Earlier posts here have alluded to the underground re-make of Raiders Of The Lost Ark. Two Mississippi teenagers spent most of the 1980′s making a home-made shot-by-shot recreation of Raiders. An article from Lee Sandlin in the Chicago Reader provides a must-read take on the project.

Sandlin does an excellent job of excoriating the original Raiders

Raiders is a global adventure with no romance, a historical epic with no feeling for the past, a thriller with no trace of real danger. It means nothing, feels like nothing, and carries the implicit message that absolutely nothing matters.

His take on the world of film before Raiders and after it is worthy reading on it’s own. What’s more thrilling to read is his rave review of Raiders Of The Lost Ark – The Adaptation.

The video catches you up in a daze of metafictional suspense: you’re rooting not for Indiana Jones but for the kids themselves, to somehow keep this thing in the air, to make it all the way through to the opening of the ark and the Nazis getting fried by the supernatural microwave (a particularly good scene, as it turns out, and a worthy climax to the whole venture; the audience’s approval was deafening).

In other words, the making of the video was itself a kind of Indiana Jones adventure. That’s why Raiders was a particularly good choice—it probably would have been a lot tougher to sit through their version of Raging Bull. There are even times when the making-of excitement spills over into the action on-screen, and you find yourself thinking this Raiders is better than the original.

Read it here. Despite the retirement of Johnathan Rosenbaum, the Reader shows why it’s still a high water mark for film criticism. The piece punctures a popular myth, and at the same time, elevates a better one to take its place. (Plus, for the internet literate, there are some clues as to how you might be able to see the legally un-screenable Adaptation for yourself. Not that you heard it here.)

****

Apparently, “Nuke The Fridge” is the new “Jump The Shark”. The horrible opening scene where Indy survives the atomic bomb test by hiding in a lead-lined fridge is rapidly becoming the new internet meme for “once cool things that now suck irretrievably”.

There’s a webiste: Nuke The Fridge, which has more movie news and gossip, but the concept of replacing “jump the shark” with “nuke the fridge” really is its own standalone idea.

Twenty seven years ago, Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, and Harrison Ford grabbed the audience’s imagination with the first Raiders Of The Lost Ark. It created the prototype for the big action movie in an era when big action movies weren’t a dime a dozen. The retro styling was inventive, and the protagonist model of the hero armored with irony instead of kevlar would set the standard for almost every action flick that would follow.

Every summer since, the silver screen has seen countless copies, including xeroxes of the original, flicker past with varying degrees of success. Memory is cruel that way. It’s easy to remember the golden thrill of the original – and audiences will turn out in droves trying to re-experience it – but it’s impossible to replicate. The key players might have returned, but the audience has long since moved on.

Coming nearly 20 years after the last Indiana Jones sequel, Crystal Skull wheezes across the finish line about 10 years too late; the occasional sparks of charm dying off in an airless script that talks too much and manages to explain nothing at all. The whole venture is a schizophrenic mess; a patchwork of half-ideas held together with autopsy stitching. A-list writers such as Frank Darabont, M. Night Shyamalan, and Tom Stoppard all took a pass at the script, each getting shot down by George Lucas, who used his digital wizardry to graft his favorite pieces together into an ungainly whole.

Every problem that besieges a blockbuster sequel is on ample display here. The guiding principles of “Bigger! Better! Faster! More!” feel like they were written on every page of the script. The whole thing starts off well enough; but like a wild mushroom hors d’oeuvre at a wedding promises a better meal than will be served, the opening action scene at a military base promises more fun than the film comes close to delivering.

There’s moments through the first half where Spielberg feels like he might be truly having fun, free from the onus of ‘serious’ filmmaking. There are even moments of charm – including a cutesy wink and nod to the ending of the original Raiders. By the halfway mark, though, the erratically swerving screenplay throws Spielberg and the cast off, and they’re content to let the venture crash to a pointlessly noisy conclusion. The jeep chase through the jungle plays like the Nazi truck chase in the original Raiders, only this time the self-conscious corniness gets in the way. The wisecracks fly too freely, and the clever camerawork can’t hide the tedium. The danger is too forced – especially with the Lucas-approved digital cliffs that Indy perilously hovers over, and everyone looks a little tired, as if they know they’ve all done this better before.

The good news is that there’s very little flop sweat on display. It’s almost impossible to tell if Ford is playing it cool, or if he’s stoned. Cate Blanchette plays a Russian special agent with a snap-on dominatrix hairpiece. She smartly marches about, preening through a cartoonish accent, her eyes lit up like she can’t believe she’s being paid to talk this way. Karen Allen comes off as happy to have a job, and Shia LeBoeuf is the only cast member who feels genuinely excited to be here, even if his character is the stock-issue perky orphan, like cousin Oliver from the Brady Bunch after a stint in a halfway house.

There also isn’t any integrity at risk here. Everyone’s here for the easy paycheck, and nobody’s making any decisions that will jeopardize an infalliable summer blockbuster. Already, there’s a retconned rumor floating around that Spielberg and Lucas originally planned to make five Indy pictures, and nothing about the finale suggests that we’ve seen the last of Indiana Jones. As long as people keep googling their exes, studios will keep cranking out sequels. But like those awkward get-togethers, the memory might be nice, but once the magic is gone, no amount of CGI Aztec pyramids will bring it back.

[ed. note – As of this posting, I have not seen Indiana Jones And The Kingdom Of The Crystal Skull. This review is informed speculation. Based on my years of trailer editing, and all the pre-release hype, it seems so base and predictable that its possible to write an accurate review without even seeing the film. Whether this sarcasm is aimed at banal filmmaking or banal criticism is up to the reader.

My guess is that at least 75% of this review is accurate – if I’m wrong, I’ll happily eat my words, but this film looks to be a compendium of everything drab about both Spielberg and Lucas. Post your own speculations below, and post-release, I’ll write an updated review, as well as a review of my review.]