There’s a lot to like about the new movie Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, though the title isn’t one of them. Why not Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull – what’s all this archaic ‘kingdom’ stuff – or even just The Crystal Skull?That would be a welcome throw-back to Raiders of the Lost Ark, as much about the story as the character. With Temple of Doom and The Last Crusade, the name migrated above the title. I think now we’ve come full circle, with the character being the story.
Crystal Skull, the preferred shorthand, has most of the edge-of-seat excitement of movies 20 years its junior - it's been 19 years since Indiana and his crew rode off into the sunset outside of the medieval Moslem fortress of Petra, where the goblit of God, if that's his name, was swallowed up by the earth. A lot has happened in that intervening score of years: World War II came and passed, with Henry Jones Jr. earned a load of medals; atom bombs were used and tested, and the Communist inquisition rose out of the ashes of anti-Nazi sentiment.
So we find the antagonist party has turned from German to Russian, Nazi to Red, yet their goal remains the same: the single magical amulet, artifact, coin, force that will harness supernatural powers, and win for them global domination. (Ah yes, the Saturday morning Steven Spielberg cartoons of Pinky and the Brain: "What'll we do today, Brain?" "Same thing we do every day, Pinky, try to take over the world!").
Looking back over the three Indiana movies in the 1980s, as I recently have (thanks to a 4-disc DVD set purchased a yard sale for $5, talked down from $8), I admired the special effects for their alchemical mix of blue-screen, aminotronics, miniatures and post- effects, along with the usual smoke and mirrors that any good stage hand knows how to weild. The same holds true today: man, that rocket sled ride across the desert was great, and I don't care who hears me say it.
That a movie as traditional as this could still be made, and work, while keeping its distance from CGI, is admirable. There's no doubt that these guys know what they're doing, especially Spielberg: he is the supreme technician of the art form at present, in both senses of the word. Nobody can make a movie like Spielberg, the story teller, can: and there's always something cold about his work, despite the bicycle silhouette on the moon.Harrison Ford, who sometimes fails to show up for work whether his name's above the title or not, delivers the part on mark and on cue, a bit of the old rogue reappearing. It's great to see Nancy Allen, again, for whom many a man my age has nutured secret thoughts, once again showing Indy who's boss. Shia leBeouf, who is always good if somewhat unmemorable in his roles, kicks it as Mutt, the cross-breed (someething tells me Lucas came up with that name).
Perhaps most rewardingly, Cate Blanchett steals the movie as only a great villain can, all narrowing eyes and toothy snarl, and her comrade zealots equally sinister. But the advancing spectres of night, Nazca and Mayan, seem like extras from Mel Gibson's Apocalyptico, and there's an obligatory silhouette of the fedora-ed Indy in the miniature foreground of every disaster, divine or manmade. That alone serves to remind us that we're at the movies, or in a comic book, distancing ourselves from danger and give us a chance to laugh.Don’t think for a moment there’ll be an Indiana Five, let alone a Senior Trilogy as it were. The story arc makes it clear that the Harrison Ford character we loved in the 80s – nay, not just loved, but emulated – was still around, working miracles of derring-do and exploration, when I was a kid. Modernized into the Boomer childhood, at home in the early years of the Nuclear Age and still capable of outfoxing it, but not for long. He’s fading off into the sunset now, for real this time: can you imagine Indiana going anywhere without Marion now? Is that a hero, or a husband?
Boomers will want to see this movie and take comfort in both its nostalgia and its honesty, a kind of rueful acquiescence to the advance of the years. But that’s the problem: the tools that Team Indiana uses to tell its story includes impossible chases and inventive elaborations, a sort of chaotic comedy that has its roots in Buster Keaton. Well and good. But let’s face it, the guy’s of an age where he just can’t keep up anymore with all this pandemonium, can he? Harrison Ford tries to pretend he can, but I think in his heart, Indiana Jones knows he can’t.
All the elements of a great adventure movie are here – waterfalls, rockets, army ants – and we like the family unit at the heart of the story, but it is a family unit. This I’m pretty sure is intentional. Lucas, Spielberg and Ford are smart enough to know when it’s time to retire the character. This is the Last Hurrah for Indiana Jones, the final concert tour of the reunion band, the bachelor party (with wife and kid along for the trip), the summer road trip.
Bottom Line: An old-fashioned artifact of a movie, as much a souvenir as it is a discovery. Recommended for audiences 48 and above.
For more reviews, see In the Dark.
