They say time heals all wounds, but for those who still bear the scars of the last adventure, Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny is just another twist of the knife.
Fifteen years have passed since Kingdom of the Crystal Skull1 and our intrepid, whip-cracking archaeologist is now himself a relic.
To heap indignity upon the ageing process, the movie opens with an extended flashback that showcases the limits of digital de-ageing, as a glinty-eyed Harrison Ford avatar takes on a trainful of Nazis sometime in the dying days of World War 2. The formula is showing its age, however – as are the stock types of bespectacled Nazi scientist (Mads Mikkelsen, doing his best to elevate the material), indolent henchman2 (Boyd Holbrook, sadly wasted), and The Big One (Olivier Richters).
James Mangold, though a talented director3, lacks the innate showmanship of Spielberg. For all the promising set-pieces, mostly chases – a horse chase through a parade, a tuk tuk chase through winding backstreets – he struggles to lift the action out of the morass of CGI.
The movie also never commits to its promised theme of growing old; a fine if inevitably well-worn premise for any “legasequel”. In the present, it’s 1969, the day of the moon landing now less4, and the octogenarian Indie’s class may now snooze in their seats, rather than throwing him adoring looks, but he’s still as efficacious as ever and able to throw-down with all-comers.
Dial of Destiny‘s script, for which there are four credited screenwriters, pays lip-service to creaky joints and lingering regrets, but never finds anything to say about them. The MacGuffin – the titular dial – seems to offer the perfect mechanism for this, but, despite lasting a very evident 154 minutes, it seems to run out of the will to explore them. For a movie so ponderous, it doesn’t seem to be pondering much.
There’s the return of an old, friend Sallah (John Rhys-Davies, whose enthusiasm is infectious so long as he’s onscreen), a new old friend (Antonio Banderas), even a new Short Round (Ethann Isidore, neither short nor round nor particularly interesting), but the Dial of Destiny is just going through the motions. Having dispensed with the heir apparent, greaser-Tarzan Mutt Williams, Dial of Destiny‘s substitute, Indie’s droll, infuriating god-daughter, Helena (Phoebe Waller-Bridge, struggling to imbue mundane dialogue with the spark of wit)5, feels like just another latecomer – albeit one with secondary-lead status.
Ultimately, the movie is much like the gift Indie himself is given at his retirement party: a gilt clock. It may run efficiently enough, but it’s cheap and hollow, and a constant reminder that your best days are behind you.6 With its generic action, gaping plot holes, and resolutely unexplored themes, Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny is a trial of patience.
Indie deserves better. So do you. Wait for Disney+.
- Whose charms, if not in abundance, shone through for me on a recent rewatch.
- The slight twist being that he’s an American, an intriguing and topical note that is never explored
- He gave Wolverine his elegiac, would-have-been-final outing in Logan.
- Sadly, a throwaway detail.
- I’d rather watch her upcoming Tomb Raider series.
- Thanks to Rob Daniel for this line!
