Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny (2023)

It’s a curious thing that three Indiana Jones films (of five) were conceived to be grand finales for the franchise – from riding off into a literal sunset at the end of The Last Crusade, to a reunion and a wedding in Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, now Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny promises that, yes, this finally is the last outing for our beloved fortune-and-glory seeker. While not quite living up to its predecessors, and neither as masterful as director James Mangold’s last franchise elegy, Logan, Dial of Destiny is still far and away a worthy and fun addition to the Indiana Jones saga.

It's 1969, and Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) is feeling long in the tooth by the time his goddaughter Helena Shaw (Phoebe Waller-Bridge) pays him a visit. Helena has come in search of the artifact that drove her father (Toby Jones) mad – Archimedes’ Dial, which is said to possess the power of time travel. But hot on their heels is the Nazi fugitive Jürgen Voller (Mads Mikkelsen), who wants to use the dial to correct the mistakes of history.

 

Dial of Destiny begins with a roaring twenty-minute prologue, in the style of Last Crusade’s “lost adventure” opener. Immediately, it’s a real treat to see Indiana Jones in his prime, punching Nazis and barely squeezing out of a scrape. It’s at once bittersweet, given that any of us would happily have watched Harrison Ford punch Nazis in fifteen more films, but it is also a reminder that this franchise’s best days are a ways behind it, ensconced in the nostalgia and innocence of its serial pulp roots. All of which is not to say that Dial of Destiny is necessarily bad or even a net negative; particularly in this opening sequence but really throughout, Dial feels like classic Indy, and that aura of impactful crunchy action persists, as when a character’s head is imperiled during a motorcycle chase or when another is impaled by a cart full of timber.

 

Despite his ‘grumpy old man’ reputation, Ford has done heroic and laudatory work revisiting his old genre standbys, putting Dial in the good company of The Force Awakens and especially Blade Runner 2049. Here, Indiana Jones is worse for the wear and wearier of the world, but he seems not to have lost a step as far as his chippy personality and improvisational approach to action setpieces. He also gets a chance to deliver a fairly emotional sequence aboard a sailboat, and the film’s conclusion is a fitting and proper sendoff for a character as beloved as this one.

 

Phoebe Waller-Bridge is a snarky delight as Helena, more cutthroat capitalist than proper archaeologist, and Mads Mikkelsen is inspired casting as a seething Nazi holdout. The rest of the cast, though, amounts to a series of extended cameos – a shame for the return of John Rhys-Davies as Sallah and for the advent of Toby Jones as a skittish British professor – which does, I suppose, mean that the film can properly be about Indy, Helena, and Voller. But the greatest return of all is John Williams helming the score one last time. As fun as the film was, Williams provides that emotional core, and I found myself stamping my feet with excitement as he reprised a few of the action cues from Last Crusade’s exemplary sequences. So too for the moments I felt my eyes welling up – that, I promise you, was all Williams.

 

At just over two and a half hours, though, Dial of Destiny is a good sight longer than the other four Indiana Jones films, and I regret to say that you do feel it. It’s somber in places where it needs to be, and its action sequences are dynamite (once, quite literally), but its third act is a little baggy, and it does take a bit of time to get there. I mean no offense to James Mangold on this one, but the toughest thing about Dial is that it isn’t directed by Steven Spielberg. Few franchises are as inextricably linked to one singular director as this one is, and Dial lacks that precision filmmaking, that gee-whiz enthusiasm that Spielberg brings better than anyone. Mangold was hand-picked by Spielberg to helm the finale, and he’s a solid director in his own right, yet there is something about Dial that never wholly feels of a piece with its predecessors. 

 

Perhaps I’ll change my tune on that count once I’ve seen Dial at home a few times – because I do intend to see this one again and again. There are some sequences in it that are truly breathtaking, and my personal jury is still out about the film’s big MacGuffin-y climax. Ultimately Dial of Destiny is an exercise in measured restraint everywhere but its action scenes; it’s not as wistfully nostalgic as it could have been, but nor is it as tight and punchy as one might expect from this franchise. Or perhaps it’s just that I haven’t seen it fifteen billion times like I have Raiders of the Lost Ark. Perhaps, once I can quote vast swaths of it in the way that I’ve committed long sections of Last Crusade to memory, Dial of Destiny will become a classic. Yet at the end of the day, it is an Indiana Jones movie, and a good enough one, at that.

