"If you think, you're dead." That's one of Tom Cruise's more memorable lines from "Top Gun," a cautionary reminder that when your engine flames out or an enemy pilot locks you in their sights, hesitation means death. Inadvertently, the line also suggests the best way to enjoy Tony Scott's immortal 1986 blockbuster: Best not to think too long or hard about the dumb plot, the threadbare romance, the fetishization of U.S. military might or the de rigueur plausibility issues. The key is to succumb, like Cruise's high-flying Maverick himself, to a world of unchecked instinct and pure sensation, to savor the movie's symphony of screaming jets and booming Giorgio Moroder, not to mention all those lovingly photographed torsos and tighty-whities.
Jets still scream and muscles still gleam in the ridiculous and often ridiculously entertaining "Top Gun: Maverick," though in several respects, the movie evinces — and rewards — an unusual investment of brainpower. I'd go further and say that it offers its own decisive reversal of Maverick's dubious logic: It has plenty on its mind, and it's gloriously alive.
A lot of consideration and calculation have clearly gone into this long-aborning blockbuster sequel, insofar as Cruise (one of the producers) and his collaborators have taken such clear pains to maintain continuity with the events, if not the style, of the first film. That's no small thing, more than 30 years after the fiery young Maverick lost Goose, made peace with Iceman and rode off into the annals of fictional U.S. Navy history. And rather than let bygones be bygones, the director Joseph Kosinski and a trio of screenwriters (Ehren Kruger, Eric Warren Singer and Cruise's favorite auteur-wingman, Christopher McQuarrie) have resurrected those threads of rivalry, tragedy and triumph and spun them into uncharted realms of male-weepie grandiosity.
