pieces and relatively lightweight uplift cinema, Sully is just the fix you’re looking for.

In telling the story of the “Miracle on the Hudson”, Eastwood examines the various repercussions and characters surrounding the event as if – to an admittedly mild degree – influenced by Rashōmon. Now why that had to include a scene of Michael Rappaport tending bar (he’s made a drink called “The Sully” – Grey Goose with a splash of water, getit?!) or Jerry Ferera gearing up in Coast Guard threads seems to stem from the fact that both actors are…from New York? Seriously, such strange cameos. But getting back on track, Eastwood tries to make Sully a battle of perspective and it’s here that he finds the most interesting material. Obviously what he does is nowhere as brilliant or game-changing as Kurosawa’s 1950 masterpiece, nor does it really commit to the selfsame cloudy notions of objectivity that Kurosawa’s did, but I see what Eastwood was going for even if it doesn’t entirely work out. After all, the three and a half minutes that encompasses the plane taking off, pummeling a bunch of birds and crashing – er, water landing – in the Hudson River is not enough to fill a movie. The lingering doubt, second-guessing, mental revisions and corporate recreation of events however are.

The various simulations – of which there are no shortage – meant to cross-examine Captain Chesley Sullenberger’s decision to land US Flight 1549 in the Hudson rather than return to LaGuardia that fated January morning speak to the twisting and reframing of reality lurking beneath Sully‘s more ambitious side. How we as a lawsuit society like to poke and prod at the decisions of others. Always after the fact, sporting proud Captain Hindsight capes. It’s an interesting framing device and one that concerns our hero greatest. The gist of what haunts Sully – in addition to the rabble of black-hearted insurers and emotionally detached oversight commissions he must now answer to – remains: did I make the right call?

Answering this question, all the best and worst traits of the 86-year old director are on display, complete with a scene that sees Hanks running down a dark alley, his profile a shadow etched in the Manhattan steam rising behind him, a rabble of voiceovers interrupting his introspection. The conclusion is obvious – we know Sully did not needlessly endanger 155 souls that day. We also know he deserves to be called hero, no matter how much he doesn’t want to – but the getting there can be rousing stuff when it’s not clouded with Eastwood no-no’s. Sully – which it’s worth repeating, throws out the typical act structure playbook – interrupts itself often with flashbacks. And even those aren’t chronological.

Which is all the more strange because Sully makes a point of beginning en route. Even before the first image floats across the screen, an explosion. The IMAX theater seats rumble. This plane is going down. The composed Sully navigates the downed aircraft, less both engines, swinging it between buildings in a scene that is immediately gripping. Eastwood draws obvious visual parallels to the all-too-familiar planes used 15 years ago as weapons of terror, getting added mileage from the emotional baggage that accompanies such imagery. Sully’s airbus pummels into a skyscraper. We gasp as fiery explosions tear the screen before Sully wakes soaked in sweat. This terrible nightmare but a by-product of the post-traumatic stress incurred from the Hudson landing just a day prior.

Eastwood, working off a script from Todd Komarnicki (Perfect Stranger), jumbles the pieces of Sully’s story further by affixing into the plot two throwaway flashbacks to yesteryear – one with Sully as an in-training crop duster, another with him navigating a military jet itself experiencing some high-altitude technical hiccups – as well as a certifiable collage of scenes that takes place before the incident, during the incident and after the incident all wily nily. There’s a play to incorporate the stories of the passengers into the fabric of the film – most notably a familial trio of golfers who almost missed their flight – but there’s either too much time invested in them or not enough and they just seem like afterthoughts or the byproduct of a test screening asking for emotional investment in the passengers. As the film zips from today to yesterday to tomorrow, time is no object. Strange for a movie that’s built on the importance of 208 seconds.

Regardless of Eastwood’s apathetic pacing and Blu Murray’s (American Sniper, Letters from Iwo Jima) preoccupied editing, Hanks is impressive throughout, offering the kind of nonchalant excellence that’s defined his career. Under that thatch of white hair, performance is nuanced and reigned in, rich in the emotional duality of facing entropy and suppressing turmoil. Hank’s general ease makes the whole thing feel balanced and weighty. It makes us root for him to win. To not only win the trial but to cast doubt upon anyone who ever doubted him in the first place. Hanks is a breed of performer we see once in a lifetime and although the lauded American actor will probably be passed over yet again when it comes Award’s season for his comfortably stellar work – this is becoming an annual tradition – he exudes everyman humility like milk from a cow. His casting is spot on.

Eckhart too is commanding as Sully’s mustachioed co-pilot, allowing room for cool subtlety and calm introspection that has been lost on him of late. Laura Linney gets the shaft as “wife on the other end of the telephone”. She’s asked to deliver big emotional swells, which work so much better when they are but wisps hovering in Hanks’ irises. She’s reduced to the prototypical stay-at-home mom, physically restricted to the kitchen, voicing teary-eyed concern via landline. It’s a wonder she wasn’t latched to a pseudo-baby a la Sienna Miller.

The straw that should break the camels comes in the tail section of Eastwood’s film. A 180-turn that sees the antagonists turn into fawning admirers comes out of nowhere – almost like a flock of birds suddenly flying at your face. (Million Dollar Baby aside, Eastwood films rarely see great female characters, but Breaking Bad alum Anna Gunn deserves better roles than this.) And then everything kind of abruptly ends. Like 1970s horror movie just ends. It’s very strange, especially for a man who’s been making films – you know those things with a definitive beginning, middle and end – for the vast majority of his life. And almost makes one question whether he’s going senile at his ripe old age. The craziest part of all though is that it kind of works.

CONCLUSION: ‘Sully’ makes a great platform for Tom Hanks’ unwavering skill as a leading man while offering seat-gripping set pieces and a somewhat emotional hero’s story you’ll be glad to cheer on. But Clint Eastwood’s heavy-handed direction and odd editing choices are the flock of seagulls to Sully’s engine, keeping it stuttering and stammering where it should be soaring.