Indiana Jones And The Kingdom Of The Crystal Skull

*NOTICE *

THIS BITCH-FEST WILL CONTAIN DISCUSSION ON ELEMENTS OF THE AFOREMENTIONED MOVIE. MANY CALL THEM SPOILERS. IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THIS FILM AND DON'T WANT THE LIKES OF ME RUINING IT FOR YOU, STOP READING NOW.

*THAT IS ALL*

Yeah, I went to see the movie. Despite my instincts screaming about how bad this would suck, and my imminent distaste for one Shia Lebeouf, I went. I had no delusions of greatness. Much as I would have loved to have seen the Indiana Jones of days gone by brought back to life in a deserving form, I wasn't counting o it. Nor did I expect to be wowed, or to have any faith in the glory of Hollywood to be able to rekindle the kind of performance necessary from this classic. Truth be told, I was just shooting for passable.

And even with such minimalist expectations, I was sorely disappointed.

Since taking in the movie and reveling in such monumental failure, I have since read many of the movie reviews and the ensuing comments that came with them. I've noticed there are a lot of people saying some glowing things about this film. And they have no problem telling us detractors that we're far too serious a bunch, and that we need to allow ourselves the need to "suspend disbelief." Accept this fantastical tale for what it is, and don't let the burdens of reality get in the way.

am all for suspending disbelief. Fantasy is a great thing, something I encourage as much as humanly possible. And since I roll with an overactive imagination strong enough to keep me out of reality for weeks at a time, believe me when I say I that reality is overrated.

But, there is fine line between suspending disbelief, and treating me like I'm stupid.

For example, I'm willing to go along with the idea that Indiana Jones had some involvement with the Roswell UFO Crash Landing. But that our protagonist can survive a nuclear explosion completely unscathed in a lead-lined refrigerator? Not so much. Convenient, don't you think, that he was magically shot through the sky into an area outside of the contamination zone? I don't know a whole hell of a lot about nuclear explosions, but I don't think the big kaboom works that way. And if it does? Well, where's the rest of the debris? There were cars and toys and all kinds of lighter shit around. Where was all of that when that refrigerator hit the ground?

Hell, I'm willing to play along when an alien skull turns out to be made of crystal and is so magnetically charged, that it attracts shit that isn't magnetic. And yet, this thing is strong enough to attract non-magnetic gunpowder dust from across a huge fucking warehouse, but when you're standing next to it, the thing doesn't rip the high-quality and very magnetic Russian metal from your hands? The enemy was able to keep a firm yet fragile grip on those rifles at point blank range! My disbelief can only stretch so far. Shit, that was a big ass warehouse they were in. Surely there must have been some metal shit in at least one of those boxes. Hey, what about the fucking nails holding the crates together? How is it that Mr. Dead alien's mutilated magno-retard corpse not pull every single crate apart at the seams? Of course, if you're fantasy land is far more detailed than mine, explain this one: How can you have a magnetic tape recorder in the background with one of these mystical skull things? Most of you loyal readers are probably still survivors from the VHS era, so you know how nicely tape and magnets play.

The list of inadequacies can go on and on, but I'm tired and you people have lives. Needless to say that most days, I will happily run willy-nilly into a film that goes against conventional science, but please don't fuck with my logic.

Lucas and the Spiel should have known better. This is the new millennium, and the world is loaded with a smarter group of people. Folks who have taken in hefty amounts of programming like "CSI" or "Mythbusters," and have a good sense of how Hollywood magic plays in the real world. We are a society of people who are now fully aware that the human body has limits. And this should have been particularly true of a 65 year old actor.

I can acknowledge that Harrison Ford is old. I can accept that age has made him slower and more vulnerable to the types of over-the-top action we've known him for in the past. In fact, I was kind of curious to see how an older Indy would manage. I wasn't expecting him to slap in dentures and complain about arthritis of course, but time has never been kind to anyone after all.

