Fletch's Film Review: Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

Just yesterday, prior to seeing Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, I had a discussion with Anil Usumezbas of The Long Take regarding Spider-Man 3. Having just recently watched the final installment of that trilogy, he was a bit bewildered by the "hypocrisy surrounding the critics and fan circles regarding where they place [the] last chapter," going on to say that "isn’t it the same cheesy romance, one-dimensional drama, cartoonish characters, talentless Tobey Maguire and failed attempts to delve into the complexities of being a superhero?"

Though he too didn't care much for Spider-Man 3 (he gave it 5/10 stars; I gave it a "Whatever."), he certainly has a point. As much as I disliked the film, as bloated and dumb as it was, at its core it still shared the same elements of the first two films. It felt like its predecessors. The same can be said for the much maligned Matrix sequels; retarded as it was (I care not that it was intended) to have the series travel in a big circle, thus nullifying the entire point of watching the three films, I can't deny that the spirit and tone of the sequels was similar to the brilliant original (we'll all forget the "dancing orgy" scene, thank you very much).

You can probably see where I'm going with this. Ever since walking out of the theater last night, I've been in the midst of an internal struggle - a query that I can't stop asking: Have my childhood and teenage memories painted the picture of a movie series that in reality never existed? Was Indiana Jones really this stupid?

That's not to say that I can't attempt to answer that question. In fact, I'm pretty confident that the answers are "no" and "no." Looking back on the series, I see a first installment that won four Academy Awards, and was nominated for Best Picture. Temple of Doom was a step back, what with the munchkin sidekick, bug-eating stereotypes and "Willie," but had enough elements of the original to not let the audience lose faith in the character or the series. When Last Crusade was released in 1989, it was widely seen as a return to form, despite the comic levity and nostalgic nod to James Bond that Sean Connery brought to the series (we even forgave Spielberg and company for turning Denholm Elliot's Marcus Brody character into a cartoon buffoon).

A lot has happened in the 19 years between releases, though. Indiana has seen two full-fledged franchises pop up in his wake (The Mummy and National Treasure), each taking elements of the Jones series along with them. In fact, they've practically split the franchise as if it had been divorced from itself, with Brendan Fraser and gang getting the old world settings, physicality and creatures, and Nicolas Cage and Justin Bartha receiving the archaeological smarts and flair for solving puzzles (or booby traps). What neither series received, however, was any sense or danger or importance, instead subbing in lame one-liners and childish humor into the mix. Likewise, those elements slowly eroded in the Jones series since the first chapter, only to be blown to smithereens with Crystal Skull.

To be sure, there have been campy elements all along - it's hard to take too seriously (though I'll try) any series that features melting faces, heart rippers, multi-ton boulders and characters named Short Round. Yet when Toht popped up at Marion's bar seeking a medallion, he brought fear with him, as he did when he entered Belloq's tent in Egypt. When the Thugee high priest Mola Ram reached for Indy's heart, we all felt it, and we also felt for Indy when his father was shot in the Last Crusade. Those days are but a distant memory now, though, as we're left with a swordfight that could pass for an outtake from America's Funniest Home Videos and trips down waterfalls (plural) that leave nary a scratch on a single protagonist. At no point in time are we really ever concerned for the characters, and it's not like the actors are attempting to sell us on that, either, as we see countless kidnapped people mugging for the camera like kids in a photo booth. Where's the concern? Where's the danger?

All this without even getting into:

* the inane plot, which, as has been mentioned in a number of reviews, feels like a mixture of National Treasure and an episode of The X-Files,

* the CGI drudgery that serves as a constant reminder to the audience that "hey, this was made on a soundstage in front of a bluescreen!"

* the inclusion of Shia LaBeouf's character, "Mutt" Williams. Mutt. Think about it.

* the countless winks to the audience. Sure, the first time they show Ford donning the fedora while playing the familiar John Williams theme, there's a bit of magic that you feel. Then they do it again. They there's some photos of some old faces from the series that don't appear here. Then more references. Then Marion (Karen Allen) pops up. By the end of the movie, I was about ready to scream "F*ck you!" to the creators for having the nerve to keep playing the nostalgia card on us, showing the lack of confidence in their new creation.

And that's the emotion I left the theater with. Kind of a "how dare you" mixed with a "god, I'm stupid for ever believing." Spielberg and Lucas haven't created an extension of the series - they've created a stand-alone film that pales even to the lesser series that ripped off the originals, a film that screams "amusement park ride" from the start and devolves from there, a film that insults your intelligence and patience through the mind-numbing conclusion.

Now I'm off to search for a crystal skull to gaze at in the hopes that I lose my mind.

Fletch's Film Rating:

"I want you to punch me as hard as you can."