 

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny is rated PG-13 for “sequences of violence and action, language, and smoking.” Directed by James Mangold. Written by Jez Butterworth, John-Henry Butterworth, David Koepp, and James Mangold. Starring Harrison Ford, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Antonio Banderas, John Rhys-Davies, Toby Jones, Boyd Holbrook, and Mads Mikkelsen. 

August Archaeology: Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008)

With the 40th anniversary of Raiders of the Lost Ark this year, the release of the 4K box set (finally!), and the franchise’s omnipresence on Showtime the past few weeks, The Cinema King has come down with a bad case of Indy Fever. Having already reviewed the films some time ago, let’s try something a little different this month. In the tradition of the “Grand Marvel Rewatch,” let’s dig around the Indiana Jones franchise and see what comes up.

Finally, from 2008, it’s Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. After an unfortunate encounter with Communists at Area 51, Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) meets up with Mutt Williams (Shia LaBeouf), who asks for help following the mystery of a crystal skull in South America. An old mentor (John Hurt) and Mutt’s mother (spoilers!) have gone missing, and Indy’s Soviet foe Irina Spalko (Cate Blanchett) may be responsible. 

1. Color me interested. If you’ve had a conversation with me in the last few months, you’ve probably heard me say that the 4K transfer of Crystal Skull fixes the film’s color palette and in so doing remedies a lot of the problems with the theatrical release. In 2008, everything in the film had a green/yellow tint, which made all the digital effects look a bit fake. For a franchise founded on practical effects, that’s no good, so fortunately the 4K version color-corrects so that the film takes on a warmer, more natural visual tone. The digital effects aren’t as noticeable, and it finally looks like a proper Indiana Jones film, not a tint-rinsed nostalgia trip.
2. Nothing wrong with nostalgia. Steven Spielberg was born in 1946, and it’s pretty clear that he looks back on 1957 with fondness. The earlier films were all set before Spielberg was born, and so they inhabit a kind of timeless past without many particular historical markers. The first act of Crystal Skull, though, is all about the late 50s, with greasers battling straightedges while Bill Haley blares from a jukebox; meanwhile, Indy declares, “I like Ike” before implying he was present at the Roswell crash. Spielberg is closer to this material than he was to the preceding trilogy, and it shows; Crystal Skull is very much of its time.
3. Passing the torch. Flash back to 2008, and you’ll recall that there seemed to be an anxiety that Indiana Jones would retire and cede the franchise to Shia LaBeouf’s Mutt Williams, who (spoilers) everyone rightly predicted was actually Indy’s son. (Like his father, Mutt too named himself after the dog.) The film does seem to be walking away from the earlier ones, with allusions to the deaths of Marcus Brody and Henry Jones, Sr., in the interim, but all the same it keeps an eye on the past when it revisits Marion Ravenwood (Karen Allen), the only possible and eminently welcome choice for Mutt’s mother. The film’s closing gag, in which a gust of wind tempts Mutt with donning his father’s fedora, becomes a beautifully self-aware moment when Indy snatches the hat at the last possible second. We don’t want that, either.
4. Up in the sky! Fans are so torn on the extraterrestrial McGuffin, with many (rightly) pointing to Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind as an influence. I’ve always liked the idea that Indy’s adventures are themed around the pulp stories of that day, and having him chase aliens during the sci-fi Fifties feels almost inevitable. An alien is a far cry from the deep and preexisting mythologies of the Ark and the Sankara Stones, but the fact that Indy never makes contact with the aliens (“interdimensional beings, in point of fact”) keeps the film from verging too far beyond the realm of the plausible. Put another way, if Indiana Jones never meets an alien, does it really exist?
5. Some Indy is better than no Indy (or: Toxic Fandom, I hate these guys). It’s not necessarily a new phenomenon – Star Wars had been through it a decade earlier (and a decade later) – but Crystal Skull was marked by scads of online discourse about how terrible this movie is, what a betrayal it was for the fans, and how “real” fans can’t love it. And while I don’t love Crystal Skull, I don’t think it’s as bad as people claim. It’s certainly not an appropriate reason to start gatekeeping fandom, either; it’s not Raiders, but so what? Few films are. This one is plenty fun, with enough exciting action to justify its own existence. It’s always amusing to see armchair critics insist they know Indiana Jones better than Spielberg, Lucas, and Ford.

