Top Gun

Tony Scott’s Top Gun is a good aviation film attached to a rather less convincing romance. It wants flying to feel dangerous, desirable and inseparable from the urge to beat the other fellow. We can see the attraction, and Scott makes sure we can feel it. The aircraft have weight and speed; the competition gives their manoeuvres a reason to matter. The difficulty comes when Jim Cash and Jack Epps Jr.’s screenplay asks familiar rivalries and declarations to sustain the same excitement.

Jeffrey L. Kimball and Rick Fichter’s cinematography makes the distance between aircraft matter: we can see how little room there is for error. We were gripped by the dogfights. The speed and proximity of the planes explain the danger more clearly than the dialogue does. The sound adds to that pressure, making the flying feel physically demanding even from a comfortable seat. Scott understands that the machinery has to seem capable of hurting someone if we are to admire the people handling it.

Editors Billy Weber and Chris Lebenzon keep the flying brisk while allowing us to register the skill involved. On the ground, the same determination to keep things moving is less helpful. Rivalry, friendship and attraction all need a little room for awkwardness, or some behaviour we have not guessed in advance. The film tends to hurry towards the next emphatic exchange, and the writing by Cash and Epps leaves the cast too much certainty and too little surprise.

Cruise gives Maverick the pleased-with-himself energy the part requires, and enough charm to stop it becoming exhausting. Val Kilmer’s Ice makes a useful opponent: his composure makes the competition feel personal. But Anthony Edwards, as Goose, gives Cruise the more persuasive relationship. Edwards makes affection seem a natural part of the friendship, even amid all the competitive talk. We cared about that bond more than we expected to, because their pleasure in each other’s company makes the men worth spending time with.

Kelly McGillis has presence as Charlie, but the romantic writing gives her less to work with. Attraction is repeatedly treated as something a polished image can establish on its own. John DeCuir Jr.’s production design contributes to that polish, making the ground-bound surroundings feel arranged for display rather than lived in. It suits a film that wants us to find the whole military life appealing. It also makes the courtship feel oddly impersonal, and McGillis cannot supply all the missing intimacy by herself.

Harold Faltermeyer’s score gives the flying a broad, insistent confidence, with melodies big enough to compete with the aircraft. Restraint would be misplaced here, and the music’s willingness to insist on excitement is part of the pleasure. Alongside the songs, it keeps the emotional instructions simple: longing, exhilaration, pride. The reservation is how readily that pride attaches itself to military power, with scarcely any curiosity about what the machinery is for beyond proving the pilots’ excellence.

As military aviation drama, the film keeps its attention firmly on personal nerve and professional rivalry. Anyone wanting much thought about service or responsibility will find that limiting. At 110 minutes, though, it offers enough flying, charm and musical enthusiasm to make its simple pleasures count. Watch it for the aircraft and the friendship, and be prepared to wait through the courtship.