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.