Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008)
Monday, June 2nd, 2008
Directed by: Steven Spielberg
Written By: David Koepp & George Lucas
Cast: Harrison Ford, Cate Blanchett, Karen Allen, & Shia LaBeouf
Runtime: 124 min.
Rating: PG-13
Trailer
What starts off as a romantic homage to the previous films in the series quickly turns stale and lackluster. That this happens in less than thirty seconds of screen-time and with nary a cut in the editing is abnormally impressive and highly disappointing. Let me explain. After the preliminary mountain logo of Paramount used in the 70s and 80s (a stunt David Fincher’s Zodiac exploited last year) gently morphed into a tiny hill in the Nevada desert, a strange pall came over me when a cute, furry mole emerged and quickly jumped out of the way of a speeding car. I was appalled. The mole was a CG invention. This was inexcusable because it goes against the DIY spirit and inventiveness of the Indiana Jones franchise. Was it really necessary to inject computer-animated childishness this early in the movie?
Have Steven Spielberg and George Lucas learned nothing about burdening their franchise with wall-to-wall CG hokum like the bloated Pirates of the Caribbean? Even the silly National Treasure movies avoided this to a certain extent. I had liked to think the Indiana Jones brandname was different, but I was wrong. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull hijacks the memory of the original three films, while eschewing the wit and enthusiasm of Raiders of the Lost Ark, the mischievousness of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, and the bittersweet, emotional sincerity of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.
So what we have instead is a bloated, loud, amateur-looking film that crawls to a standstill during lengthy scenes of exposition when not punishing its audience with uninspired action set pieces. When not down in the doldrums of plot summary, the scenes serve only to get Indy and the rest of his gang, including John Hurt, Shia LaBeouf and Karen Allen, from point A to point B. The action is over-the-top and sadly devoid of any real emotional consequence. To make matters worse, the hallmarks of Lucas’ own brand of action staging – the juvenile “comedic” distractions and cutaways – interrupt any momentum a sequence might have and consequently renders said sequence with even less significance. I was half expecting to see the patented dissolves and wipes of the Star Wars franchise when moving between scenes.
The pleasure of the Indiana Jones character has always been his ability to walk the line between the fantastical, daring adventurer/archeologist and the scholarly, buttoned-down university professor. This had the double effect of grounding the action in a reality that gave the character a three-dimensional quality we could care about and imbued the action scenes – which were frenzied and perilous – with a real sense of danger and excitement. Indiana Jones was never meant to be a superhero. Sure he defeated the Nazis (twice!), jumped out of plane with an inflatable raft, and disabled a tank with nothing more than sheer will and a horse, but we were always reminded of how physically grueling it all was. Here, in the latest installment, there is nothing Indy can’t do. Harrison Ford essentially plays Indy as a grouch in need of a nap, instead of the charming treasure hunter we come to expect.
What screenwriter David Koepp, George Lucas and Steven Spielberg do to Indy is much worse, however. Their Indiana Jones is nothing more than a cipher, devoid of humanity and existing only to spout off trivial and confusing information regarding the plot. He comes off as a minor character to a film bearing his name. Speaking of the plot, the less said about it the better. To be honest, I can’t remember what it was about, thus telling you all you need to know. Shia LaBeouf as Mutt Williams, a greaser copied off Marlon Brando in The Wild One, once again comes away as unscathed as an actor. While his character reeks of studio franchising, LaBeouf manages to create an interesting personality in spite of the script, not because of it. It appears that Spielberg sensed this as well because he introduces LaBeouf in easily the best and most memorable shot in the film: Mutt Williams, on a motorcycle, emerging out of thick steam, clad in a leather jacket and plenty of attitude. Sure, there are stylistic flourishes (this is a Spielberg movie after all) but not enough to save the film.
Not even Cate Blanchett as a dominatrix-like Communist can elevate the film from what it ultimately is: an insignificant end to a treasured series. I guess regressing from a mountain into a mole hill summarizes the film quite well.
Richard X
© Cinephile Magazine, 2008
