Here’s the thing about The Right Stuff: it’s great. It’s funny, exciting, rude, and—more than occasionally—cringe-inducing. And it holds up for the most part, even long after my first heady flush of “dang, these fake astronauts are hot” faded. (They were so hot, okay.) If you’re not into desert landscapes, aerial derring-do, or testosterone, you might find the first quarter of the movie skippable, though.
But we’re here to talk about Jeff Goldblum, aren’t we?