Thirty six years ago witnessed the release of Top Gun; a film which was destined to become a classic of its era. It centres around Maverick (played by Tom Cruise), a bravura naval aviator who plays by his own rules and almost always finds a way to win. Maverick's unique skill-set sees him enter Top Gun, a training programme for elite naval pilots. Here he will come up against his stiffest competition yet, he will also find himself in a cat-and-mouse pursuit of one of the female trainers at the academy, Charlie (played by Kelly McGillis). Alongside telling the story of Maverick's constant ability to overcome the odds, Top Gun is notable for its copious, often groundbreaking, flying scenes and its provision of a plethora of semi-naked, glistening male bodies. There is also, of course, that classic '80s soundtrack, the crowning element of which is Berlin's melodramatic anthem "Take My Breath Away".
Deemed as the film which best epitomises the Reagan era, Top Gun is a flashy, attention-grabbing, toxic male fantasy on steroids. That is not to say that it doesn't have its plus points. There are some impressive flying shots (I say shots rather than scenes as the scenes often feel interminable and made exclusively for aviation obsessives). There is also a slight element of depth to the film when an event of genuine tragedy occurs which finally makes Maverick doubt his preternatural abilities. On top of this, there is something oddly entertaining about the ridiculously crass and unconvincing dialogue, and the unashamed brashness with which the film presents its spectacle of total masculine triumph. On that note, it's worth looking at the background to this triumph in a little more detail.
Maverick's major obstacles in this film are, firstly, the Top Gun top-brass; he needs to prove not only that he is the best pilot, but he needs to prove to them that he can only be the best by doing things his way. Then there is Charlie, the object of his romantic attentions, he must totally conquer her to demonstrate his supreme masculinity. We also have unresolved father issues stemming from a murky death during aerial combat: Maverick must solve the mystery of his father's final acts to conquer the past as well as the present. Naturally, he must also overcome himself when doubts begin to swarm about the nature of his true abilities. But Maverick's greatest obstacle comes from the man who is both his most prominent rival and critic: Ice (played by Val Kilmer). Gaining his approval is what will truly cement Maverick as a leader among men. I will not reveal the resolutions of these plot strands just in case there are some who have not yet got around to seeing this film, but suffice it to say that Maverick's arc very much plays out as a hero's journey.
The greatest objection I have to this film, besides the incessant flying scenes, is the solipsistically obsessive attention it pays to its main character and the toxic message this plays into when it comes to defining and understanding masculinity. When watching this film, I challenge you to find a single piece of dialogue which takes place outside of the flying or teaching scenes which does not reference Maverick directly. Every utterance, every snipe, every chance interaction is based around establishing the fact that Maverick is firmly at the centre of this narrative. I understand that Maverick is the hero of this journey but to force this concept so incessantly risks moving the film from being mere fantasy into the category of wildly-unrealistic aspiration. Insecure, directionless men may look to Maverick as a pin-up for their own arrested psyches. They can perhaps imagine that one day they could be a fraction as important as Maverick clearly is in this make-believe world.
A particularly egregious consequence of the Maverick obsession is that we are fed diabolically underdeveloped and underwritten supporting characters, the worst example of which is Charlie. She starts out well enough as a young, driven woman who refuses to be impressed by Maverick's irrepressible cockiness and insufferable self-assurance. But then she completely falls for him, because... because she must... because... because who, after all, could resist this paragon of masculine excellence? The problem is that she very quickly becomes an appendage to Maverick. The story is so obsessed with him that there is no room whatsoever to provide her with any agency, character or even particularly discernible characteristics. Then comes Ice, who appears to be the saltiest and most cringe-worthily obsessed individual you could ever not wish to encounter. He can not resist any opportunity to criticise and undermine the noble, brilliant Maverick, until, of course, he too is won over. When it comes to Maverick, even the haters can't keep up their hate.
