Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny is mediocre, toxic nostalgia

Does Harrison Ford even want to be here?

Judging by the performance in the Indiana Jones swan song Dial of Destiny, the answer's got to be no. The former carpenter turned reluctant action star has been the face of this franchise for coming up on half a century now — a fact the curmudgeonly Ford seems to dislike more and more as time goes on. 

And though he by no means dislikes his fans, Ford's famous inability to engage with anything or anyone he deems unworthy of his time — his "no BS" rule — is nearly as legendary as his characters. As he says in an interview with The Hollywood Reporter promoting the new movie, his apparent shyness in interviews and fan interactions wasn't, as had been suggested, anxiety. 

Instead, it's an unwillingness to take part in what the rest of us are increasingly forced to, as COVID-era telework is cancelled in favour of inane small talk: "No, I don't have a social anxiety disorder," he told the publication when the subject came up. "I have an abhorrence of boring situations."

So as he shuffles through lines in the fifth Jones movie entry with all the roguish vitality of Noam Chomsky in a fedora, Ford's low energy can't entirely be ascribed to the fact that the 70-year-old character he's portraying is actually a decade younger than he is.

Maybe, just like with Han Solo, the actor only came back for the opportunity to finally get rid of him. 

That said, plotwise, there's not a whole lot to be upset about here — even though the storyline can essentially be described as if 2001's Lara Croft: Tomb Raider took a few Greek history classes in college. Because in both, our pack of superhero archeologists have their sights set on a geometric artifact: one that was intentionally split in half to keep anyone from using its time-travelling powers, and that in both cases, suspiciously, centres around an orrery.

But like all Indy adventures, here they're pitted against a shadowy cabal of esoteric-obsessed Nazis. Starting the action mid-Second World War on a German resupply train, we're introduced to a young Jones and sidekick Basil Shaw (Toby Jones) as they attempt to liberate the Nazi-stolen Lance of Longinus — a holy item purported to have been used in the killing of Jesus.

After discovering the item is a fake, their attentions shift to another object in Nazi possession: the Antikythera. It's an ancient device that, among other things, was able to predict the movement of the planets, is sometimes referred to as the world's first computer and others used by pseudo-scientists to attempt to prove the existence of Atlantis. Here though, it is an invention by Greek mathematician Archimedes, with the purported ability to find fissures in time. 

It also catches the attention of villain Dr. Jürgen Voller (Mads Mikkelsen), igniting a race to both halves of the machine that quickly jumps forward in time to 1969. There, a worse-for-wear Jones is living the typical life of the final-installment action hero à la Taken, Rambo, Die Hard, Logan, James Bond and even It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia's fake franchise Thunder Gun 4: Maximum Cool, expressly designed to lampoon the tropes these movies follow. 

Our once indestructible protagonist is now an arthritic mess living in a less-than-desirable housing set-up, after his early-movie relationship was destroyed by his rough and tumble ways. Our Indy is boozy and unshaven, out of the game until pulled back in by goddaughter Helena Shaw (Phoebe Waller-Bridge) to go after the Antikythera once again — along with chases, fights and at least a couple "It belongs in a museum"s to keep the crowd delivering pity-chuckles.

Stereotypical formula aside though, it would be a lie to say the journey doesn't somewhat work. Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny is fun, and goes through the motions of what fans of the original trilogy are at least used to. Gone are the silly frills of the regrettable fourth installment, Crystal Skull, and the franchise's new director James Mangold manages to find a close-enough match to the semi-serious, amusement-park enjoyment Spielberg crafted before him.

As well, the universe's famous set pieces continue to impress here — whether it's young Jones running on top of a train, old Indy battling off-puttingly snake-like eels in an underwater shipwreck or Shaw executing an escape with nothing more than a cigarette and a hidden stick of dynamite, there is enough Goonies-style choreographed action for an audience to while away a night. 

And aside from the yet-again eerie de-aging attempts early on in the movie (which, when used to apply Ford's face to a stunt double, gives an unsettling echo to the AI acting fears raised in Black Mirror's recent episode "Joan is Awful") everything looks adequately blockbuster. The final Indiana Jones entry is actually near the top of what is a usually dismal filmic phenomenon: closing chapters of long-running action vehicles. But what's missing is any sense of urgency in the story, or any sense of charisma from Ford himself.

Arthritic archeologist 

Corralling Ford through the plot feels nearly as forced as Martin Lawrence's sleepy-eyed turn in Bad Boys For Life, the beloved series he returned to after 16 years of delays, mental and physical health breakdowns and a warning by director Michael Bay that the two stars had turned from buddy cops into retired ones. Similarly in Dial of Destiny, the gruff irascibility of simply shooting a swordsman after his flashy routine (as uncomfortably indicative it is of the ideas of Western superiority that define the character)  is no longer ironically endearing. It now just feels like an old man who wants a nap. 

The chemistry between Waller-Bridge and Ford is average, the villains overdone by now to the point of parody and the whole thing (forgive me for saying) feels less like it belongs in a movie theatre than in a museum. 

Because in the end, Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny commits the worst sin a movie can commit. It is neither exceptional nor terrible, and in avoiding risky pitfalls it accomplishes nothing and fails at very little. It is both serviceable and eminently forgettable, and seemingly only exists because, as author John Hodgman wrote in his book Vacationland: True Stories from Painful Beaches, we can consider "nostalgia to be a toxic impulse … that leads at best to bad art, movie versions of old TV shows and sad dads watching Fox News."

So is Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny worth seeing? It'll sure give you something to do for two-and-a-half hours. But if you're anything like me — and potentially Ford himself — you might just be glad that it's over.