Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
12A, Nationwide
After a 19-year break, Indiana Jones, the world’s greatest adventurer and probably the world’s worst ever archaeologist — listen, even I know you can’t go around ripping open ancient mummies whenever you so fancy — is back. He is back because he has to find an ancient crystal skull before the Russians do, because the Russians want to use its knowledge to open a chain of aromatherapy salons or, failing that, to rule the world. Yes, it is our old friend global domination. So off he goes on the hunt, narrowly escaping — phew!; he really had me scared there for a minute! — from various dangers. These include gunfire, missiles, oncoming trucks, arrows, poisoned blow darts, bad Russians, perpendicular waterfalls, crumbling buildings, more bad Russians, retracting steps, cliff-edge car chases, screeching ghouls, a tornado of boulders, scorpions, quicksand, yet more bad Russians, being fired half-way across the Nevada desert in a fridge, quickmud, crispy giant red ants, mad monkeys that go ‘chee chee chee’, swords, rapiers, and a nuclear attack. I bet that, at some point, he wished he’d just gone to Brent Cross Shopping Centre for the afternoon. Actually, I once whipped in quick to steal someone else’s parking space at Brent Cross and got a punch in the face for it. So I am only saying that Brent Cross is comparatively safer.
I suppose the fairest thing to say about Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is that if this is the sort of film that gets you excited then you will get excited about this, and if it isn’t then you won’t. However, that said, this is not the sort of film I like and yet I didn’t mind it.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in