For me, Tom Cruise is like a good novel that suddenly got really bad; a bowl of Cap’n Crunch that got soggy; an enjoyable night of eroticism with a women who turns out to be a man. The thing is, I like Tom Cruise. Or at least I did. I’ve seen Far And Away approximately 13 times. I’m not kidding. I liked The Last Samurai, I liked Minority Report, I liked Vanilla Sky, I loved Jerry Maguire and I loved A Few Good Men. The whack job makes good movies. You can’t convince me otherwise.
So when he went batshit crazy this year, it was a sad time for me. I was conflicted. Even after the whole “jumping around like a monkey on steroids” on Oprah I said on at least on occasion, albeit well below audible level, “Maybe he’s just really that happy.” Then he took my beloved Katie down Crazy Lane with him, denounced psychology (which is sort of like denouncing astronomy) and bought a sonogram machine, because seeing your unborn fetus any less than once a month is unacceptable. That’s pretty much where the honeymoon ends for me.
In memoriam of a time when all Tom Cruise did was make good movies, my Tom Cruise moment of the year goes to what might have been his singular expression of sanity. You have to admit, when the reporter squirted him with the water and Cruise grabbed his arm like a child so he couldn’t walk away, chiding him with, “Why would you do that?” you had to feel a bit of the old “That’s the Tom I want to see! Now go make Far And Away II and stop going out in public!”