Who wants to watch safely sanitised scenes about the Siege of Mariupol, the murder of unarmed civilians and the destruction of the Ukraine on the Beeb when you can see the real thing on the big screen? There's no way that the BBC's value free impartiality, phoney dis-interestedness and obsession with audience "vulnerabilities" is going to permit its reporters to show the visceral truth about the bloody nature of warfare even if those staffers wanted to. Which they don't. So welcome to "Top Gun: Maverick", in which a barely aged Tom Cruise takes on the bad guys, albeit in an inclusive, diverse and emotionally aware way. But while the original 1986 "Top Gun" caused the biggest surge in recruitment in US Navy Aviation history, this is warfare for the Tik Tok generation. It will also appeal to social influencers who like sunglasses, Dior deck pumps and grooming products; mental health gurus; diversity "champions", and those who genuinely think the opposition can be biffed without any of the nasty stuff.
The plot, such as it is, can be grasped by the meanest intelligence and is essentially a promo for the enduring versatility of Cruise, now on the cusp of his seventh decade. Here's Tom flying at Mach 10, Tom sailing a boat, Tom clambering out of top storey windows, Tom hitting the winner in beach volleyball and Tom allowing himself some manly tears for the new generation. There is also a weird bit of romance, in which the hero re-convenes with a girlfriend who looks as if she was probably about 9 years old in the original, given the time lag to the sequel. But Tom is a Scientologist too, so all bets on reality must be considered nul and void.
The visuals do not disappoint. There is a thrilling 007esque prequel sequence in which Cruise ("Maverick") drives a motorbike well beyond the speed limit without a helmet and then naughtily pinches a stealth plane without the proper authority. This he flies from Los Angeles to Ibiza and back in just under three minutes. BA, easyJet and Ryanair should take note, although to be fair, Tom didn't need the services of baggage handlers. Nor did he try to take off from Manchester or Gatwick: in which case he would still be on the tarmac. After that, Maverick's spoil - sport superiors endlessly try to discipline, ground and even cashier him. But they can't of course, because he's Tom Cruise. And anyway, he's a fantastic pilot and the US Navy needs him for a Mission Impossible. So he is sent to the flying academy at Top Gun, to lick into shape a team of aviators who are not quite as good as he is.
The rookie heroes are a cross section of the US demographic after applying the most zealous of affirmative action programs. There is even an Eskimo or some other Native American. All have perfect teeth (indeed the film is an advert for the prowess of the US military's Dental Corps) and a lot of attitude. They all sport silly names like Iceman, Pac-Man, Wigwam and Cornish Mivvy, although there is also one called Bob. Naturally, the gals are as cocky as the lads and everyone is utterly charmless.
After these necessary preliminaries, things rather sag. Cruise meets his old flame who is now running a pub, and there is some endless faff with him trying to settle his bar bill. The pilots strike poses, do a lot of pouting, gurning and eye rolling, and everyone tries to squint or stare in a way that is meant to be significant. There is also an extremely boring digression into the relationship between Maverick/ Cruise and one of his charges who is plainly "vulnerable" (so there's another box ticked). Apparently, Maverick has hurt the feelings of this lad (whose codename is Goose or Flounder or something) and he has to sort it all out with some eminence who looks remarkably like a wizened Val Kilmer from the 1986 original, but with a bouffant hairdo. In fact, he is yet another admiral with immaculate dentures, albeit also with an illness that has made him somewhat mute. Happily, Kilmer looks relieved to have only a limited repertoire of words in the film, as a lot of the dialogue elsewhere is absolutely risible. I mean, does anyone really say "Stop looking at me in that way" to someone with their back to them? Meanwhile, the kill-joy admiral in charge of the caper keeps trying to carpet Maverick. At this point, your bum may very definitely be starting to shift in its cinema seat.
The Mission Impossible turns out to be an attack on an underground nuclear plant at the bottom of a volcano crater. Who runs this facility or why they would place it in such a ridiculous spot is not, alas, explained. In the 1986 film, the bad guys were disobliging Libyans who could be shot to pieces without embarrassment. Today of course, you can't be too careful about naming the enemy lest you hurt their feelings or offend some other liberal canon. The identity of the foe is however, inadvertently revealed in one fraction of a tiny scene where you can briefly spot a rising sun motif on one of the "enemy" jets. Crikey - it's the Japanese ! It's so sporting to allow themselves to be blown to smithereens by Tom & Co. And on the 80th anniversary of the Battle of Midway too, an action they would probably rather forget.
But that's enough flippancy. Because the "enemy" (or Japanese), we are sternly warned, are also in possession of "Fifth Gen Fighters" which can apparently outgun the relative antiques operated by the Americans. This extraordinary admission of US inferiority is perhaps the most arresting bit of the film, even more so than the reticence about naming the opposition. It's patently clear the mission could be a major bummer for the good guys.
Amazingly, after a rigorous training program consisting of bar pool, 200 press ups, a homo-erotic game of beach volleyball, astonishing aerobatics and a lot of emotional incontinence, the kids are ready. Tom selects his final crew and manages to achieve a near perfect balance of gender, ethnicity, body image and mental health. Even Bob gets to go. Mount Fuji is attacked at 30,000 mph, Flounder recovers his mojo, the bombs hit a fitted wardrobe in the snow, the "Fifth Gen Fighters" are destroyed and the papier mache enemy missiles are (mostly) vaporised. Alas in the noisy melee, Maverick and Flounder are shot down in balls of fire. But with minimal disarrangement of their ensemble, they manage to trek through the tundra to find the only enemy plane left standing after a massive Cruise Missile attack on the airfield (Yes, even the ordnance is named after Tom). Following a quick bit of scoffing at the antique controls, they fly it away and manage to execute a perfect belly flop landing into a child's bouncy castle erected on the deck of a US carrier. Cue 10 minutes of man hugging, tears and high fives. Even the spoil - sport admiral gives a rueful chuckle and permits us to see a final glint of his perfect gnashers.
Harmless, exciting, silly fun? Certainly. But the film-makers also ask us to buy into the serious po-faced emotional stuff, and you can't have it both ways. This is Saving Private Ryan with all the killing taken out, and that gives a pretty big clue about the culture of our times. Because the truth is that the occupants of 10 Downing Street, the Bundeskanzleramt, the Elysee Palace and the White House really do seem to believe that if only they could find a Tom Cruise, we wouldn't have to worry about nasty people like Vladimir Putin, or mobilise people in their own self-defence. And while they might have some members of their respective Special Forces who really are dumb enough to think they could pull off a bloodless stunt like Maverick's, they have very little else. That is the extent of the West's military preparedness in all its infantilism and decadence. All Tom Cruise has done is to package this reality to comfort us in our imbecility.
Cue credits.
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