INDIANA JONES
AND THE
KINGDOM OF
THE CRYSTAL SKULL
(Review)

In the time leading up to the release of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, it was repeatedly mentioned by the three principal creative forces behind the film that the reason why this sequel was made nearly two decades after The Last Crusade was because fans kept asking for it.
Well, I’m a fan of Raiders of the Lost Ark, and I never really asked for it.
In point of fact, I never really asked for the other Indy films, either.
The thing is, Spielberg, Lucas, and Ford got it dead on the first time out, so much so that any attempt to capture the same sort of lightning once again was doomed from the get-go.


Raiders of the Lost Ark was one of those rare cinematic experiences that was so very particular, it should have been left alone; the pulp magic and cliffhanger nostalgia of the 1940’s serial was captured so brilliantly in Raiders that any subsequent return would invariably pale by comparison.
Thus, those two previous return trips—the prequel The Temple of Doom and sequel The Last Crusade—were ultimately wildly uneven adventure yarns trying in vain to top the original.
And Crystal Skull, despite the overt trade-in for a new inspirational template (‘50’s science fiction for ‘40’s serial cliffhanger), is, sadly, more of the same.


Much like the other Indy sequels though, Crystal Skull is also not without its merits.
The casting of the fabulous Jim Broadbent (as Charles Stanforth, Dean at Indy’s old academic stomping grounds) is laudable, despite his painfully brief screen time. The equally fabulous Cate Blanchett is also a hoot as Russian baddy, Col. Dr. Irina Spalko, while Alan Dale’s brief appearance as General Ross is greatly appreciated.
And yes, even Shia LaBeouf as greaser Mutt Williams, brings just the right mixture of youthful bravado and vulnerable emotion to his character, pushing Mutt just north of the caricature line.
The return of Karen Allen is also notable, as nostalgia does have an undeniable potency. (The scene with the framed photos of Marcus Brody and Henry Jones, Sr. was a particularly effective moment.)
And, because I’ve always been big on mythology and the weird sh!t, I love all the Roswell/Nazca lines stuff, which certainly resonates more with me than the Sankara stones of Temple of Doom.


Sadly, there’re also bits in Crystal Skull that are either downright silly (Tarzan Mutt and his horde of greaser monkeys) or painfully incredulous (while I already had difficulty with the mine car sequence in Temple of Doom, the Crystal Skull moment which gave rise to the term “nuke the fridge” certainly takes the cake for worst Indy moment, ever; it’s also rather odd that that mortifying moment leads right into the single most chilling image in any Indiana Jones movie).
As far as the rest of the cast goes, John Hurt is pretty much wasted here, as his Harold Oxley is asked to alternate between being absolutely batsh!t crazy and merely befuddled.
Ray Winstone meanwhile, as George McHale, also turns out to be a narrative distraction.
To be fair though, I don’t really think it’s either actor’s fault, as both are made to suffer because Crystal Skull’s script (by David Koepp, from a story by Lucas and Jeff Nathanson) relegates their characters to those piddling roles.


I think the trouble here is that Indy is made to interact with a surfeit of characters, so much so that by the end of the film, none of the relationships feel properly fleshed-out.
Throughout different sections of Crystal Skull, Indy deals with McHale, Mutt, and Marion, diffusing the focus of the film, when it might have been better served if one (or even two) of these supporting characters had been excised from the narrative, keeping things tight and to the point.
Instead, there’s a vaguely scattershot feel that blankets the audience as Crystal Skull unspools, as if the script were uncertain which side of Indy it wished to explore.
In the end, not only do the relationships feel conveniently rushed and contrived, but Indy also doesn’t feel like the real thing.
Much as the character himself feels suspiciously counterfeit, Crystal Skull also feels like a strained, ill-advised attempt at replicating the Raiders experience.


Now, while it’s true that the raison d’etre of any popcorn movie is to be loads of fun, and that even the most problematic of the previous post-Raiders Indy films still has its fair share of fun, there’s a difference between the kind Raiders of the Lost Ark has in spades, and the kind occasionally found in Crystal Skull, which is the transitory sort common to your average Hollywood popcorn fare.
Much as Lucas’ recent Star Wars efforts have turned out, Crystal Skull feels more like commerce than a genuine attempt at creating popcorn art.
And sadly, if Lucas and company are to be believed, it’s all our fault…

(Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull OS courtesy of impawards.com [art by Drew Struzan; design by BLT & Associates]; images courtesy of aintitcool.com, imdb.com, latimes.com, moviehole.net, and vanityfair.com.)

BEOWULF
(Review)

I once thanked Neil Gaiman for helping keep myth alive in our modern age. Rather humbly (and perhaps feeling I was overblowing the sentiment), Mr. Gaiman replied that myth was doing rather well on its own without his help.
Well, regardless of whether Mr. Gaiman is keeping myth alive or simply prodding it enough so it might run the treadmill and do some cardio more often in its old age, Beowulf, much like the beastial Grendel, is certainly a curious and interesting hybrid.
It utilizes the modern technology of mo-cap (or motion capture), to retell an ancient tale, so as to give 21st century audiences a tragic saga of how a father’s sins comes back, not just to haunt the son, but entire kingdoms as well. More potently, it’s also a tale about the humanity of heroes and monsters, and how that can, sadly enough, be their ultimate downfall.

