Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny

“Contains Tobacco Depictions” — warning label at the start of the movie.

It’s 1968, and the recently retired, nearly divorced, formerly two-fisted, and currently old as dirt, Professor of Archaeology, Dr. Henry “Indiana” Jones, Jr. must pick up his whip and don his fedora once again, in a race against time for a legendary artifact that could change the course of history. Accompanied by his goddaughter, Helena Shaw, he is back to traversing the globe and punching Nazis, including one from his own past, who is now one of the many Nazis who worked for NASA after World War 2.

Anyone who knows me can tell you that I, like so many others of a similar age, love Indiana Jones. Love, love, love. So much so, that I will even make excuses for Crystal Skull, fuck you, I don’t care.

Similar to Star Wars, there’s just no denying the hold this franchise has over some of us. It’s because of these films that so many nerds, myself included, to paraphrase the ancient crusades knight, “chose… poorly” to wear fedoras as children (some of us even ill-advisedly continued to do so into adulthood). This character is why I still have such a knee jerk love for those old pulp characters, those far-striding voyagers and brilliant detectives, those masters of ancient secrets and strange new super sciences, those daredevil pugilists and stalwart righters of wrongs, with names like Doc Savage, The Shadow, Flash Gordon, The Phantom, Tarzan, The Lone Ranger, John Carter of Mars, Zorro, Miss Fury, Buck Rogers, The Green Hornet and Kato, even the newer versions like The Rocketeer and Tom Strong, and like I said, most especially Indiana Jones.

I know I am not alone amongst my fellow Gen Xers in that I even briefly majored in Anthropology in college, specifically because of Raiders of the Lost Ark.

And who can blame us?

These movies take place in a world where archeologists are these glamorous and charismatic, rough and tumble, globetrotting grave robbers and Nazi fighters. They’re pickpockets and burglars, wheelmen and cool-headed gunhands, hard-drinking, hard-fighting, hard-loving, and above all else, the most clever of all learned men of letters, adventurers through and through. These films take place in a world where there is such a thing as “evil” archeologists and “good” archeologists, all of whom know each other due to the many times they’ve crossed paths during their days of death-defying derring-do in the jaws of some ancient and insanely complex puzzle trap in some forgotten temple somewhere, and their nights of drinking to the wee hours in shady back-alley no-name dive bars, standing shoulder to shoulder at the bar with criminals, spies, thugs, thieves, and warlords. These characters move through a world of dusty tomes in the back of massive libraries, through vaults piled high with the secrets of the old world, and massive ruins that protect items of actual magic. This is a world where punches are thrown at the slightest provocation, because they never hurt your hand, except for comedic effect, and bullets fly wildly, but do little noticeable damage, except for dramatic effect, and even falls from great heights don’t really hurt either, so jump, damn you! Jump now!

I think I speak for all of us when I say that it was an immense disappointment to learn that this is not what it’s actually like to be an Archeologist…

So, because Harrison Ford is himself an ancient artifact now, and so is this film franchise, Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny is not just a film about the passage of time, but also legacy. It is also most likely the last film in the series too—especially as it, much like John Wick 4, and the latest Fast and the Furious and Mission Impossible films, did less at the domestic box office this year than Ant Man 3: Quantumania. Because of this, Dr. Jones is feeling his age, like his days of adventure have come and gone. His son from the last film, Mutt Williams, has died off-camera in Vietnam, face down in the mud, mostly because Shia Leboeuf has worn out his welcome in Hollywood. So now it’s Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s turn to be considered as the one who may be the next one to pick up the whip. I don’t think that will happen, as this film underperformed a bit, but she is hands down a much better choice than LeBoeuf, good enough that I’m now looking forward to her Tomb Raider show, which I didn’t expect, because Tomb Raider has long been a reliably cursed franchise, only capable of making bad film adaptations, so… hope springs anew.

But I digress…

Anyway, born in 1899—perhaps as one of those Century Babies from the old Authority/Planetary comics from DC/Image Wildstorm—Indiana Jones is 70 years old in this film. But while Indiana Jones and the Craftmatic Adjustable Bed is still a funny joke, if you’re walking into this film obsessed with wondering how it is exactly that Dr. Jones is still running around like this in his 70s, and you don’t just assume that the answer is that he once drank from the Holy fucking Grail, then why are you even here asking that question?

You don’t actually care.

And yes, it’s true, Dr. Jones is 100% an agent of colonialism, blithely robbing the graves and holy places of indigenous cultures in the name of “preserving history,” saving it from the savages from whence it came, all in order to provide something for the privileged world to gawk at while strolling through a museum on a Sunday afternoon, but he also never misses a chance to punch the shit out of Nazis, so y’know… pluses and minuses, pros and cons.

Being that this is a film that takes place in different eras of Indiana’s life, coupled with Harrison Ford’s age, there’s an unavoidable amount of de-aging going on here too, and I will say that the face smoothing/de-aging is much better now than it used to be. It’s still terrible and weird, but it’s much better than it used to be. Obviously, this also means that there’s a lot of cgi in this film in general… a lot. At some points, it’s like watching a video game cut scene. This is also unavoidable, because you just can’t shoot things like a 1969 NYC street scene in the real world anymore, because they just don’t exist. I mention this to say that, if this is your personal bugaboo, then there’s no reason for you to bother with this film.

For the most part, Mangold makes a good effort as the Director, but the bottom line is, he’s just no Spielberg, and it really shows the most during the over-long and clunky action sequences. He’s decent, don’t get me wrong. He’s a workhorse, like a fun Ron Howard, but he’s aping Spielberg, and all that does is show the world that he can’t fill those very big shoes. But to be fair… who could, right? Especially at this kind of stuff. It’s an unfair comparison, sure, but nonetheless true. The film as a whole is decent, if a bit off-paced and overly padded, but still, decent. It’s not a bad time. I enjoyed it, for the most part. It’s better than the Crystal Skull, at least, which… sure, that’s faint praise, but it’s true.

In the end, there’s just no denying that this film is lacking a small, but essential piece of magic, a magic that just might be Spielberg and Lucas at their peak, which means that it’s a piece of magic that, much like the treasures Dr. Jones is always chasing, will ultimately lie forever just out of reach.

Also, weirdly highlighting the somewhat generic feel of modern tent-pole blockbusters from Hollywood—like how there are some shared action beats and locations in the recent Fast and the Furious and Mission Impossible films—both the recent Mission Impossible film and this one featured a fight atop a speeding train that then went into a tunnel, forcing the combatants to lay down as the roof of the tunnel passed just overhead. I know that this doesn’t really mean anything, and it isn’t bad in and of itself, it’s a classic sequence, right? It’s just weird, and noticeable, but maybe this is part of why these films are all so forgettable now. They all keep drawing from the same wells, over and over, going to the same places, always looking back, and never looking forward.

Finally, and maybe this is just a timing thing, but this is the second thing I’ve watched recently that featured the Spear of Destiny as a plot point.

Apocalyptic sign of the times, I guess.

To sum up… Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny is decent, and kinda fun at times, but it’s also a little too long. After watching this film, I think it’s time for Dr. Jones to hang up his hat for good. The stone has been squeezed dry, and it’s time to move on.

Still, there’s no denying that score… those opening bars are the clarion call of pure adventure. They still get me right in the feels.

Always.