Funny though, how it seems ol' Indy was actually more indestructible in this film than in any of the priors when he was actually younger. Punches to the face, jet engines, waterfalls, fucking refrigerators, and none of it slowed him down. Suspend disbelief you say? Every other fucking Indy movie, the man got dirty, bloody, and got his ass handed to him by movie's end. We all knew and loved the protagonist who bled like the rest of us. And yet an older, more venerated Indy can somehow take equally hard abuse on weakened muscles and aged bones without ill? Bullshit!

Of course, maybe the man was in pain. Maybe all those wacky antics really did hurt him. It can be hard to tell when everyone is acting so bored. Nobody on the cast seemed to be having any fun, nobody looked like they were excited to be doing this again. It was all gritted teeth and bad jokes. The only cats who even seemed animated were the Russians.

By this way, the Russian community is pissed about this movie. And I can't blame them one bit. I've known enough Russian people in my time to know that how they are not portrayed in this movie like they should be. Russian folks are some of the coolest, most composed people out there. Quiet, subtle, and steely resolve, that there is the M.O. of a hard and rugged people. Not this running around squawking like a bad Amos & Andy episode with bad accents. Ol' Lucas thought he could get away making the same spunky Nazi antagonists like he's did in all the prior films and just calling them Russians. No deal buddy, it's an offense to their community, and to people like myself who hold those guys in such high regard.

And of course, what bitch-fest about an inferior movie is complete without my assessment of Shia? My distaste for the bastard has made me reasonably popular lately, so I'd be remiss in not saying a few words about him. So, how did he fare?

Well, I'll admit my initial predictions were a little bit off. In place of the scrawny "I wanna be like you daddy," that I was expecting, I got a Marlon Brando clone in it's stead. Leather coat and goofy hat, hunched over the motorcycle, very much The Wild One right?

Well, I think someone needed to tell Shia, that he isn't in fact, Marlon Brando.

Playing the whole "I'm a drifter badass because I've never known the love of a father," bit to it's bitter ridiculous end gets damned old for eyes like mine. Particularly when the only thing that can be defined as badass about his character is the outfit. It's easy to look tough and untamed when decked in leathers and on the back of a motorcycle, lawyers have been doing it for years. I was right about one thing, he's still one-note. White bread generic until credits roll, and no amount of painted on goatee can cover that up.

But I did derive one moment of joy out of his performance. About midway through, when he is reunited with his surrogate father, played by John Hurt. Falling to his knees in front of an expertly placed spotlight, fresh water sprayed into those boyish eyes, providing the illusion of tears. He stares at this man, the closest thing to a father known to him through these lonely years, with a look of confusion and concern upon his face. His lips tremble as he questions what evil force would do such a horrible thing to this good man.

I've never laughed so hard in all my goddamn life. Is it me, or did anyone else expect him to look up to the stars and start screaming "STELLA!"

So, it was disappointing. I did expect it after all, The track record of George Lucas has been less than stellar lately. And trying to bring back the feelgoods from names he made famous is the act of a desperate man. So, I knew that it couldn't be great. But I at least wanted it to be good. I wanted to return to those happy days of yesteryear for a little while, and remember that wacky archaeologist and his need for epic quests. Just to revel in better times. Hell, if some justice had been done to his end, things would've been just fine by me. The man inspired a great deal in a lot of us. I know it did in me. And while I'm sure it wasn't the sole motivating factor in me studying archeology, I know he played his part.

So, for those of you naysayers who have torn the internet asunder in your claims of this film's greatness, ask yourself this: Would you still love this movie if the name Indiana Jones wasn't attached to it? If whip and fedora hadn't been donned, would this have still been a summer blockbuster, or another off-the-rack B stock film at your local movie rental store's Horror section? Using big names to tell weak stories benefits no one. It only ruins the name. I for one, can probably dismiss this movie. Forget it exists entirely, and treat it like another story from another man. And down the road, when I watch Harrison Ford and Sean Connery triumphantly ride into the sunset with the mysteries of the Holy Grail behind them, I can tip my hat to the end of a great series, and a legendary tale.