Hindsight being 20/20 and all that, we can sit here in 2021 smug and comfortable in our correctness when we say The Rocketeer whips an incredible amount of ass. Watching it now, it's clear Joe Johnston's high-flying adaptation of the 1980s comic book hero is everything you want in a comic book origin story, led by a perfectly floppy-haired charmer of a hero in Bill Campbell, bolstered by Johnston's confidence use of Industrial Light & Magic's cutting-edge VFX, and brimming with the type of throwback, sepia-toned swashbuckling adventure that would later permeate projects like The Mummy (1999) and Pirates of the Caribbean. (Also, every film should feature Timothy Dalton as a mustache-twirling villain who rides a Nazi zeppelin. This is inarguably true.) Alas, in 1991, The Rocketeer was a tremendous bomb. Disney thought they were looking at a Tim Burton's Batman-sized hit; Campbell and co-star Jennifer Connelly were contracted for a trilogy and entire toy lines were dreamed up, all of which rocketed right into the trash can when the film limped its way to $46 million worldwide. The Rocketeer easily falls into the underappreciated banger category ripe for reappraisals on significant anniversaries—like this one, it's turning 30!—but looking back at this film is especially interesting, given the fact we're looking back from a place where comic book films overwhelmingly dominate pop culture. That's mostly thanks to the Marvel Cinematic Universe, a bajillion-dollar franchise built on many of the things The Rocketeer pulled off perfectly on its way to complete societal rejection.

As The Rocketeer's reevaluation reaches its third decade, it's fascinating to break down all the ways this film predicted the MCU's blueprint...as well as what the MCU, 23 movies in with no sign of stopping, can still stand to learn from Johnston's rocket-fueled thrill ride.

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Image via Disney

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All of this isn't to say The Rocketeer invented the comic book movie. Richard Donner's Superman took the idea to new heights in '78, while the aforementioned Batman broke new ground at the box office. But there's something so potently, undeniably MCU-ish about The Rocketeer, starting with the deeply charming but flawed-in-some-fundamental-way lead character (Cliff Secord, talented pilot whose ambitions in the sky make him emotionally disconnected from the woman who loves him back on the ground) who stumbles upon a great source of power (a jetpack invented by Howard Hughes) that simultaneously symbolizes his/her wildest dreams (to fly real fast) and greatest personal failings (a lack of control); eventually, a showdown with an enemy who would use that same technology for nefarious purposes (the Nazis, looking to build an army of rocketmen) ends up emphasizing the better parts of our hero's human nature (Cliff sacrifices the jetpack to save Jenny because the "closest he'll ever get to Heaven" is actually here on Earth, with her). Johnston, along with writers Danny Bilson and Paul De Meo, wrap up this familiar formula in all the same trimmings the MCU uses to ensure the broadest possible appeal: Endearingly disastrous first attempts at heroism, aw-shucks humor, thrilling-but-never-gruesome action, and just enough of an open ending to keep the story going.

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Image via Disney

The most obvious comparison point in terms of aesthetic, tone, and the main character wearing a big shiny bucket head, is 2008's Iron Man. Audiences largely unfamiliar with one of Marvel's more B-tier characters met a deeply charming but flawed-in-some-fundamental-way lead character (Robert Downey Jr.'s Tony Stark, whose ambitions as a weapons manufacturer make him emotionally disconnected from...everyone, but especially Gwyneth Paltrow's Pepper Potts), who stumbles upon a great source of power (a makeshift suit of high-tech armor crafted by himself) that simultaneously symbolizes his wildest dreams (invulnerability) and greatest personal failings (a literal armor around his emotions); eventually, a showdown with an enemy who would use that same technology for nefarious purposes (Jeff Bridges' Obadiah Stane) ends up emphasizing the better parts of Tony's human nature (he breaks so completely from his past persona, he publicly outs himself as Iron Man). The most glaring difference between The Rocketeer and Iron Man is the fact one bombed its way out of a franchise and the other soared to $585 million worldwide, kicking off a decade of Marvel movies that includes eight different billion-dollar earners.

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Image via Disney

There's a laundry list of reasons the general moviegoing audience is different today than in 1991, but the point is by 2008 Marvel got more butts into seats and audiences gobbled that formula up. Over the next few years, the focus of the MCU's first few phases was on standalone origin stories, all of them deeply indebted to the vibe, aesthetic, and formula of The Rocketeer whether audiences realized it or not. (It was particularly hard to ignore in the case of 1940s-set adventure Captain America: The First Avenger, directed by Johnston himself.) But it's also a spirit the franchise has moved away from the larger it's grown. The box office receipts obviously aren't dwindling—and I'm not going to claim in public like an absolute madman that the MCU is losing fans—but it's also not a movie series designed for true standalone superhero stories anymore. Crossovers, cameos, and future-film set-ups are cemented into the foundation at this point. (The last true standalone, 2019's Captain Marvel, de-aged Samuel L. Jackson to ensure Nick Fury was there as connective tissue.) It's fun to watch the MCU grow into this massive, interconnected media blob, but it also makes each movie take on a machine-like quality; it's easier to see the strings being pulled and the gears turning when every beat has to line up with ten more down the road.

That's also the reason The Rocketeer still stands, preserved, as something so comfortingly familiar and wholly unique at the same time. This movie perfected a blueprint that would set the world on fire in another three decades, so when audiences discover it now? It's like coming home. The Rocketeer plays like the greatest standalone MCU movie ever made, without any of the distracting bells and whistles. It's a superhero movie beholden to nothing but itself, which allows it to be a great movie, period. A playful one, too. It's an origin story, but it's also a dashing romance; a noir-ish mystery; a behind-the-scenes Hollywood tale that feels like both gentle parody of and love letter to moviemaking itself. (There's also a handmade quality to the spectacle that modern-day blockbusters don't really allow for, including practical makeup effects work from Rick "they invented the freaking makeup Oscar for me" Baker.) It's so obnoxiously easy, bordering on cliche, to say a movie was ahead of its time but, man, The Rocketeer was ahead of its time on such an astounding level. There's no other way to put it. Appropriately enough, The Rocketeer just had a wobbly time getting off the ground. But once it finally got high enough for people to actually see it? That son of a bitch will fly.

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