5 Great ’80s MoviesThat Still Needed Jack Burton

Peter Venkman and Jack Burton would’ve either become best friends immediately or spent the entire movie trying to outtalk each other. Either way, Egon would’ve regretted meeting both of them.

Jack wouldn’t have had any idea how a proton pack worked, but that wouldn’t stop him from wearing one incorrectly and offering Ray advice about paranormal containment. He’d call Winston “the practical one,” ask whether Slimer could be transported across state lines, and immediately suggest mounting the containment unit to the Pork Chop Express for “mobility.”

The real payoff would come on the rooftop. When Gozer asked if Jack was a god, he’d answer without hesitation, probably while Venkman quietly stepped away from him. Five minutes later, the streams would be crossed, New York would be covered in marshmallow, and Jack would still insist the whole thing was “all part of the plan.”

Jack Burton belongs in the Double Deuce so naturally that it feels less like a crossover and more like a deleted subplot.

Dalton walks into a room, studies the exits, and quietly figures out who the real problem is. Jack walks into the same room, orders a drink, and assumes everybody’s already heard of him. Dalton would handle the actual fighting while Jack got thrown over the bar, recovered with surprising dignity, and told Wade Garrett he’d softened everybody up.

Brad Wesley would hate Jack immediately, mostly because Jack wouldn’t take him seriously. He’d call him “pal,” complain about the parking, and treat his entire criminal empire like a minor inconvenience. By the end of the movie, the Double Deuce would still be wrecked, Dalton would still save the town, and Jack would be leaning against his truck, explaining how lucky everybody was that he happened to be passing through.

Ben Richards was trying to survive a rigged TV death match and expose a corrupt government. Jack Burton would’ve been trying to figure out who signed him up and whether the winner got paid in cash.

That’s why he’d be perfect for The Running Man. He’d ignore the rules, insult every Stalker, and become the audience favorite without understanding why. Richards would be focused on bringing down the network while Jack wandered through the arena asking cameras for directions and threatening to charge somebody for mileage.

Killian would despise him because Jack couldn’t be controlled. The crowd would love him because he’d keep surviving through luck, reflexes, and an almost dangerous refusal to admit he was in over his head. Richards would eventually destroy the system, Jack would somehow be standing beside him when it happened, and the postgame interview would consist entirely of Jack explaining that none of it would’ve worked without him, all while wearing smeared lipstick.

The Colonial Marines were trained, heavily armed, and still nowhere near prepared for what was waiting inside Hadley’s Hope. Jack Burton would’ve been even less prepared, which somehow makes him exactly the man you’d want nearby.

He’d spend the first half of the movie arguing with Hudson, flirting badly with Vasquez, and asking Hicks why the futuristic military hadn’t bothered to bring a decent truck. Ripley would hate him almost immediately, but she’d eventually realize Jack had one useful quality: he would run toward danger before his brain had enough time to object.

Put Jack in the APC, give him a rifle he barely understands, and let the chaos handle the rest. He’d lose his knife, find somebody else’s knife, and somehow make it out of the hive while insisting he’d known the plan all along. When the Alien Queen finally appeared, Jack would take one look at Ripley and ask, “You know her?”

That line alone gets him a seat on the Sulaco.

Jack Burton in Gotham isn’t just a good idea. He feels like the hero Gotham deserves.

Batman is controlled, disciplined, and terrifying. Jack is a truck driver in a tank top who’d meet Batman once and immediately decide they were partners. Bruce Wayne spent years mastering fear, combat, and detective work. Jack would spend nine minutes in the Batcave before suggesting brighter lights, better parking, and a CB radio in the Batmobile.

The Joker would despise Jack because Jack wouldn’t give him the reaction he lives for. Every threat, theatrical entrance, and carefully rehearsed punchline would bounce off a guy who’d interrupt him halfway through, call him “pal,” and ask when they were getting to the point. Jack wouldn’t outsmart the Joker or scare him. He’d do something far worse: annoy him so completely that the Joker would forget Batman was even in the room. Batman would hate him for almost the exact same reasons. Jack talks during surveillance, ignores instructions, and keeps calling the Batmobile “the little black truck.”

Alfred, naturally, would refer to Jack as “that confused fellow.”

The best version of this movie ends with Batman planning an elaborate assault on the Joker’s hideout, only for Jack to walk through the wrong door, draw his gun, and ruin everything in a way that somehow still works. Batman would stare at him in silent disbelief, slowly shaking his head. Jack would shrug and tell him what he already knows.

It’s all in the reflexes.