_Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull_ review
Under no circumstances should you pay full price to see this movie--matinee it or wait for video. I went to see _Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull_ with some friends last night and left feeling as though I just watched a spoof of the three prior _Raiders_ films on record. I don't know that I can muster anything positive to say about this incarnation (other than the great ILM effect work on the nuclear blast scene [yes, there was even a nuclear moment in this film] and culminating scene of the Mayan ruins' ruination), so consider yourself, dear reader, forewarned.
Frankly, the only thing the film didn’t have was a Satanic cult, and/or cameos from O.J. Simpson, Pee-Wee Herman, or Jerry Springer. The unbelievably ludicrous segues of swashbuckling astride jeeps, Tarzan-vine swinging (not kidding here), gone-once-to-the-well-and-can’t-go-back-again scene recreations from previous Indy films (not entertaining to see Harrison Ford invoke the fight with the German air mechanic from the first film. It was like watching my Grandfather tussle with the corpse of George Burns), and atrocious dialog, places this at the Mayan summit of the worst of the Jones’ films in the series. My friends and I _Mystery Science Theatered_ the film nearly the entire way through, laughing when inappropriate to do so and making snarky remarks in between candy-mouth snorts. It was that bad. Someone actually booed at the end, which I haven’t heard in some time. In short, this film made _Temple of Doom_ seem like _Gone With the Wind_.
I wish I could say to you that this was a “5-star 2.5 star film,” (much how the recent _Doomsday_ was described) but it would be mendacious to do so. Harrison Ford was a joke, and Shia LaBeouf? That kid trying to reenact Brando’s charisma from _ The Wild One_ is like trying to paint a garbage can and then rename it “recycle bin.” Appropriate that he quaffed his hair into a DA (that’s “Duck’s Ass” for the unhip), because that’s just about the extent of his swagger—yeah, I said it: LaBeouf came off a duck’s ass. To quote the former Governor of Texas, Anne Richards, who brings to mind another timely metaphor rooted in animalia—“You can put lipstick on a sow, but it’s still a pig.” After feeling like I had gone through a 2.5+ hour street-mugging (or perhaps feed from a trough) for my eight dollars, don’t I know it.
Just goes to prove my theories about the relationship between art and fat: the more money, the more success, the more laurels, the worse the aesthetic. It’s either that or something is in the water at the Presidio. Lucas, Spielberg, Ford, and others should be utterly embarrassed for the production of this film. I feel like sending them a longer version of this screed accompanied by the request for a refund.
Don’t cry to me after you pay hard-earned cash to see this one. Sit through this film and you get what you get.
Frankly, the only thing the film didn’t have was a Satanic cult, and/or cameos from O.J. Simpson, Pee-Wee Herman, or Jerry Springer. The unbelievably ludicrous segues of swashbuckling astride jeeps, Tarzan-vine swinging (not kidding here), gone-once-to-the-well-and-can’t-go-back-again scene recreations from previous Indy films (not entertaining to see Harrison Ford invoke the fight with the German air mechanic from the first film. It was like watching my Grandfather tussle with the corpse of George Burns), and atrocious dialog, places this at the Mayan summit of the worst of the Jones’ films in the series. My friends and I _Mystery Science Theatered_ the film nearly the entire way through, laughing when inappropriate to do so and making snarky remarks in between candy-mouth snorts. It was that bad. Someone actually booed at the end, which I haven’t heard in some time. In short, this film made _Temple of Doom_ seem like _Gone With the Wind_.
I wish I could say to you that this was a “5-star 2.5 star film,” (much how the recent _Doomsday_ was described) but it would be mendacious to do so. Harrison Ford was a joke, and Shia LaBeouf? That kid trying to reenact Brando’s charisma from _ The Wild One_ is like trying to paint a garbage can and then rename it “recycle bin.” Appropriate that he quaffed his hair into a DA (that’s “Duck’s Ass” for the unhip), because that’s just about the extent of his swagger—yeah, I said it: LaBeouf came off a duck’s ass. To quote the former Governor of Texas, Anne Richards, who brings to mind another timely metaphor rooted in animalia—“You can put lipstick on a sow, but it’s still a pig.” After feeling like I had gone through a 2.5+ hour street-mugging (or perhaps feed from a trough) for my eight dollars, don’t I know it.
Just goes to prove my theories about the relationship between art and fat: the more money, the more success, the more laurels, the worse the aesthetic. It’s either that or something is in the water at the Presidio. Lucas, Spielberg, Ford, and others should be utterly embarrassed for the production of this film. I feel like sending them a longer version of this screed accompanied by the request for a refund.
Don’t cry to me after you pay hard-earned cash to see this one. Sit through this film and you get what you get.
posted by Edward J. Carvalho, MFA at
11:09 AM
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