Who knows if anyone would want to remake The Rock (celebrating its 25th anniversary next year), but if they tried the dialogue would make absolutely no mention of small-town prom queens being deflowered by ruggedly macho winners.
That whole upscale, sirloin-steak, smart-ass ’90s guy-film genre, pioneered by Don Simpson and Jerry Bruckheimer (Bad Boys, Crimson Tide, The Rock, Con Air, Armageddon, Enemy of the State, Gone in Sixty Seconds), flourished for only five or six years. It reps a fairly dinosaurish aesthetic by today’s standards. You can’t go home again.
