Indy sure does have to fight Nazis a lot. Probably because Raiders of the Lost Ark featured Nazis, and the movie did so well at the box office that the creators of the now five-film series fall back on that familiar formula following disappointing diversions. Though I shouldn’t rule out the recent rise of anti-Semitism and white supremacy in real life, which makes watching Indy, be he impossibly young and handsome or old and grizzled, punching out the Third Reich a satisfying time. Half of that satisfaction comes from the sound of Indy’s punches: That signature thwack the Foley artists concocted is simply magnificent. They’re like the gunshots in Spaghetti westerns—recognizable but better and bigger than real life.

So it’s no surprise, really, that Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny opens in 1945 Europe with Nazis filling the frame. The war is waning for Germany, Hitler is in hiding, and a special task force is ransacking museums in search of the Lance of Longinus, a sacred relic from the Crucifixion said to have otherworldly power. Whether or not that’s what Indy is looking for, too, is a little up in the air. But he’s captured in an SS uniform and taken to hang. He escapes, fights one Nazi after the other, and runs off with another relic, this one with even more potential: the Antikythera, aka Archimedes’ Dial, which he nicked from Nazi scientist and true believer Jürgen Voller (Mads Mikkelson).

Fast forward to 1969, and Indy is now a cranky old college professor living in a New York tenement, starting his days with a jolt of whiskey in the coffee. He’s retiring, and not a day too soon. The ’60s are in full swing, and he has zero interest in joining or understanding this or any future generations.

In the flashback opening, Indy is played by a stuntman in digital make-up to make Ford look considerably younger. In ’69, Indy now features all of Ford’s 80 grizzled years. When the time comes for him to don his old threads: the shirt, the tie, the jacket, the hat, the satchel, the whip, the shoes, it looks less like the inimitable outfit of dreams and more like a silly costume. Even Indy’s cranky attitude is off-putting. This is not your dad’s Indiana Jones. It might not even be your grandfather’s.

Indy has his reasons for being crotchety, and they’re pretty good ones. He wants to build a wall around his heart to prevent further pain, despite how his goddaughter (Phoebe Waller-Bridge), his old friend Salla (John Rhys-Davies), and a few others want to bring him in. Waller-Bridge is a bright spot in Dial: Her self-serving, smart-as-a-whip, jaundiced attitude about the world keeps you guessing about which way her allegiances might go. Mikkelson’s Voller—an analog of rocket scientist Wernher von Braun, who, as far as I know, didn’t want to restart the Reich—makes for a compelling villain even if he does survive what looks to be a fatal injury without explanation simply because the narrative requires it.

The entirety of Dial’s narrative feels loose, overstuffed, and overlong. Chases atop a rushing train are topped by a chase through the streets of New York. An underwater attack of eels is one-upped by a cave filled with massive bugs. A search for one artifact is duplicated by the search for another. And then there’s the climactic battle that takes Indiana Jones to a place I never expected he’d go—and that includes meeting the aliens in Crystal Skull.

I’m making this all sound negative. Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, written by Jez and John-Henry Butterworth, David Koepp, and James Mangold, with Mangold in the director’s seat, is a decent movie with plenty of action, some interesting set pieces, and a couple of good performances. It’s an engaging time at the movies, though I don’t think I can stretch to call it entertaining. A lot of people get shot in this movie, and not casually. They tend to be regular people—a professor, a friend, a clerk—who are killed to either underline the villain’s villainy or to force Indy to acknowledge his mortality. I know a lot of characters bit it in the previous movies, but they all seemed to have it coming. The deaths in Dial feel crueler.

I wonder what a kid would make of this movie. I can’t say for certain, but I was probably 9 or 10 when I first saw Raiders of the Lost Ark. Over the next five years, I rewatched that rented VHS copy with such fervor it’s possible I thought it would one day vanish; as if I had no choice but to commit every image, sound, and line to memory. A burden I joyfully undertook. And even though Ford in that movie was about the same age as my father, I never pictured Dad as Indiana Jones. I was Indiana Jones. And, like countless others, I fashioned a makeshift costume—I think I still have the bullwhip in a trunk somewhere—and plundered my neighborhood’s vacant lots in search of religious artifacts while replaying the movies in my head.

The decades separating my age from Ford’s never factored in those fantasies. They very much do now. Indiana Jones will always be a post marking a moment in my life where I loved movies so much I dreamed of being inside them. I don’t operate like that anymore—which is for the best. I don’t think I would have had a lot of fun inside The Dial of Destiny, but I think that’s true of most of the movies I see these days. I guess that means I’m finally happy with where I am, right here, right now. I hope Indy is happy with where he ended up too.

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny (2023)
Directed by James Mangold
Written by Jez Butterworth, John-Henry Butterworth, David Koepp, James Mangold
Based on characters created by George Lucas, Philip Kaufman
Produced by Simon Emanuel, Kathleen Kennedy, Frank Marshall
Starring: Harrison Ford, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Boyd Holbrook, Mads Mikkelsen, John Rhys-Davies, Antonio Banderas, Toby Jones, Karen Allen
Walt Disney Pictures, Rated PG-13, Running time 154 minutes, Opens June 30, 2023

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