Sound off in the comments, and tell me your favorite part of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. If there’s a moviegoer more excited for the fifth Indiana Jones film (set for July 2022), I’d like to meet that person. But I promise you won’t need to wait that long for the next review on this site. The Cinema King will return!

August Archaeology: Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989)

With the 40th anniversary of Raiders of the Lost Ark this year, the release of the 4K box set (finally!), and the franchise’s omnipresence on Showtime the past few weeks, The Cinema King has come down with a bad case of Indy Fever. Having already reviewed the films some time ago, let’s try something a little different this month. In the tradition of the “Grand Marvel Rewatch,” let’s dig around the Indiana Jones franchise and see what comes up.

This week, from 1989, it’s Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) is hired to find the Holy Grail and his father (Sean Connery), who has disappeared while in search of the lost artifact. At the urging of hobbyist financier Walter Donovan (Julian Glover), Indy connects with his father’s expedition partner Elsa Schneider (Alison Doody) before discovering that the Nazis too are on his father’s trail. 

1. The ultimate McGuffin. They don’t call it the Holy Grail for nothing. Perhaps more so than the Ark, the Grail is immediately recognizable as an item of unspeakable value, even without the mysticism of eternal life. What’s more, Steven Spielberg and a passel of writers (including George Lucas) reframe the quest for the Grail as a quest for knowledge, not just for power. When Henry Jones, Sr., remarks at the end of the film that he has found “illumination,” he ties together the entire story in one word; amid deception and missed opportunities, the search for the Holy Grail is the search for truth. It can be tasted, but it can never be possessed. 
2. Sean Connery is a gem. Indiana Jones was born after Spielberg was unable to direct a James Bond movie, so it only makes sense that Indy’s father would be played by the best 007 there was. Once Connery comes into the film about halfway through, the movie practically bends around his gravity, and it becomes a centerpiece for his magnetic personality. He’s charming, funny, and so delightfully out of his element in the action scenes. I said two weeks ago that we deserved more movies with Marion Ravenwood; we certainly missed out on more father/son adventures like this one.
3. Friends in every town. We met Marcus Brody (Denholm Elliott) and Sallah (John Rhys-Davies) in Raiders, but they become full-fledged members of the adventure in Last Crusade. What a delight it is to see these two bring their special brands of levity to the film’s heady action sequences! While some have bemoaned the way these characters become comic relief, I think it makes them more likeable, not less. While Sallah counts camels, Brody gets to star in what might be the best joke of the film, in which Indy talks up Brody’s skills before cutting to Brody, hopelessly lost in Iskenderun and far from competent. The implication that Brody and Henry go way back leaves me surprised that we never got a prequel novel or comic book, if only to explain what “Genius of the Restoration” truly means.
4. The nature of choosing wisely. If Brody’s in the best joke of the film, the Grail Knight is surely given the second-best when he remarks, “He chose… poorly.” The climactic trials through which Indy must pass before finding the Grail, leading up to an unexpected encounter with the Grail Knight, are an excellent remedy to the old complaint that Indy doesn’t actually drive the plot of Raiders. Here, Indy has to think on his feet while solving a chamber of ancient puzzles, with one whopper of a payoff. I’d venture to say that J.K. Rowling cribbed a bit for the climax of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, in which her protagonists follow in Indy’s footsteps by braving a gauntlet of magical challenges.
5. But is it the best? As many times as I’ve seen the Indiana Jones movies, I truly cannot say which I prefer – Raiders or Last Crusade. They’re both exceptional, expertly crafted and infectiously fun. Raiders might be closer to the Platonic ideal of an adventure film, but Last Crusade is almost more compelling because the stakes are that much higher. (Plus, see #2 above.) But if you came to these reviews thinking I’d finally take a stand, I’m afraid I must defer. These are two perfect movies, and how do you choose between cookie dough and butter pecan? (Insert your two favorite flavors here.) I suppose the only correct answer is, “Whichever’s closest.” If Raiders is on, it’s Raiders, but if Last Crusade is nearer to hand, that’s the one.

