Yet here we are with a sequel that soars so above and beyond the cheesy, cringe-y heights of its first film that it requires a hypersonic head-shake. It is all a bit improbable, isn’t it? While the market for the unkillable Tom Cruise remains strong, the past 36 years haven’t exactly been marked by an unquenchable thirst for a sequel to the original Tony Scott exercise in Reagan-era superpatriotism (it might’ve only been 33 years were it not for the pandemic messing up release plans). Instead, it is the overwhelming, transforming, jet-fightin’ sound pounding inside and outside my head as I try to recall exactly how it felt to watch Top Gun: Maverick, one of the best, and loudest, blockbusters that I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing. That’s not a typo, or you watching me experience a stroke in real-time print media.
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