One last crack of the whip

It’s been a big year for old-school blockbuster franchises, but whereas Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight (i.e. Batman) was brilliant, if half an hour too long, Quantum of Solace (i.e. 007) and Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull were grave disappointments. Batman gets 4 out of 5, both James Bond and Indy only 2 out of 5 for their latest outings.
The shortcomings of Bond have been discussed - a 007 film should always make you look forward to the next one; this one didn’t - so I’ll move onto IJATKOTCS, which for a start has the most long-winded name of all the Indy flicks (unless you accept the box-set revisionism, where the first picture, Raiders of the Lost Ark, now his nom de guerre prefixed to the title). This time the Russians are the baddies, but Commie-bashing is nowhere near as fun as Nazi-bashing since the benchmark in evil set by the latter is hard, if even possible to surpass. There are vague references to Stalin, but Steven Spielberg’s film overtly tells us this is 1958 - Uncle Joe’s been dead for five years. Setting the scene after World War Two to take into account the ageing of Harrison Ford would automatically make the USSR the totalitarian enemy of choice, but the villainy of their minions is never fully characterised, other than that they want ‘to take over the world’ (mwah-ha-ha). So beating up Communists took on the air of a bland exercise against any disposable foe, rather than something more visceral.
Another serious failing was the main thrust of the plot. It started out at Area 51, where the location of the Ark of the Covenant was superbly revealed - and ignored by the protagonists! The Soviets were after the alien remains of Roswell and hoped of all hope that this was a min-diversion, like many a set-piece of a James Bond opening reel, where Indy is introduced to his opponents. After all, Raiders of the Lost Ark pulled that clever trick legitimately. But no, outer space intervention was the primary theme, the Russians mentioning two crash sites of their own (probably one being Tunguska) and how they are after the power of the (not-so) little green men. Indy adventures are all about the ingenuity of the ancients and their harnessing or protection of mysterious and powerful mystical artefacts. But Spielberg and his friend George Lucas diminish the accomplishment of humans by saying the technological achievements of the civilisation of El Dorado were all passed onto them by aliens. I know that there are crazy theories that the Egyptian pyramids, for example, are so mighty only aliens could have built them, but that really does belittle what man can do. The intriguing essence of the first three films is foolishly discarded in favour of some re-hashed X-Files silliness.
When the plot lacks credibility, the plot holes are all the more visible. The most egregious was when the Russians plonk extravagant jungle-chomping machines in the USA’s ‘backyard’ and the CIA is totally ignorant, with only cursory attention from the FBI while in America, before the jungle scenes.
Finally, Indy doesn’t really work in the atomic age - well, he does with an under-threat college sinecure, but as a concept he doesn’t. Indy was always fighting to prevent the misuse of immensely potent forces, even if those forces had a habit of derailing evil plans. Now man has a tremendous power of his own. It does allow for the enjoyable moment that I predicted the second Indy enters the room when he climbs inside a lead-lined fridge to protect himself form an imminent nuclear test explosion, but, in truth, Indy’s milieu is in those 1930s serials.
I have no quibble with a new Indiana Jones picture in principle. Though it would have been pleasing to leave it at a trilogy, it does not invalidate the title of the third film, which alluded to the last of the historical crusades rather than Dr Jones’ personal one. Harrison Ford surprisingly, recaptures that grizzled charisma and is one of the key plus points of the movie. Previous participants Denholm Elliott and Sean Connery are remembered only through black-and-white photos. It is a testament to Elliott’s acting and the weakness of the film, that he’s been dead for fifteen years and he’s still the best thing in the movie. The return of Indy’s squeeze, Mary, from the first silver screen appearance is a neat twist. Ray Winstone’s slimy, barmy character doesn’t make much sense, but Cate Blanchett’s villainess has suitable steel (and I’m not talking about her sabre) and inevitably suffers a satisfyingly gory death. Shia LeBoeuf as Mutt (“I called the dog Indiana,” geddit) isn’t spectacular, but he does fine in his role. I did like the campus chase, especially through the pro-communist student rally - back to good, old Indy basics. At heart, all Indy films, like all James Bond movies, are intrinsically good, made by people who understand the dynamics of such pictures, even if the grasp of such dynamics has become weaker over time. Spielberg’s and Lucas’ heydays, if not paydays, are behind them.