As we ride off into the sunset, sound off in the comments, and tell me your favorite part of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. We’ll be back next week to close out the month with Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

 

August Archaeology: Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984)

With the 40th anniversary of Raiders of the Lost Ark this year, the release of the 4K box set (finally!), and the franchise’s omnipresence on Showtime the past few weeks, The Cinema King has come down with a bad case of Indy Fever. Having already reviewed the films some time ago, let’s try something a little different this month. In the tradition of the “Grand Marvel Rewatch,” let’s dig around the Indiana Jones franchise and see what comes up.

This week, from 1984, it’s Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. After dodging gangsters in Shanghai, Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) drops into northern India with his pint-sized sidekick Short Round (Jonathan Ke Quan) and chanteuse Willie Scott (Kate Capshaw). The theft of a sacred stone leads Indy to Pankot Palace, where an ancient evil has taken root, and our favorite archaeologist may find much worse than fortune and glory in the caverns beneath the palace. 

1. PG or not PG? The old urban legend draws a straight line between Temple of Doom and the creation of the PG-13 rating later that year, and there’s a grain of truth to that. It’s easy to forget how downright scary Temple of Doom can be, especially in its back half; even to an adult, there’s something terrifying about the human sacrifices and death cults that pervade the caves beneath Pankot. It’s all shot in fiery reds, and John Williams takes the music in an unearthly direction, with the result sounding more like a horror film than an adventure flick. Raiders felt tame by comparison, thrilling but never quite as perilous.
2. Hats off to Mola Ram. While the Nazis are still the perfect foil for Indy’s gee-whiz brand of adventuring, let’s not forget what an excellent villain Mola Ram makes for Temple of Doom. He’s scary, with nothing redeeming about him, and his subterranean search for the lost Sankara Stones makes him a surprisingly apt antagonist for our archaeologist hero. Amrish Puri is expertly cast, with an intimidating presence even before he bulges his eyes and gives a mad leering smile. And speaking of “hats,” my compliments to the person who gave Mola Ram the sacrilegious cow skull for a headdress, melding Indian beliefs with Satanic imagery by way of Georgia O’Keeffe.
3. The biggest trouble with her is the noise. Fairly or not, so much of the film’s critical reputation falls on Kate Capshaw’s shoulders. On this latest rewatch, Capshaw is doing exactly what the script wants, playing this big-spirited nightclub singer dragged against her will into a series of nightmares. She screams more than 70 times in the film, which is profoundly irritating, but the problem belongs more properly to the script, which puts this fish so far out of water that everyone protests. She doesn’t grow, she doesn’t change, but neither does her environment change around her. Instead, we get a character who never wants to be here; it is, incidentally, the same complaint I have with most movies about The Hulk. If you don’t want to be a superhero, don’t be in a superhero movie.
4. A reactive protagonist. While some lament that Indy doesn’t govern the action in Raiders, I’m surprised the same complaint isn’t often leveled at Temple of Doom. Unlike the other films, where Indy is off looking for an artifact, Temple of Doom gives him minimal agency in his quest. The Shanghai opener is out of his control, he quite literally stumbles into the main plot, and once he gets to Pankot he’s only reacting to things that happen. Now I’m not saying this is necessarily a bad thing, and perhaps it’s even clever given that this prequel is Indy’s “first” adventure, but it’s somewhat less than engaging to watch a protagonist who’s never quite in command of his narrative destiny.
5. Do I like this movie? Raiders and Last Crusade are Personal Canon material for me, no doubt about it, and I’m sure I don’t love Temple of Doom as much as those two. In fact, I’m usually sure that Temple of Doom is my least favorite Indy movie. But does that mean I don’t like it? I’ve never raced to see it – and indeed wondered if I could get away with August Archaeology without rewatching – but each time I watch it, I’m glad I did. The opener is a real banger, and the finale is terrific (both the mine car chase and the bridge sequence), though I’ll concede that the middle is a bit dull, stuck on gross-out sequences like the exotic banquet and the creepy-crawlie chamber. We’ll revisit the question in two weeks, but isn’t some Indy better than no Indy at all? 

