Top Gun (1986, Tony Scott) (Patreon)

42/100

Second viewing, last seen during its original theatrical run. Even at age 18, I recognized its jingoistic emptiness, exemplified by the decision (presumably dictated by military advisors) to avoid even naming the enemy, much less delving into such niceties as why "MiG-28"s risk World War III by engaging with American fighter jets in the opening sequence (vice versa in the finale). Mostly, though, it's just brazenly dumb, from the silhouetted primer on French kissing to the arrival of Goose's entire adorable family just in time for his inevitable tragic death. McGillis arguably should have received a special Oscar just for delivering that one hilariously earnest speech—"Sorry, Maverick, I couldn't praise your badass flyin' skills in front of the others, lest they all realize I'm gooey for you" (only slightly paraphrased!)—with a straight face. Cruise was at his most smugly, insufferably "charming" in this role, which very likely factors into my love for The Color of Money (released just five months later) and the ways that it acknowledges more or less the same persona as fundamentally juvenile. (To be fair, Iceman keeps making that point. The movie pretty much automatically fails if you find yourself identifying mostly with his amused-disgusted disapproval, as I do.) Would actively hate Top Gun were it not for the aerial sequences, which are often spatially incoherent but do at least offer the thrill of watching actual planes zip around at high speed in what seems like genuinely dangerous proximity to the aircraft carrying the cameras. So committed is Scott to treating viewers like morons, however, that he even trashes the running gag of Maverick buzzing the tower, showing some humorless honcho spilling coffee all over himself the first time it happens, then making sure we see that same dude being carefully handed another cup of coffee right after Maverick's fly-by request is again denied. Were this relentless mediocrity not such an enduring cultural object, it'd occupy roughly the same acreage in my mental landscape as do fellow '86 alumni Legal Eagles, Club Paradise, Haunted Honeymoon and Howard the Duck (all of which I likewise saw on the big screen that summer)...which is to say, virtually none at all. And of course I finally sat through it again solely to refresh my memory prior to grudgingly watching Maverick, which had damn well better be the hugely superior movie that everybody claims. (I did note the throwaway references to some never-seen woman who's apparently Jennifer Connelly's character in the sequel, having read about that somewhere a while back. Always do appreciate efforts to unify the texts, cf. Better Call Saul and Ignacio/Lalo.) 

Oh, I guess one's supposed to make note of the homoeroticism nowadays. Gotta sheepishly admit that it completely escaped me at the time; even now, only the volleyball game that seems to go on for a small eternity, "despite" (in my male-gazey head) featuring zero bikinis, made me think "You know what, I'm clearly not the target audience for this part." Some people are too tediously straight to dial into half-intentional camp, and yours truly is definitely among their number. But it does seem clear now that Kilmer, at least, knew exactly what he was doing, and privately chortled his ass off.