Well this movie’s a clusterfuck.
(yar, thar be spoilers on the larber side or some shit)
Okay, so let’s begin with the premise. Indiana Jones, old-ass motherfucking adventurer, is taken by the Russians to Area 51 to find something they want that’s magnetic. We don’t know what it is but it’s contained in one funny looking body bag. And its magnetism is lazy–it’ll attract gun powder as far as you want, shotgun shells from ten feet, and guns only when it feels like.
Bob Dylan plays the villain in this film and she’ s quite the Ukrainian bitch. I’m not saying that Blanchett does a bad job, it’s just that she doesn’t have much to work with. Stoic communist. We get it.
Her name in the film escapes me so we’ll just go with Bob Dylan.
So Bob Dylan wants this thing because she’s studying psychic devices or something. And this thing, whatever it is (turns out it’s actually a crystal skull), has said powers.
Okay, so then we see Indy running from the FBI (played by Janitor on Scrubs), then running into Shia LaBeouf’s character who turns out to be his son: Mutt Jones.
And we’re going to digress on a bit of an adventure ourselves concerning Shia’s character. First: his name is really Henry Jones III but they call him Mutt. The name is reminiscent of the Primus song, “My name is Mud,” (call me Aloysius Devadander Abercrombie that’s long for Mud, so I’ve been told) and, much like the titular character in the song, Mutt is a boring sonsabitch. He’s mostly there for comedic relief and to make funnies out of not funny situations. And he’s constantly obsessing over his hair. Until the end of the film.
And he has his own action sequence which sets us up to see that he can do his own shit in future Mud Jones films. And that’s what’s most perplexing about the name choice. Mutt Jones. Say it aloud. It doesn’t have the same ring as Indiana Motherfucking Jones. And it rhymes with Butt Jones.
And I’m willing to bet they’re going to try and make sequels to this series based around Mud. So let’s see how the titles would’ve sounded: “Mutt Jones and the Temple of Doom,” “Mutt Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark,” “Mutt Jones and the Last Crusade,” “Mutt Jones and fuck me if this isn’t a dumb sounding name.”
They’ve accidentally run themselves into the problem of having a name that won’t sell. And I’m willing to guess that this was a planned procedure given how similar Mutt acts to Indy. He’s a foil now, but he’ll soon be a titular, ass-kicking adventurer in his leather jacket with his switchblade that’ll probably become, if LucasFilms and Co. have their way, as iconic as Indy’s hat and whip.
But Mutt Jones? Really. Unless they go with Indy Jr. and the blankety blank. And that still doesn’t sit well. This is a series that has thrived on having a shitload of syllables in their titles. And Mutt has three less syllables than Indiana.
So that’s that. Anyway, Karen Allen reprises her role from Raiders of the Los Ark as Indy’s love interest and Scott Smalls’ mom–I mean Mutt’s mom. It’s funny–another digression–because I didn’t even know she also played the mom in the Sandlot until I looked her up on IMDB.
And, as the story goes, there’s a double crosser and an asshole and some carnivorous red ants and tons of adventure in the jungles.
And then the movie takes a Dusk Til Dawn-esque turn into a straight up sci-fi movie. See, it turns out that the Crystal Skull they’ve been lugging around is a part of one of the skeletons in El Dorado that are from another dimension. One came back in Roswell, I guess, but that’s another story because apparently they’re still in the other dimension.
So once the skull is placed back on, Bob Dylan starts screaming for knowledge, and then she catches on fire and burns to death from all the knowledge she’s gained. And the entire Mayan temple turns into some kind of UFO–flat, circular, like a tea saucer. Stereotypical aliens fly in a stereotypical craft, right? Right.
And I think that that’s where I derive most of my hatred for this film. See, the other Indiana Jones movies had elements of sci-fi in them, but Spielberg, when he made the first three in the Reagan Era, didn’t have the hardon for aliens or the technology to make such ridiculous creatures. So he stuck to goblets and other biblical trinkets–y’know, things that people actually have searched for. And the funny thing is that he probably said to himself, “Y’know, this whole ‘questing for lost treasure’ thing needs a new twist. How about the treasure isn’t from God or some ancient time, but from another planet–no. dimension!” Yea, it’s like that. The Da Vinci code was too goddam popular so you had to run out to left field to see if your naked sister had any ideas about what to do. And I guess she did. But she’s crazy so, Steve, never EVER listen to her again.
Because this movie that she gave the new spin to? It sucks.