The sequel is a nostalgic, fun comeback for an actor whose real-life persona makes it easy to forget how good he is on-screen, writes Guardian columnist Emma Brockes
The sequel is a nostalgic, fun comeback for an actor whose real-life persona makes it easy to forget how good he is on-screenPhotograph: APPhotograph: APefore going to the movies this week to see Top Gun: Maverick, I hadn’t thought about Tom Cruise for a while. Or rather, I hadn’t thought about him in his capacity as a movie star. Cruise’s reputation has ranged over the years from hero to villain to general curiosity. At nearly 60, one might imagine he’s done.
A lot of this has to do with Cruise himself. His persistent strangeness off-screen has made it easy to forget just how good he is on-screen. Cruise has decent acting chops, but it’s not that. It’s the smile, obviously, which he rations so severely every flash of it lights up the scene. It’s the nose. It’s the eyebrows. It’s that weird clenching thing he does with his jaw.
George Clooney? Too urbane. There’s not enough mystery about Clooney and that charm of his has curdled over the years into a self-regard so solid it’s practically Clintonian. I recall seeing him at a press launch years ago, surrounded by acolytes, radiating what can only be called yes-I’d-be-excited-to-meet-me-too energy.
So, to Cruise. I know, the Scientology. I used to fuss about that, but these days couldn’t care less. At this distance, it almost aids his appeal. Cruise is so consistently odd, so thoroughly unknowable, he’s practically Greta Garbo. Alone among actors he has resisted coming down to earth from the Thetan Arena. He rarely posts on socials. He won’t do a TV show.