You tell me: is Temple of Doom the worst Indiana Jones film, or is it quietly the best? Sound off in the comments, and tell me your favorite part of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. We’ll be back next week to ponder whether the franchise’s best is actually Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. 

August Archaeology: Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)

With the 40th anniversary of Raiders of the Lost Ark this year, the release of the 4K box set (finally!), and the franchise’s omnipresence on Showtime the past few weeks, The Cinema King has come down with a bad case of Indy Fever. Having already reviewed the films some time ago, let’s try something a little different this month. In the tradition of the “Grand Marvel Rewatch,” let’s dig around the Indiana Jones franchise and see what comes up.

 

First up, from 1981, it’s Raiders of the Lost Ark. Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) is tasked with finding the fabled Ark of the Covenant, a biblical artifact of unspeakable power, before the Nazis unearth it. Indy enlists the help of former flame Marion Ravenwood (Karen Allen), and the race is on across continents as old rival René Belloq (Paul Freeman) dogs Indy’s every move.

1. The music. You don’t need me to tell you that John Williams is the greatest film composer of all time. Just listen to the iconic and unforgettable “Raiders March,” thrill to the spectral and mystic “Miracle of the Ark,” and swoon to “Marion’s Theme.” Williams famously drafted two separate themes for Indiana Jones, uniting them both at the suggestion of director Steven Spielberg. Yet the two themes gel so well together, melding the triumphant march with a sense of the hard work it takes to get there. Each musical motif swirls into the film as though Williams is speaking a language all his own, commenting on the plot and driving us furiously into the action.
2. Speaking of the action… I can’t count how many times I’ve seen Raiders, but it’s tremendously exciting every time. From the pulse-pounding opener, which puts one very much in mind of a James Bond pre-credits sequence, through the climactic desert chase, Raiders gets the blood pumping. The best part about the action is how often it’s used to develop and humanize the characters, as when a tired Indy laconically guns down an overeager swordsman. Ditto for the small beats where Indy catches himself enjoying the violence, only to wince and remember that he’s been shot in the arm. Raiders practically reinvented blockbuster movie pacing, and it’s not hard to tell why.
3. What a world! The world-building in Raiders makes writing look easy; I should only hope to write a story this good. The film effortlessly introduces Indiana Jones as a superheroic archaeologist and a world-renowned scholar, and it gives him such a richly textured background filled with fascinating characters who have their own complicated history with Dr. Jones. When we meet Marion or Belloq or Sallah (John Rhys-Davies), we can tell immediately how they know Indy, what each thinks of the other, and what might happen next time they’re in a room together. Moreover, Spielberg deftly introduces the Ark into the film’s world through sophisticated lighting tricks and audio cues (like soft winds or, yes, Williams’s score). It’s an overall unified narrative where no piece is wasted – smart filmmaking at its smartest.
4. Is this the best supporting cast of all time? Harrison Ford rightly takes up a lot of oxygen when we talk about great performances in Raiders, but everyone else nails their roles. Karen Allen is superb in all the moments where she refuses to be the damsel in distress, and it’s only too bad that she wasn’t in more Indy films (or, put another way, that there weren’t more Indy films for her to join). Meanwhile, Paul Freeman dials up the smug smarm of the enemy archaeologist Belloq, a walking moral compromise; he sells the competitive rivalry with Indy almost immediately. Then there’s the stalwart John Rhys-Davies and Denholm Elliott, about whom I’ll say more in two weeks. (So to answer my question, I’m sure I’m forgetting another movie, but Raiders has to be in the conversation somewhere.)
5. The formative years. My dad brought home a copy of Raiders on VHS back during a McDonald’s promo circa 1991, and the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that Raiders was a seminal moment in my moviegoing career. For my money, it’s everything a movie should be – a brisk adventure that puts well-crafted characters in impossible situations with nothing less than the fate of the universe at stake. It’s also a period piece, which helps explain my obsession with movies like The Rocketeer and The Mummy. It’s unlikely I saw this before Star Wars, but it’s possible; either way, it set a high bar for every subsequent movie to come. You don’t get on the Personal Canon any other way.

