How to get the movie: The Hennepin County Library has no copies but the Saint Paul Public library has three copies in DVD format. Go to any Hennipin County Library, go to "inter library loan" and they will get you a copy from St. Paul.
I really enjoyed the navigation part. Lindbergh approximated the great circle route from Roosevelt Field (Long Island, NY) to Le Bourget Field (Paris, France) with a string of 100-mile-long straight lines, drawn in pencil on a map. This map still exists and I saw it in the Map Room of The Art Institute of Chicago about 4 or 5 years ago.
There used to be a full-scale model of The Spirit of St. Louis in the Lindbergh Terminal of MSP airport. I wonder if it is still there. (Lindbergh was born in Minnesota.)
Lindbergh's route is 3602 statute miles from NY to Paris. He flew it in 33 hours. 3602 miles / 33 hours is 109 miles per hour. Lindbergh himself was surprised by this speed; his indicated air speed was only 90 miles per hour. He supposed, correctly, that he had a tail wind.
Current flying time from New York to Paris is about 7 hours.
Here is a review of the movie from the New York Times:
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February 22, 1957
'Spirit of St. Louis' Is at the Music Hall
By BOSLEY CROWTHER
fter thirty long years, the story of Charles A. Lindbergh's historic flight across the Atlantic from New York to Paris is re-enacted on the screen in Leland Hayward's and Billy Wilder's production of "The Spirit of St. Louis," which came to the Music Hall yesterday. And at last the magnificent achievement of the solo flier is dramatically portrayed in the medium most apt for its portrayal, with James Stewart playing the leading role.
As a straight-away visual re-creation of the background and facts of Lindbergh's flight, with colorful flashback fill-ins of his prior barnstorming and air-mail flying days, this large-screen color picture would be hard to beat. It has drama, sentiment, humor and a slight dash of destiny. It pictures the dogged perseverance of the youthful flier in simple, standard terms. And it details his trans-Atlantic passage in exciting and suspenseful episodes.
Particularly fine and fascinating are the re-created scenes of Lindbergh's take-off from Roosevelt Field, L. I., on May 20, 1927, in the rain-drenched dawn. The night-long vigil that preceded the take-off, the readying of the plane, the excitement of the crowd, the fateful decision of the flier, the establishment of the peril and then his simple, casual comment as he climbed into the cabin, "Well, I guess I might as well go, " and gunned his engine for that race down the runway--these are beautifully shown.
Except for a bit of lily-gilding in having the wheels snap a telephone wire as the plane barely clears the obstacles beyond the runway, it is thoroughly credible.
Likewise, the manifold adventures that occurred as Lindbergh flew up the coast, took leave of the continent at St. John's, Nfld., went out across the night-shrouded sea and finally picked up the coast of Ireland and flew on to France and Le Bourget--all these, including his struggles with ice and sleepiness, are well depicted, too.
The blunt disappointments of the picture are the familiar and superficial way in which the background of Lindbergh is presented and the abruptness with which the drama is brought to an end. In the flashback scenes, which are injected as the flier awaits the take- off in his hotel and as he wings his way over the Atlantic, the young pilot whom we are brought to know is pretty much the same clumsy, lovable hero we've seen in any number of films.
He is the lad who buys an old, beat-up bi-plane, joins a barnstorming "circus," flies air mail and then patiently goes about the business of getting money and a plane for a Paris flight. We see very little of his basic nature, his home life or what makes him tick. As Mr. Stewart plays him, with his usual diffidence, he is mainly a type.
That's too bad, for after all these years of waiting, it would be interesting if we could see what it was about the fellow that made him uniquely destined for his historic role.
And the suddenness with which the film is ended after the landing of Lindbergh at Le Bourget and a brief news clip of his actual New York reception blanks all visioning of his place in history. This film treats his remarkable achievement as an adventure and little more.
Others in the film are not impressive. Bartlett Robinson as the builder of the plane is the only one besides Mr. Stewart who has any more than a brief role. And he, Murray Hamilton as a "circus" companion, Patricia Smith as a take-off spectator and Marc Connelly, well-known playwright making his screen debut, as a priest who takes flying lessons are conventional.
However, a haunting recollection of one of the thrilling events of our times has been handsomely staged by Mr. Wilder, and for that you should see the film. It runs for two hours and eighteen minutes, which is about how long it will take to fly to Paris some day.
Copyright 1957 New York Times Company.
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