During the production of the 2017 crime drama American Made, a film built around daring flights, covert operations, and high-risk aviation, tragedy struck in a way that permanently altered lives and exposed the hidden dangers behind ambitious filmmaking. What was meant to recreate the reckless energy of Barry Seal’s real-life exploits instead became a sobering reminder that cinematic realism can come at a devastating cost when safety is pushed aside.
The accident occurred in September 2015 during aerial filming in Colombia. A twin-engine Aerostar 600 aircraft, contracted for production use, crashed during a flight intended to support filming logistics. On board were three experienced pilots: Andrew Purwin, Jimmy Lee Garland, and Carlos Berl. The crash killed Purwin and Berl instantly. Garland survived but suffered severe, life-altering injuries that ended his aviation career and left him facing years of recovery.
All three men were seasoned aviators, but the circumstances surrounding the flight raised immediate questions. The Aerostar 600, while a capable aircraft, was not one that all of the pilots were deeply familiar with. Carlos Berl, in particular, had reportedly expressed concerns about the plane’s condition and overall safety before the flight. According to later legal filings, those concerns were not adequately addressed.
Jimmy Lee Garland, a pilot and mechanic, was closely involved with the production and had served as a stunt double for Tom Cruise in several aerial sequences. His role placed him in frequent high-pressure situations, balancing the demands of filmmaking with the realities of aviation safety. Andrew Purwin, meanwhile, was known in aviation circles for his bold flying style and a history that included previous regulatory scrutiny. While his experience was unquestionable, his approach to risk was often described as aggressive.
On the day of the crash, weather conditions were deteriorating. Reports later indicated that there was significant pressure to proceed with the flight despite those conditions. Tight production schedules, financial pressures, and the expectation to keep filming moving forward created an environment where hesitation was discouraged. What followed was a catastrophic failure: the aircraft went down in rough terrain, leaving little chance of survival for two of the men on board.
In the aftermath, grief quickly turned into anger and questions. The families of the deceased pilots, along with Garland himself, filed lawsuits against the production companies involved. The claims alleged negligence, coercion, and a systemic failure to prioritize safety. Among the accusations were assertions that the aircraft had unresolved mechanical issues, that proper certifications were either missing or misrepresented, and that pilots were pressured to fly when they believed conditions were unsafe.
Court documents painted a troubling picture of how aviation decisions were made during production. According to the lawsuits, safety meetings were rushed or inadequate, and concerns raised by crew members were minimized. There were also claims that the production relied on paperwork that did not accurately reflect the aircraft’s true condition or the pilots’ level of familiarity with it. While the defense disputed many of these points, the overall narrative suggested a culture where speed and spectacle outweighed caution.
The legal battle stretched on for several years. Depositions, expert testimonies, and internal communications were examined, revealing the complexity of blending film production with real-world aviation. In 2019, the lawsuits were settled for an undisclosed amount. While the settlement brought legal closure, it offered little emotional resolution for the families who had lost loved ones or for Garland, whose life had been permanently changed.
The tragedy forced the film industry to confront uncomfortable truths. While movies often celebrate bravery and risk, the real people behind the scenes do not have the luxury of scripted outcomes. Unlike actors, pilots and crew members face genuine consequences when something goes wrong. The crash highlighted gaps in oversight, particularly when productions operate internationally, where regulatory standards and enforcement can vary widely.
This was not the first time aviation risks had surfaced in Hollywood. Decades earlier, during the filming of Top Gun in the mid-1980s, a fatal jet crash had already underscored how dangerous aerial filmmaking could be. Yet, despite past lessons, the American Made accident demonstrated that history can repeat itself when institutional memory fades and commercial pressure takes over.
In the years since, industry professionals have pushed for stricter protocols. More productions now rely heavily on computer-generated imagery to reduce the need for dangerous real-world flights. When aircraft are used, there is greater emphasis on independent safety officers, clearer lines of authority for pilots, and explicit permission to ground flights without fear of professional consequences. These changes, however, came too late for those affected by the 2015 crash.
Today, American Made continues to circulate on streaming platforms, often praised for its energy and daring tone. For many viewers, it is simply another fast-paced Hollywood film. For the families of Purwin and Berl, and for Garland, it represents something far darker: a reminder of loved ones lost and of a moment when caution was overridden by urgency.
The legacy of the accident is not found in box office numbers or critical reviews, but in the ongoing conversation about responsibility. It stands as a stark warning about what can happen when the pursuit of authenticity and spectacle eclipses fundamental safety principles. Behind every dramatic aerial shot is a human being trusting that their life is valued more than a schedule or a budget.
The tragedy surrounding American Made remains one of the most painful examples of how thin the line can be between cinematic ambition and real-world disaster. It serves as a lasting reminder that no film, no matter how compelling, is worth a life—and that true professionalism is measured not by how much risk one can take, but by how carefully that risk is managed.
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