Let’s begin with the Mission: Impossible character names. Do you remember any off the top of your head? Unless I’ve just watched one of the six (and soon to be seven) Tom Cruise blockbusters, my answer is pretty much, “No.” The names don’t matter much, which is why they’re sort of crucial in terms of understanding the series. Tom Cruise plays “Ethan Hunt,” a human as multi-dimensional as his patronymic. He is a predator drone who has friends, a heat-seeking missile who always swerves around baby carriages. His name is “Hunt”? It’s simultaneously audacious and forgettable.
“Luther,” played by Ving Rhames, is the other most consistent presence, a name with religious power that’s only heightened by enemies like “Solomon Lane” and “Owen Davian” (as in David). If Ethan Hunt has a match in terms of steely resolve and spy skillset, its the I’m-not-making-this-up “Ilsa Faust.” Faust! You won’t believe this, but in her first Mission: Impossible outing she pretty much makes a deal with the devil. The conventions harken to Buster Keaton films, where people are called “Steamboat Bill” (guess his job!) and “Johnny Gray” (a Confederate soldier). Even Hunt’s temporary, girl-next-door wife is the sweet “Julia Meade.” No one is here for subtlety and nuance.
What every Mission: Impossible film centers, however, is the daring physicality of Tom Cruise. He hangs parallel to the ground using only core strength and The Bridge to Total Freedom. He rides motorcycles at speeds and around hairpin corners that are usually reserved for cartoon roadrunners. He clings to the outside of an actual airplane, performs a HALO jump, and in this next film he separates his soul into six essential objects of his past that enable him to live forever! Rumor has it not even the horcruxes use stunt doubles.
But the badassery of it all, the way we gawk at Tom Cruise continually not killing Tom Cruise, is a betrayal of Ethan Hunt. Hunt, for all his zeal and courage, is an idiot. The films even think he’s an idiot. The premise of Mission: Impossible - Fallout, one of the strongest in the series, is basically, “You know how Ethan Hunt always gives terrorists world-destroying weapons ‘as a ploy’ because they might kill someone he’s known for half a movie? That finally causes some problems!”
Any warmth we feel for Hunt—as opposed to awe for Cruise in the role of Hunt—comes from his continually getting his ass whupped. That’s a technical phrase. He loses fights to pretty much everyone, he falls off of buildings, he crashes cars, he breaks his ribs, his only method for taking down a helicopter is to fly another helicopter into it, and he drowns at least once. People are saving Hunt almost as often as he’s saving them. If we believe in his friendships—it’s unclear if Hunt or Cruise experience genuine emotions aside from Willpower—it’s because he’s vulnerable in the most brutal sense. All elements of the story, even the relationships, are developed fist against fist.
The way Cruise is battered about is also why he’s the greatest living American action star. I don’t mean he’s anything like the prissy sideshows of Fast and Furious fame, men who have it written into their contracts that they can’t lose a fight. Cruise’s models of behavior are purer and more talented. I’m talking, of course, about Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd. The way Cruise will hang from an airplane or jump across actual buildings is a direct continuation of the silent era’s wonder stunts. He combines grace and comedy in a startling balance, like a Formula 1 Race hosted by Jackass.
The modern precedent for this high-wire juggling is Jackie Chan. No one will ever top Chan’s agility-cum-comedy; he maxed out both categories. Climbing ladders to nowhere and fighting enemies with any mop or towel he could get his hands on, Chan was hanging from moving vehicles when Cruise was still mixing drinks with Elisabeth Shue.
But Cruise has captured the essence of Chan’s gift, a paradox of talent that Buster Keaton more or less immortalized. They are the world’s most capable clowns. Only a genius of mettle would climb a rope dangling from a helicopter in midflight. Only a comedian would fall down so they could do it again. Long live the Mission: Impossible circus, a show I’ll continue to visit for as long as Cruise’s body can take the beating.
I love you all.