Upon the initial announcement of a Top Gun sequel, the world did squirm. It had reason to given the slew of Eighties remakes that dirtied the sweet memory of the original: Total Recall, Red Dawn and Conan the Barbarian to name but three absolute shockers. Top Gun, with its aviators, wanton homoeroticism and soaring, swirling, electropop soundtrack (Berlin's 'Take My Breath Away', which, funnily enough, also suffered its own wretched remake by way of Miss Jessica Simpson), didn't so much belong to the era as it did define it completely. Revive all that for 2022 and here stands a midlife crisis in full Dolby Surround sound.
But Top Gun: Maverick flies in the face of danger. For all the likely pitfalls of a cynical Hollywood sequel, Tom Cruise's redeployment as Captain Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell has been a decorated tour. "As thrilling as blockbusters get" says The Independent. "Soapily compelling" says the Evening Standard. "Yeah, it's alright actually" says an Esquire colleague. And the glowing reviews have come thick and fast despite charges of Top Gun: Maverick rinsing and repeating its predecessor. Not much has changed for the once forever topless pilot that launched a million applications to the US navy. That's because, visually, it doesn't need to.
Top Gun was always an astonishing representation of the Eighties. And fashion, like Hollywood, is prone to revisiting its past glories. It's right on cue. As Cruise swerves the pension pot for another round in the skies, 1986 is back on our backs. Louis Vuitton booked in at The Breakfast Club with its letterman jackets for the jock 2.0. Military leathers are in at Prada, and sexier on their second outing. Even the porno 'tache endures. And yes, Miles Teller, the scrappy young foil to Cruise's suspiciously-not-at-all silver fox, has one – and so did his onscreen late father in the original, Goose. A legacy!
It's a nostalgic flex for a film that's supposedly set in the present day. For all the accusations levelled at Cruise that he is some lame airborne fossil, Top Gun: Maverick's wardrobe hasn't exactly moved on either. This world is caught between the past and the present. And, though the passage of time is acknowledged by nods to former cast member Val Kilmer in one poignant scene, everyone is still dressed for a pool party at Emilio Estevez's. Teller stalks around the film's trailer like Duran Duran's resident dealer in an open Hawaiian shirt and vest; the Eighties sleazeball that's still a reference for brands like Amiri, Wacko Maria and Palm Angels. Cruise pops the collar of an oversized pilot's jacket. Even the young bucks under his tutelage, though garbed in the standard issue jumpsuits of the US navy, look undeniably Eighties. It's Top Gun that made it so.
Cinema and menswear are clearly hankering for the past. Top Gun: Maverick may even be a direct reflection of our yearning for A Better Time during this uncertain one. It's even in the White House. Joe Biden, elected on a platform of restoring a prior golden age, revisits the film's dated but comforting idea of cool in a pair of very "son, your ego is writing cheques your body can't cash" aviators. It's a timeless signature. And as Cruise trains the next generation of would-be carpet bombers in a very familiar film, it seems they've already learnt the most important lesson of all: 1986 is back, baby – and it's even better on a second viewing.
