As a movie lover, I find few things more satisfying –
or frustrating – than following the careers of actors I like. First, there are
the promising up-and-comers, like Saoirse Ronan, Emile Hirsch, Josh Hutcherson
and Garrett Hedlund, among others, who will
(hopefully) blossom into the next generation’s A-list. Then, there are the
already established thespians who, for whatever reason, haven’t been living up
to their potential. I can list dozens of actors that I think are infinitely
superior to the work they’ve been putting out lately or have faded from the
limelight and deserve more attention: Russell Crowe, Edward Norton, Jodie
Foster, Denzel Washington, Kate Hudson (though at this point, I’m starting to
wonder if Almost Famous really was a
fluke), Guy Pearce, etc., etc. I can guarantee you that every film buff alive
has spent the past two decades wishing that Robert De Niro would return to his Taxi Driver/Raging Bull glory days.
Thank you, Ridley Scott, for getting my hopes up.
But maybe more than anybody else, I would love for Tom
Cruise to remind audiences why he used to be the biggest movie star on the
planet.
Ironically, the things that most people dislike about Cruise
– his immense fame and influence, his highly publicized yet strangely enigmatic
personal life, his complete lack of self-consciousness – are part of why I find
him so fascinating. I’ve personally never quite understood the fuss over a
certain couch-jumping incident; yeah, it’s weird, awkward and maybe a tad
self-indulgent, but as far as celebrity scandals go, it isn’t exactly a racist, sexist, anti-Semitic, homophobic
tirade caught on tape or a conviction for drugging and raping a 13-year-old
girl, which apparently still gets you a
petition of support from your colleagues who think that your unparalleled talent
as a film-maker should pardon you from arrest. Anyway, the vast majority of
people nowadays (at least judging by Internet message boards, which should
always be taken with the utmost seriousness) may think of Cruise as a
couch-jumping, secretly gay, lunatic Scientologist, but to me, he’s
still the kid who slid across the room in his underwear to the tune of Bob
Seger’s “Old Time Rock and Roll” in Risky
Business, poised on the verge of instant stardom. Even back then, he had this
feverish intensity, this effortless self-confidence, that was hypnotic
to watch, somehow seeming both vaguely superficial and entirely natural. I
don’t think it’s a stretch to say that, after the passing of Elizabeth Taylor
last year, Cruise may be the last genuine movie star alive.