I quite liked Beowulf, let’s be clear about that.
It does have its failings though, and perhaps tellingly, its flaws are rooted in the “modern technology” half of its cinematic DNA.
While mo-cap is the closest computer graphics can come to emulate humanity, it’s still a ways off from conveying genuine emotion. CGI characters can have the prettiest, silkiest hair in the world, but when you need them to emote, you may as well be asking a mannequin to deliver Shakespeare.
The simulated facial muscles still aren’t up to snuff to garner any Oscar acting nods. It’s a criminal waste, when even a great vocal delivery can come off like a Tara Reid performance when the construct on screen zombies its way through the role.
And their eyes…
Admittedly, the dead eye was far creepier in Robert Zemeckis’ earlier mo-cap effort, The Polar Express, but it’s still noticeable here in Beowulf.

In fact, the only performance that manages to punch its way through the pixels is Brendan Gleeson’s Wiglaf. His stubborn refusal to acknowledge anything that might tarnish the idea of Beowulf the Hero is just heart-breaking.
And while Sir Anthony Hopkins’ vocal delivery is fine, there‘s just something about the character of Hrothgar on screen that doesn’t quite capture the sad tragedy of the aged and broken king. The role of John Malkovich’s Unferth meanwhile, is kept to a woeful minimum.
Beyond that trio, nearly all the other actors are pretty much sabotaged by the limitations of mo-cap. And I say “nearly all” since, again rather tellingly, Ray Winstone and Angelina Jolie have some of the more questionable vocal deliveries*; Winstone because he sometimes eats his words, occasionally leaving us with a growling mess where he sounds like a WWE superstar, while Jolie’s strange accent (was Grendel’s mother Romanian?) can’t quite mask the fact that it’s Angelina Jolie.
What can I say? So all-pervasive is its power that we can feel the Hollywood Star Syndrome as far back as the 6th century. (And apparently, women’s fashion is just as powerful, as Grendel’s mum seems quite taken with high heels, enough to shapeshift her feet into them…)
Of course, part of that fault also lies in the decision to make Grendel’s mum look exactly like Angelina Jolie.

I mean, when you’ve got the tools to play around with physiognomies—look at Beowulf, ‘cause that body certainly doesn’t belong to Ray Winstone—why keep to the real thing? And why keep to it when there’s the real possibility of a disconnect that endangers the suspension of disbelief? (Even Hrothgar is not immune to the Syndrome, since, damn, but doesn’t he look like Sir Anthony Hopkins?)
Why use this technology if you aren’t really going to fully play around with it? Why not just do it live-action, that way, you get the full benefit of the actors’ performances. Or, there’s always the Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow/300 greenscreen gambit.
It’s kind of frustrating when all Zemeckis seems content to use the presumably liberating freedom of mo-cap for is to do some fancy “camera” work, something he was already toying around with as far back as Contact. (Sure, the sea monster battle was a doozy, but there were a hell of a lot more “ooh, let’s follow this rat, which gets pinched by a bird, then soar dizzyingly through the air, till we reach the poor monster with the acute hearing so far, far away” sort of shots.)

But to be fair to Zemeckis, like I said, I quite liked Beowulf.
Some sequences just work. Like Grendel’s first attack on the mead hall, strobelit courtesy of some mystic fire. That stretch successfully conveys the danger and savagery of a mythic time of monsters, when there was clearly much to fear beyond the light of the roaring camp fire. (On that note though, Grendel might have done well if he’d just opened a club somewhere. Hire a killer DJ, and the gold would’ve come rolling in.)
The battle between Beowulf and Grendel also kicked some bare a$$. Not only was it a commendable sequence, but the synthetic Beowulf also gave Viggo Mortensen some competition for Best Buck Nekked Fight for the Year 2007. (I fought valiantly to stop myself from using the word “stiff” in that sentence. Sorry.)

See? I’m being snarky. If Beowulf had done its job properly, the snark would be kept to a minimum.
Still, and this stands to be repeated: I quite liked Beowulf.
Once we hit the point where the shared deception of Beowulf and Hrothgar is acknowledged, and the subsequent madness comes to pass, I for one, stepped fully into the story. And the reason for that, I think, is two-fold.
One: at that point, the narrative enters fascinating territory.
And two: enough running time had passed that I’d acclimated myself to the limitations of current mo-cap tech, so I could adjust my expectations accordingly.

In the end though, I’m quite happy that after Stardust, there’s another film Mr. Gaiman worked on that I can say I enjoyed. (For Mirrormask lovers, see my Stardust review in the Archive.)
Mo-cap may not have been entirely successful in breathing proper life into the legend, but in this 21st century of ours, it’s allowed a creaky old myth to flex its pixellated muscles just enough to make it look viable—and gosh darn it, pretty cool!—to scores of PS3- and Xbox-attuned eyes.

* Actually, even Crispin Glover’s vocal delivery of Grendel is troublesome as his words are so garbled sometimes as to be nearly unintelligible. I’ll be so thankful for the subtitles when the DVD is unleashed upon the land…
On the plus side, good on Winstone! I mean, from voicing Narnia’s Mr. Beaver to Beowulf…
Talk about a step up.

Parting shot: Though I didn’t mention him at all in the review, Roger Avary co-wrote Beowulf’s script with Neil Gaiman. My apologies.
Unless you had anything to do with Grendel’s mum’s high heels, in which case, you should probably be grateful, as I’d rather not be mentioned at all, than be mentioned in relation to a bit of anachronistic women’s fashion.
To quote Bryan Fuller in an all-together different context: Let the snark reign!

(Beowulf OS courtesy of impawards.com; images courtesy of shocktillyoudrop.com.)