Stars:
** 1/2
Rating: PG-13 for violence and frightening
images
Run
Time: 2 hours, 2 minutes
Summer
blockbusters are notoriously critic-proof; appealing to diversion-starved
masses no matter how often they’re warned away.
That said
all that matters in the case of the fourth installment of the over-the-top
adventures of reluctant swashbuckler Indiana Jones is if Harrison Ford still
has the stuff.
And he
does. Ford reprises his role of the derring-do professor of archeology with wry
panache, kicking it off circa 1957 with a dazzling escape from a group of
Russian communist soldiers searching for an ancient artifact that may hold the
key to mysterious intelligence of the great beyond.
Indy – man
of nine lives -- eludes the grasp of assailants and hails of bullets with
effortless aw-shucks ease. But his quest comes with a price as his nemesis will
not be thwarted, and he is a she. Rapier wielding Russian agent Irina Spalko (Cate
Blanchett) is Stalin’s fair-haired girl, a whip-smart dominatrix with an
unquenchable thirst for global control.
While a
cast of thousands (or so it appears) frantically and futilely searches for a
mythical crystal skull stolen in the 15th or 16th century
and struggles to untangle twisted riddles in dead languages Indy makes the
acquaintance of biker-boy Mutt Williams (Shia LaBeouf), an insolent punk
dispatched by his mother to enlist Indy’s help in rescuing loony-tunes
colleague Professor Oxley (John Hurt).
From then
on its stock buddy exploits mired in a virtual fun house of special effects and
classic clichés – grave robbing on a dark and stormy night, battling swarms of man-eating
roaches, bluescreen chase spectaculars and the ubiquitous long lost love
interest (Karen Allen still cute-as-a-button as Marion Ravenwood)
Not that
this “Indy” isn’t without its charms. A preposterous atomic bomb test site vignette
turns to a chilling, mushroom-cloud ode to Cold War politics. The plot plays
its heir apparent card with a clever wink and a nudge (sequel!) while nostalgia
reigns supreme with the return of Allen.
Blanchett
is the real deal – strong and sinister and every inch the James Bond-esque villainess,
she of the icy malevolence and no-nonsense bob. Intrepid hero Indy (aka Henry
Jones, Jr.) has sexagenarian appeal to spare, drolly wisecracking his way
from one near calamity to the next.
But the
relentless stream of exaggerated action is as taxing as the punchline-laden
script. Production design is a mind-boggling display of computer-generated overkill;
D.W. Griffith’s “Intolerance” meets George Lucas’ madcap psyche and sure to be
playing at a theme park near you.