The Literate Kitty

Despite a genuine liking for most—and big, big love for at least one*—Tom Cruise films, there was more than a little trepidation (as I struggled mightily to get comfy in an uncomfortable seat, while a ridiculous number of ads and trailers played on and on, all part of my reward? punishment? for the exorbitant $27 ticket price) about Top Gun: Maverick , last night.   As a Gen Xer, I saw Top Gun when it hit the movieplexes, and I was old enough to sort of appreciate the actual dangers which the slick flick only touched on (back when things were still dicey with Russia… erm, make that, back when we were still comfortable acknowledging out loud that things were dicey with Russia )… but plenty young enough not to feel any need to over-dissect anything. It was shiny and pretty and exciting, and that was enough. Cut to three-and-a-half decades later, though, and TG:M has considerably more to answer for, from the likes of me—and probably also from a host of others who fell in love with