Strictly not dancing

Now the dust has settled on the 'Grand Final' (as opposed to any other kind of final), it seems a bit of perspective can be gleamed from the contest. Not that it changes anything, as Rachel and Vincent were robbed. Attractive couple that they are, Tom and Camilla wern't the best couple. Camilla, as a professional dancer, probably knows that she tried her best with Tom, but just couldn't drag him up to hit the heights until the show dance - the last of the routines. Rachel Stevens was far more natural, elegant and more technically polished, but Tom Chambers relied on his acting and his brazen good looks to brazen out the results (he never faced a dance-off). But, as with John Sergeant, the public weren't voting for the best dancing, but who they liked most, which makes a mockery of the title Strictly Come Dancing - since actually it is not that strict. They would be better to call it Strictly Come and Be Popular. At least Rachel knows that Tom lifted the trophy, but that bauble is for popularity, not skill and she, in reality, won the dance contest. It was the same for Lisa and Brendan. Some people didn't take to her (again accentuating the popular node of the contest), but when she finished third, despite scoring a perfect 80 out of 80, you could see Brendan wasn't too bothered, all smiling bonhomie and he must have prpeared her for that kind of result as well (since she had often been in the dance-off). He knew that, in professional terms, they were the best couple of the night and, having already won the contest in the first series, he was perfectly happy with the result. It was going to happen at some point that the best twosome would not take the competition. Tom may have won, but the other two couples can claim, with some justification, that in terms of strictly come dancing, they were the real winners.

Regarding last year's finalist Alesha Dixon and her comeback song, whose signature is that 'the boy' doesn't wash up, brush up or clean up, in fact, he does nothing. Now, it's a very catchy tune and Alesha's vocals certianly give it an infectious power, but the lyrics are ultra-retro. I can just imagine her on stage singing this, with a bemused George Formby by her side, silently, but plaintively pleading his case through incomprehension. It certainly hasn't got the sharp-eyed sassiness of Destiny's Child's ripostes to useless boyfriends 'No Scrubs' (which prompted from the male rapping fraternity a scathing answer in 'No Pigeons'). anway, I doubt very much that superstar Miss Dixon actually does much srcubbing, washing or cleaning herself when she can afford servants to do that kind of stuff. In the end, she gives the slob a second chance, but it's hard to see why he would change his ways - she only sticks with him not because he's great at housework, but because he's good at bedwork. To all those maligned men out there, however, is that doing the little things are often takne for granted. Why, I only did the washing-up last night for yesterday's dinner. My wife doesn't take me for granted though.

Shoeless shuffle into jail

With all the recent laughter about shoes thrown at incumbent president Bush - not it seems as easy as shooting fish in a barrel - we should not forget the plight of the attacker now that the news has left the front-page. Hardly wielding lethal weapons, he has yet been bundled into prison and is awaiting trial. Plenty of Iraq war supporters feel compelled to mention that he would have been killed had he tried to do that to Saddam Hussein, but that's the whole point, he did this as an act of his freedom of expression - it may be 'ingratitude' but that's democracy for you, a pluralism of views. If such an act were committed in Britain, given that the boots missed the president, the offender would be hauled into a prison cell for the duration of the fly-in visit and then released with a ticking-off. Here in Iraq, they not only threaten him with a jail term of between two and seven years (whick smacks suspiciously of political persecution from a humiliated Iraqi prime minister, Nouri al-Maliki, pulling strings to intervene in the judicial system - some division of powers), but the security that bundled him off have handed out such a beaten that he had to go to hospital with a broken arm, broken ribs and facial injuries - hardly the sign of a mature, civilised democracy, unless you approve of 1970s and 80s policing in Britain. The democratisation process may have been forcibly fast-tracked in Iraq, but a thuggish culture of those in power still remains. So much for a flowering of human rights, that would be some compensation for all the hundreds of thousands of deaths caused by Gulf War II and the millions traumatised, injured or displaced. Having shoes thrown at him is the least the US president deserved.