It was the last day of my last week in Los Angeles, the City of Angels I loved and was moving from for greener pastures. Coming by one of my favorite places in the world, Hollywood and Highland, I stumbled across the opening weekend celebration outside the Chinese Theater. Top Gun: Maverick was opening, and with the jubilant crowd, the Navy band was playing and many squids were in attendance. I hadn’t known this was going on, but I got caught up in the revelry of the event, and that was before I even saw the movie for myself.
Without apology or complication, the film displays a exhilarating adventure of heart and spectacle. There is appeal to the cultural-ensconced fanbase, the legacy that propelled a franchise, a memory, and a movie star for decades, as well a look into the future, what’s ahead for these characters, this technology, this culture. It’s a fun ride throughout, with breathtaking scenes of aerial action all the more gripping because we care about who’s in the plane.
Accusations of “jingoism” and the like are as easy to anticipate as they are to dismiss. Yes this is an over-the-top, uncomplicated celebration of Americanism and those brave enough to risk their lives for it. No, it’s not much deeper or more thought-provoking than G.I. Joe. But tall tales, like fairy tales, are supposed to be bigger than they are. They’re supposed to inspired. They’re supposed to show the best possible version of what something could be. And in that, Maverick succeeds terrifically to shows us the sunlight and the heroes flying to it.
That’s why we’re looking up.
Comparisons could be drawn to The Right Stuff. Philip Kaufman’s adaptation of Tom Wolfe’s portrayal of the early days of the NASA space program starts not with any of the astronauts, but with one man, Chuck Yaeger, a test pilot who does have the right stuff, flying up and off on his on. That’s the first act, before the script gets to its main story, about the team of astronauts and aspiring astronauts. The connection is thematic and perhaps a little poignant, as the Yaeger bookends illustrate the last time a solo pilot could soar to such accomplishments on his own, that mankind was now doing it bigger, better, higher, and faster, and the age of the cowboy was dying for the Space Age of teamwork. In a similar fashion, the opening sequence of this film as Pete “Maverick” Mitchell defying the orders of his superior (Ed Harris, of course from The Right Stuff), getting in the experimental craft and breaking all records and sanity to fly at Mach 10. It’s one of many breathtaking scenes in this adventure, and it’s what also gets Maverick assigned to be the new Top Gun instructor, thus part of the team.
Including Rooster. Heading up the cast of young pilots is Miles Teller as Goose’s son, bringing an uncanny resemblance to the tragic Anthony Edwards sidekick (his introduction playing “Great Balls of Fire” is one of several striking callbacks that are organic, rather than forced) and a poignant thread that forms the emotional core of the story. He resents Maverick for blocking his earlier application to the academy, but we understand both Rooster’s feelings and Maverick’s reasons. Still haunted by the death of his original wingman, Maverick wants to be the father that Rooster lost. By the exhilarating third act, the reconciliation is earned, and the mission is triumphant. “Talk to me, Goose”, Maverick says that familiar prayer, and this time it’s complimented by Rooster’s “Talk to me, Dad.”
Jennifer Connelly shines as Penny, the admiral’s daughter only referenced in the original movie. Her chemistry with Cruise is so sweet and natural it’s surprising they haven’t co-starred before. Both are aging gracefully icons of the same generation. The Legend/Labyrinth double feature we had at The Egyptian a few years ago was quite a night. Kudos that they gave Cruise, whose monogamous Ethan Hunt was never the cold-blooded sex hound James Bond, an age appropriate love interest. The rekindled relationship between Pete and Penny, the playful chiding when he reenters her life and the sincerity that he never wants to say goodbye again, speaks to the maturing of the franchise.
The supporting cast is impeccable. Jon Hamm plays the heavy admiral who gives somber weight when he makes it clear that this will be Maverick’s last assignment, ever, but must ultimately show some begrudging respect to the heroic ace. It is notable that the youngsters Maverick is training are not kids. They’re all in their late 20s to early 30s and experienced aviators. Monica Barbaro as Phoenix, proving she can fly with the boys, is “representation” done without making a fuss about itself. Lewis Pullman as Bob, the nerd without a call sign shows is adorkable and takes it with stride. The real stand-out is Glen Powell as Hangman, the cowboy hotshot so cocky you have to him. love. His Han Solo moment is one of many crowd-pleasers, and sure to be a star-making turn.
And of course, Iceman. Stealing the show in his brief appearance is Val Kilmer, whose bout with throat cancer and difficulty talking the film handles with tact and grace. Now a four-star admiral and the guardian angel whose kept the maverick from getting discharged, Iceman plays an important role behind the scenes, but more than that, Cruise and Kilmer sharing the screen again resonates on a deeper, meta level. It’s a bit startling and refreshing how the film, for all its nostalgia, is sentimental but not delusional, and uses Iceman to accept the fragility of life and the beating on of the human comedy. When he tells his old friend both that it’s time to let go and the kid needs him, it hits home.
Is Tom Cruise, finally, the ultimate movie star? When you consider the last four decades he’s dominated Hollywood in crowd-pleasing blockbusters like the Mission Impossible franchise or serious dramas like Born on the Fourth of July and the odd inspired comic turn like Tropic Thunder, shined under auteurs from Spielberg to Kubrick, brought breathtaking stunt work to an art form. Irresistible likable and effortlessly charismatic Cruise shines here in his natural element. This is a sequel, albeit to a movie that came out over thirty years ago and has been beloved ever since, but in an age when so many of the blockbusters depend on shared universes and the promise of an immediate sequel, how many could carry what is not a pop culture phenomenon on his own wings?
Everyone was so excited, the day I walked in to a moment of pure, uncomplicated cinematic joy, an opening weekend event celebrating the ideal of what a summer blockbuster ought to be. The sailors themselves were gathered around one of the cast members, who was affably greeting all. I didn’t know who it was. Woman next to me said it was “Hangman”, Glen Powell, an actor I didn’t know before but appreciate now. People love this movie, and it’s not hard to see why. Succeeding Tony Scott, director Joseph Kosinski and perennial star Tom Cruise, the last of a dying breed of movie star not ready to lay down his wings yet, have crafted a perfect fulfillment of nostalgia with a bridge to a new generation. It’s the best of Hollywood, and the best of America