Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

The man in the hat is back!! The fedora is slightly worn and it shades features beaten by time into the wrinkled face of a familiar hero, this time facing his biggest challenge of all, 19 years of unrealistic hype and a curse greater than that of the ark and one that struck down the majority of the Star Wars prequels, a George Lucas script.

Let’s crack the whip straight away. Being the fourth best Indiana Jones film is not a downbeat reaction to this mine cart paced ride into misty nostalgia. In the time since Ford, Connery (sadly opting to retire to the golf course rather than reprise his wonderful turn in Crusade) and Rhys-Davis rode off into the sunset at trilogies end we have had endless rumours, script re-writes (most famously from Shawshank helmer Frank Darabont) and enough pretenders to the throne – The Mummy, National Treasure – to dilute the appeal and anticipation for the return of Spielberg’s Saturday morning matinee homage.

Stuffier critics will no doubt claim that familiarity breeds contempt and will shout to the roof of the multiplex that they’ve seen it all before, but isn’t that what we’ve waited 19 years to see? Harrison Ford chasing a mystical maguffin – here read The Crystal Skull - through an ancient civilisation pursued by Nazi’s and angry tribes – replace here with Russians. If the answer is yes then cue John Williams rousing score.

Spielberg has stated that after years of making films that were cathartic for him “this one is for the fans”, and has made sure he backs up that statement by bringing back Raiders muse Karen Allen as Marion Ravenwood and sitting down with regular cinematographer Janusz Kaminski to study the original trilogy in an attempt to capture the look of days gone by. It’s a trick that works on both counts, but only just. Allen is wonderful and doesn’t seem to have aged a day since first planting a right hook on Jones’ face in the Raven Bar, their initial meeting and subsequent banter is a highlight. The problem with the look of the film is that Spielberg peppers his solid visuals with some decidedly dodgy CGI (the killer ants are straight from the Steven Sommers school of moviemaking), maybe Lucas twisted his arm but it’s a technique that’s absence benefited the original movies. The director hasn’t been this lazy since barely lifting the megaphone during The Lost World, and relies on the showreel set-pieces of a high speed jungle pursuit, river boat ride, and ironically enough crystal maze style finale to paper over the cracks.

What of Henry Jones Jnr. Himself? Well if this isn’t the final outing for Indy you can rest assured that Ford will still be able to cut it as the rugged relic hunter for years to come. With a free buss pass in his artifact bag he seems to get younger as the movie rumbles on, subsequently having more fun that emanates into the audience, an impending doom in sinking sand is comedy genius that is only one of many nods to the original classics.

Of the newcomers Blanchett proves a redundant villain and only adds to the lack of threat permeating the script, Indy 4 is quite a tension free movie; there is no hat under the door moment to gasp at. Ray Winstone is, erm, Ray Winstone and suffers from being a tool by which to propel the plot between action sequences. It’s Shia LaBeouf that continues to ascend the rungs as the unfortunately named Mutt, cocksure and headstrong, he is the perfect foil for Fords “been there, done that” icon.

And finally there is the Lucas influence that necessitates the need for the Sci-Fi angle in the story, and so we get an infinitely far fetched finale that threatens to throw Kingdom of the Crystal Skulls to the snake pit, rather than the grandiose understated realism of the search for the cup of Christ we get an ending lifted from The Mummy Returns by way of A.I.

Do not look at the 3 star rating and feel that this is a disappointing movie; the rating is awarded on the unique Indiana Jones scale of quality and Raiders set a precedent all those years ago. Embrace it like an old friend, but take heed that things are never going to be how you remember them.

By Matthew Rodgers