Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny (2023, James Mangold) (Patreon)

50/100

Happy birthday, Dad. (Better this than, say, Hitman's Wife's Bodyguard from a couple of years ago.) Got distracted right away by the disjunction between Ford's de-aged features—first time I've seen that process get the eyes right, as opposed to merely removing wrinkles and creases; it's pretty uncanny—and his unmistakably octogenarian voice. Then they introduce this film's MacGuffin: the Antikythera mechanism?!? Like, the Antikythera mechanism? An actual artifact (multiple fragments of one, more accurately) that even back in 1969 was on display in an Athens museum? Sure enough, someone eventually mentions its 1901 discovery by Greek divers, though I think that and its general shape are the only things that aren't pure invention. No doubt lots of folks hit the Wikipedia entry post-movie; having read extensively about it myself over a period of decades, I found myself constantly struggling in the moment to repress the deflating thought "It's just an orrery!" (I mean, "just," it's a fucking BC marvel. But we know perfectly well what its function was. Unlike that of, say, the Voynich manuscript, which remains mysterious.) Admittedly, this franchise has always ascribed mystical/paranormal powers to whatever Indy's searching for, but the Ark of the Covenant and the Holy Grail aren't objects that you could theoretically go see for yourself. Tried to roll with the fictionalized version (which has also been physically cleaned up so that it looks more like reconstructions), but it was rough going. Why not just make up something vaguely similar and give it a different name? You're gonna alienate people in the know, not impress them. 

Anyway. Movie's otherwise passable, lacking Spielberg's formal elegance and knack for generating awe but also mostly avoiding the rampant silliness that killed Crystal Skull. I've never particularly cared for Mangold—even Logan, his best film, suffers from a certain laboriousness; not for nothing did this dude kick off his career with a film called Heavy—and see little but rote mark-hitting here, though you can't go too very wrong staging a chase sequence in the midst of a ticker-tape parade. (If nothing else, the paper blizzard adds welcome texture.) Ford seems a bit more engaged this time, or maybe it's just that his barely concealed contempt for life itself now feels wholly age-appropriate. Waller-Bridge does her Fleabag shtick minus direct-to-camera asides, which is to say minus the self-loathing dissociation that nicely offset her glib cynicism. I still find her amusing, though, so call that a draw. Mikkelsen sleepwalks through a generic effete Hollywood villain role that I'd mistakenly thought he's played at least ten times since Casino Royale, though now that I look it's really just Doctor Strange (and Hannibal, I suppose)*. Think I'd have been quite moved by Marion's return, hokey extended Raiders callback and all, had she not already returned to so little effect in the previous movie. Oh wait there was a spunky kid, too, wasn't there? Totally forgot about him, 'nuff said. In short, Dial of Destiny plays exactly like every other nostalgia-tugging zombie blockbuster nowadays: held my attention while it was in front of me, then instantly dissipated. Whereas I've spent over 40 years now finding excuses to hiss "Yes. I know you will."

* Plus a Fantastic Beasts sequel, apparently. I've stayed far away from those.