Indy!

for those of you in the know, it's no secret that I've been awaiting the latest indiana jones film like it was christmas 1988. it all started with indiana jones and the raiders of the lost ark: the adaptation, which I've obsessed over and written about here.

so it was with all this anticipation that I settled myself down in the theatre on friday night, extra-buttered popcorn in hand. and waited for the lights to go down.

it should've been somewhat telling that the theatre was fairly empty on an opening weekend. although to be fair, I went to see it at the bridge on campus. most of these kids weren't even born when the first indiana jones film came out in 82. it probably doesn't even make sense if you didn't fall in love with indy the first time around, why you'd watch a near-geriatric harrison ford gimp along on screen in search of a skull made of quartz? in fact, it made really little sense to me why I was watching it, once the halfway point hit.

what started off as a promising drag race in the desert slowly ground to a halting jerk and shudder of plot advancement. there's something off in the balance of this film, something that takes the charm that carried the first three even through bad dialogue, lame plot twists and embarrassing clichés. somewhere in the 25+ years since the first, indy and his fellow characters have lost their senses of humor. and even worse, their sense of style.

crystal skull is set 20 years after we last left indy, meaning that it's now the 1950s. it was the sleek, snarky tilted-fedora-over-your-eye cheekiness that made it possible to overlook the flaws in the earlier films. that audience-engaging wink at the jokes mixed with just raw run-for-your-life action that kept you on the edge of your seats and laughing, in turn. it just doesn't translate to the landscape of the pre-coldwar 1950s. it's like comparing a pouting, unfocused teenager (e.g., shia labeouf) to the sultry but snide marion ravenwood (e.g., karen allen in Raiders). this labeouf guy, really, just wasn't given the in on the joke. he was by turns marlon brando à la wild ones, pouting and glowering in leather and james dean à la rebel without a cause, pouting and welling up in a tee. but both versions of the 50s teen played as if reading from picture cards without any backstory. the best (looking) character in the film was cate blanchett's soviet agent, à la natasha from rocky & bullwinkle. but really, all she did was give galadriel a kgb-fetish makeover, complete with skintight pantsuit and rapier, and leave her sense of humor at home.

so often, the setups to the jokes you expected fell flat because everyone played their characters so straight. only marion ravenwood still held a reflection of her old self in her eyes as she bickered with indy. indy, on the other hand, was almost aggressively active, as if daring you to suggest he may not be able to make the next leap. yeah, we get it, you can still jump moving trucks. but can you charm us? can you make us root for you and forgive your lame jokes because you let us know you think they're lame too?

the answer can be summed up in this picture:












does it make any sense to you?