Men's Health May 12, 2026 0 Comments

Why I Finally Watched Top Gun at 40 — And How It Blew My Mind in Ways I Never Expected

Ever wonder how a movie you’ve never actually watched can still sneak its way into your every day? That was me with Top Gun — a film turning 40 this year, yet somehow I managed to dodge watching it for decades. From a neighbor bragging about his convertible allegedly hitting the big screen, to casually dropping iconic lines I knew but didn’t fully get, my experience with Top Gun is a saga of absence and anticipation. Only after devouring its sequel, Top Gun: Maverick, did I finally buckle down to watch the original—shifting the whole perspective like seeing The Force Awakens without its predecessors. What’s behind the legendary status of this film? Is it really just about the cocky ace pilot, or does it mirror something deeper in our culture and even in the grit it takes to break through, much like mastering the fitness game or SEO jungle? Let me take you through the ride—the triumphs, the surprises, and yes, the sheer power of Cruise that keeps Top Gun soaring after all these years.

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MY EXPERIENCE WITHTop Gun, which was released in 1986 and turns 40 this week, exists in three distinctive portions, each marking a respective decade of my life. The first is almost farcical in its nature. In my early teens, a neighbor in my suburban South Carolina subdivision claimed his vintage convertible was featured in a movie called Top Gun. The story went that he was stationed on the Naval Air Base during the Tony Scott-helmed, Tom Cruise-led production, and asked his vehicle to be a part of the film. My memory is that he said someone drove it in a shot, but it’s certainly not the 1958 Porsche 356 Speedster replica that Kelly McGillis drives. My family didn’t have cable growing up, and it wasn’t a movie my father ever felt strongly enough about to share with me when going through his favorites. So, I never saw the movie.

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The second is two-fold. In my early twenties, Top Gun existed in my brain as an extended punchline. I knew lines and moments from the film, but merely as part of a fledgling pop cultural vocabulary. Phrases like “Buzzing the tower,” and “negative, Ghost Rider’ became part of my cultural lexicon without me understanding their full context. Rather, they were veritable seasonings I worked into my day-to-day speech. I rode a Top Gun-branded rollercoaster at Paramount’s Carowinds theme park endless times before it was eventually bought out by Six Flags and rebranded to the generic-sounding “Afterburn.” A college buddy of mine, who also hadn’t seen the film (at least at that point), joked that we both should never watch it. I took the bit a step further, gifting him a copy of the film on the now-defunct HD-DVD format, just as it was announced that the physical media format would cease to exist; The only copy in our shared rental house wasn’t even one we could properly watch. Fittingly, I still never watched the movie.

As I moved into my thirties, I saw Top Gun: Maverick—the 36-years-later sequel to the original and one of the best movies of the 2020s—roughly a dozen times before I finally, finally sat down to watch the original, just days ahead of its staggering fortieth anniversary. Going backwards in this way made for an interesting perspective through which to view the film: The closest comparison I can think of is to have seen The Force Awakens without ever having seen A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back, or The Return of the Jedi. The cultural cache or narrative of Top Gun at this point is bigger than the film itself. “Iconic” is a word that’s become so overused at this point that it’s lost its impact—and yet, that’s simply what the film is. So many indelible images from it lingered in my mind despite never watching it from start to finish, from the famed volleyball sequence, to Rooster and Mav’s up-high, down-low high five that I’ve attempted (and failed) many times, or Mav’s shit-eating grin as he dons his sunglasses. The thumbs-up image of Cruise in the cockpit is a quintessential bit of Americana culture, up there with the cover of Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the USA. That’s to say nothing of the film’s use of “Take My Breath Away,” which, dear reader, I did not realize came from this movie. My immediate reaction when it started playing was that it was just another parody in a long line of moments that have parodied said moment. What a legitimate shock to find out those movies were all riffing on this!

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So, what’s the immediate takeaway from Top Gun, forty years later? Cruise, baby. The last American movie star minted his status with this film, and watching now is like seeing Michael Jordan hit “The Shot.” Hot off the all-around success of Risky Business, Cruise was at the start of his, to borrow the Bill Simmons parlance, Apex Mountain. Despite the boyish looks, this is a grown, leading man role. Cruise, who was only 23 during filming, brings real gravitas to Maverick, also infusing the character with the cocky bravado needed to be believable going up against higher-ranking officials and taking on a rivalry with Val Kilmer.

As Roger Ebert pointed out in his review, the dialogue isn’t world-class—I don’t think it holds a candle to Maverick—but Cruise is performing a Herculean labor to make it believable. The fact that the movie works at all starts and ends with him. In fact, Top Gun is at its most interesting when examined through the lens of Cruise’s overall cinematic persona; how he’s leaned into or subverted his portrayal of Maverick over the next forty years speaks volumes about his career. In some form or fashion, the role feels in line with everything Cruise has done since. Sure, Maverick is a great pilot, but he’s not the best one. That feels like the last time a Cruise character ever had that sense of ingrained modesty, as if he walks out of this movie cementing himself as the new world-class alpha of everything by the time it reaches its conclusion.

Overall, the film’s tenor and tone are different from what I’d anticipated. I assumed, while watching Maverick, that the original had also concluded with a big aerial fight sequence. I was right, but the circumstances in which we arrive there are much different. I was surprised by the fact that the majority of Maverick and Goose’s time at Top Gun is spent chasing after a trophy instead of getting explicit mission training. To wit, those training stages are far more akin to the machismo of something like, say, Richard Linklater’s Everybody Wants Some!!, wherein we see a group of guys who are constantly trying to out-peacock one another in all kinds of competitive feats. Sound familiar?

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Ultimately, the movie wouldn’t be where it is without director Tony Scott, who pilots the whole endeavor with a spirit and swagger befitting his protagonists. The film is perpetually sweaty, set against a seemingly never-ending golden hour wherein the lazy, hazy days of summer trickle into every frame. While I’m sure most of that is just what it’s like to be in San Diego, Scott heightens it at every level, fusing the film with a kinetic sense of energy. There’s not a wasted scene. Even when the camera stays static, the frame ripples with intensity as if it’s an F14 on the verge of exploding into the atmosphere. Under the direction of anyone else, Top Gun would probably fade into the recesses of summer blockbusters past. It certainly wouldn’t land in a place where it becomes part of the cultural lexicon in a way where it becomes the first thing a neighbor tells you about themselves when you meet them.

Top Gun, to quote one of its leads, still feels dangerous four decades later. It’s the high-risk, high-reward four-quadrant blockbuster that Hollywood is still chasing, something entertaining enough to revisit while maintaining a big-screen spectacle. But more than anything else, it’s a monument to one of cinema’s finest stars, a moment in time that solidifies his meteoric rise and proves there’s a reason that even if it takes you nearly forty years to watch it for yourself, you still feel like you know every beat of why it’s left such a strong impact all these years later.

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William Goodman is a freelancer writer, focused on all things pop culture, tech, gadgets, and style. He’s based in Washington, DC and his work can also be found at Robb Report, Complex, and GQ. He’s yet to meet a jacket or cardigan he didn’t love. In his free time, he’s probably on Twitter (@goodmanw) or at the movies.