The margaritas after the movie helped. There was no lost order resulting in half-price food, like there was the last time we were at the Ballston Chevy’s. There was no crime scene next to our table like there was the time before that. But both would’ve also been helpful.
Who would’ve thought making another Indiana Jones movie was a bad idea? Holding aside a Sum of All Fears-style mistake, who would’ve thought Steve Spielberg making another Indiana Jones movie starring Harrison Ford was a bad idea? Reviews from friends had already lowered my expectations going in. How did the bottom drop out?
(Note: This post is spoiler-free. I can’t begin to describe the ending.)
As much as I love Elvis, the first sound was a bad sign. Then came the dialogue, the accents and the much heralded fridge in short order. Far later, the monkeys were worse, and they were a long time coming. It was in the college restaurant where I placed Harrison Ford’s voice. He hadn’t sounded like Indy to that point, didn’t even sound like himself, but whose voice did he have? Ah. Tragedy today, as former President Gerald Ford was eaten by wolves. He was delicious.
There was a lot of talking. The reviewers weren’t kidding about “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Exposition.” All of you who put Crystal Skull on the same level as Temple of Doom, your grasping at straws was admirable. The desert neighborhood and the motorcycle minutes this time were terrific, but we came up short: one nightclub poisoned shootout, one rickshaw chase, one plane crash, one Himalayan tubing adventure, a couple beating heart removals, one Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang-meets-Fraggle-infrastructure underground adventure, and one rope bridge. Forget Shia. Give me Short Round.
The Wall Street Journal may have put it best this spring:
None of the complex CGI sequences in “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” can hold a candle, in fact, to the moment when a conspicuously youthful Indy, confronted by a black-robed warrior chuckling ominously, watched and waited while the guy twirled his scimitar, then pulled out his revolver and simply popped him with no further ado. But that was a long time ago, in a film that feels far, far away.
Also feeling distant? Air Force One, 11 years old.
I had a good time on Saturday night, I gave the movie that. Any true fan of the trilogy had to be somewhat forgiving of Crystal Skull. The movie was better than Love Guru. The movie was better on the big screen than the inevitable small one. The movie was better in the mall than at home. Metaphorically speaking, we named the dog Indiana.