The seemingly overt homo-eroticism of the film is worth remarking upon due to its notoriety and quirkiness but it is, in my view, often misunderstood. The reason there are so many scenes of shiny, sculpted male flesh is to show us what all real men should look like and what all aspirational women should be blessed to be in the presence of. Top Gun is about boys and their toys. It's about "real men" fully expressing themselves and finding a way to have it all. It's about a jet-fuelled hero who is supercharged and supremely able. It's a G-forced geeing up of dissatisfied males who feel the need for something larger-than-life to aspire to. As long as the film is taken as a corny fantasy, it's harmless and enjoyable enough. My only concern is that it seems to have the potential to be taken not quite literally but perhaps a little too seriously.
Deemed as the film which best epitomises the Reagan era, Top Gun is a flashy, attention-grabbing, toxic male fantasy on steroids. That is not to say that it doesn't have its plus points. There are some impressive flying shots (I say shots rather than scenes as the scenes often feel interminable and made exclusively for aviation obsessives). There is also a slight element of depth to the film when an event of genuine tragedy occurs which finally makes Maverick doubt his preternatural abilities. On top of this, there is something oddly entertaining about the ridiculously crass and unconvincing dialogue, and the unashamed brashness with which the film presents its spectacle of total masculine triumph. On that note, it's worth looking at the background to this triumph in a little more detail.
Maverick's major obstacles in this film are, firstly, the Top Gun top-brass; he needs to prove not only that he is the best pilot, but he needs to prove to them that he can only be the best by doing things his way. Then there is Charlie, the object of his romantic attentions, he must totally conquer her to demonstrate his supreme masculinity. We also have unresolved father issues stemming from a murky death during aerial combat: Maverick must solve the mystery of his father's final acts to conquer the past as well as the present. Naturally, he must also overcome himself when doubts begin to swarm about the nature of his true abilities. But Maverick's greatest obstacle comes from the man who is both his most prominent rival and critic: Ice (played by Val Kilmer). Gaining his approval is what will truly cement Maverick as a leader among men. I will not reveal the resolutions of these plot strands just in case there are some who have not yet got around to seeing this film, but suffice it to say that Maverick's arc very much plays out as a hero's journey.
The greatest objection I have to this film, besides the incessant flying scenes, is the solipsistically obsessive attention it pays to its main character and the toxic message this plays into when it comes to defining and understanding masculinity. When watching this film, I challenge you to find a single piece of dialogue which takes place outside of the flying or teaching scenes which does not reference Maverick directly. Every utterance, every snipe, every chance interaction is based around establishing the fact that Maverick is firmly at the centre of this narrative. I understand that Maverick is the hero of this journey but to force this concept so incessantly risks moving the film from being mere fantasy into the category of wildly-unrealistic aspiration. Insecure, directionless men may look to Maverick as a pin-up for their own arrested psyches. They can perhaps imagine that one day they could be a fraction as important as Maverick clearly is in this make-believe world.
A particularly egregious consequence of the Maverick obsession is that we are fed diabolically underdeveloped and underwritten supporting characters, the worst example of which is Charlie. She starts out well enough as a young, driven woman who refuses to be impressed by Maverick's irrepressible cockiness and insufferable self-assurance. But then she completely falls for him, because... because she must... because... because who, after all, could resist this paragon of masculine excellence? The problem is that she very quickly becomes an appendage to Maverick. The story is so obsessed with him that there is no room whatsoever to provide her with any agency, character or even particularly discernible characteristics. Then comes Ice, who appears to be the saltiest and most cringe-worthily obsessed individual you could ever not wish to encounter. He can not resist any opportunity to criticise and undermine the noble, brilliant Maverick, until, of course, he too is won over. When it comes to Maverick, even the haters can't keep up their hate.
The seemingly overt homo-eroticism of the film is worth remarking upon due to its notoriety and quirkiness but it is, in my view, often misunderstood. The reason there are so many scenes of shiny, sculpted male flesh is to show us what all real men should look like and what all aspirational women should be blessed to be in the presence of. Top Gun is about boys and their toys. It's about "real men" fully expressing themselves and finding a way to have it all. It's about a jet-fuelled hero who is supercharged and supremely able. It's a G-forced geeing up of dissatisfied males who feel the need for something larger-than-life to aspire to. As long as the film is taken as a corny fantasy, it's harmless and enjoyable enough. My only concern is that it seems to have the potential to be taken not quite literally but perhaps a little too seriously.