Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

Long-awaited fourth adventure collapses under its own wait. 

After nineteen years, could Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull possibly live up to expectations? And what kind of movie would in fact please everyone? Well, you’d think George Lucas, Steven Spielberg, Harrison Ford et al. could’ve done better than this. 

Unevenly paced, slow to find its rhythms and too impressed with itself by half, the fourth installment of the beloved retro-series shows the mish-mash of the endless script versions, revisions and rewrites that dragged its development out for years without ever gelling into a coherent whole. The plot, such as it is, involves Jones’ attempts to find and return a crystal skull – a Macguffin if ever there was one – to its rightful place in a long-secreted South American temple. He gets help from Brando-esque teen rebel Mutt Williams (Shia LaBeouf), his ex-love Marian Ravenwood (Karen Allen), and a former colleague (John Hurt) turned holy fool by the skull’s mysterious properties. They’re pursued – relentlessly, incredulously – by Soviet agent Irina Spalko (Cate Blanchett), a one-dimensional Russian baddie complete with jodhpurs and fencing rapier. There’s family drama, and lost love, and some jokes about growing old gracefully. But they’re murmurs in the whirlwind of the action.

Except now the whirlwind feels winded. Lucas and Spielberg, to paraphrase P.T. Barnum, never went broke underestimating the intelligence of their audience, but this time the film’s gaps in plotting and common sense are too wide to ignore. Problems of logic and reason are left untended, until what’s supposed to be escapism becomes instead distracting. In the case of a less-celebrated director, such gaps would get blamed on lack of skill. Here, they hint of complacency – worse, of arrogance. Adding self-indulgence to injury, the directors endlessly rehash their favorite visual motifs. 1950s nostalgia? It’s there, first thing. Cute animals that behave like humans? In abundance, no less than twice. Mindless, stupid gore? Better believe it. Overlong set pieces? Of course. The many obvious soundstages look Disney-theme-park fake, as well, as if shot on a studio backlot. While that’s partly homage to the serials of yesteryear, it’s also glaringly artificial.

As for the performances, the actors make the most of the few scenes they have that don’t involve punching, jumping, ducking, or lunging. Ford and LaBeouf have a comfortable rapport, but their instant familiarity telegraphs a mid-film revelation that will surprise no one with intelligence greater than the film’s numerous CGI prairie dogs. Blanchett has been better, and Allen isn’t given much to do except drive whatever commandeered vehicle lays around, moon over Ford, and serve as an example of aging gracefully. LaBeouf isn’t terrible in a part that’s obviously meant to satisfy Lucas’ seeming compulsion to introduce minors into deadly situations and an overweening readiness to spin off a new franchise.

And Ford. At 65, the actor looks worn down to his last but still game for a final adventure. Unfortunately, the effortless charm that endeared Han Solo and Indy to a generation is at a low flame here, only coming to life in occasional scenes where he manages to imbue a little weariness into the shrillness around him. Even just an extra scene or two more might’ve helped the film towards becoming a fully-realized piece – but there’s special effects and fights and a field of killer ants and raging waterfalls and an army of angry monkeys (honestly) that won’t wait for such luxuries. The film aims to amaze, not entertain.

Twenty four hours after its debut, a backlash is already brewing. If the public rejects this last installment as more Temple of Doom than Last Crusade, who’s responsible? American film audiences are a fickle lot, and modern genre devotees especially delight in second-guessing film creators about how a follow-up can – and more importantly should – be handled. And of course the results are often disappointing and even dispiriting. But we as ticket buyers expect more from the best filmmakers of their generation, especially after waiting through years of rumors and hints about one last ride with the hero of many a childhood. We expect more, and for decades of loyalty we as fans actually sort of deserve it.

- Michael Kabel

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