What more can one say about one of the greatest movies ever made? Sound off in the comments, and tell me your favorite part of Raiders of the Lost Ark. We’ll be back next week – back in time, that is – with the prequel Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. 

Blade Runner 2049 (2017)

I’ve had a roller coaster of prerelease emotions when it comes to Blade Runner 2049, from skeptical that we needed to revisit the 1982 classic to nervous that Ridley Scott might direct (after he’d done the Alien franchise a disservice with Prometheus); from cautiously optimistic that Harrison Ford was involved to exuberant upon hearing that Denis Villeneuve would ultimately helm the film. Now that I’ve actually seen it, I can attest that Blade Runner 2049 is the success it needed to be, another strong science fiction outing from the man who brought us Arrival and a potent reengagement with the central questions that the original Blade Runner continues to pose.

Ryan Gosling stars as K, a blade runner thirty years after the events of the original film. On a routine “retirement” of one of a new breed of replicants, K discovers a mystery that sets him on a new case, one that will lead him to seek out Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford).

That’s about all I’d like to say about the plot of Blade Runner 2049 – indeed, I almost wish that the marketing hadn’t revealed that Harrison Ford was returning, because the film unfolds at such a deliberate and methodical pace that each of its reveals feels carefully measured and deployed at just the right moment. At two hours, forty minutes, and then some, 2049 is long – not slow but disciplined, walking through the world of Blade Runner without failing to stop and take notice of the sprawling landscapes, the colossal neon billboards, and the depth of the imagined future world. There’s so much content in the film that I would have appreciated being surprised by Ford’s inclusion, but then again, I recognize that Deckard is something of an elephant in the Blade Runner room, and so his presence does feel like a legitimizing agent to plant 2049 solidly in place.

I had the opportunity to rewatch the original Blade Runner the night before seeing 2049, and it’s an arrangement I’d highly recommend for an optimal viewing experience. (Back to back might numb the bum, to say nothing of the back!) Blade Runner 2049 does rely on parts of its predecessor, picking up plot elements and referencing iconic visuals, but by the same token I do think the film works well enough as a standalone that develops in a new but consistent direction, in that sense reminding me a great deal of Tron Legacy. Indeed, there’s been a trend lately of dusting off these classics from decades past – Harrison Ford himself had already done it in The Force Awakens – and seeing what they have to say these years later. By and large, these efforts have to my eyes been roundly successful, resisting the impulse to reboot (and the creative liberties that might come therein) but rather working within the confines of the established universe and layering in new roads, not unlike the way The Godfather Part II filled in the world of the first Godfather and extended its lifespan in gripping ways.

You have, of course, the continuing saga of Rick Deckard, who’s as striking when he’s absent as when he’s present; where has he gone, but more importantly why’s he gone away? (Here Ford is both the returning Han Solo and the vanished Luke Skywalker.) But aside from extending the narrative of Blade Runner (melding nicely with whichever of the umpteen cuts you prize), 2049 looks for new opportunities; Jared Leto plays the erstwhile heir to the Tyrell replicant empire, while Dave Bautista plays a surprisingly graceful farmer, a far cry from either Drax or Mr. Hinx. Gosling is solid as always, a well-deserved heir to Harrison Ford’s remarkably deft career, but I was surprised that it’s Ana de Armas who steals more than her fair share of the film, playing K’s holographic companion Joi (think a slinky, autonomous Alexa). Joi allows the film to continue to probe the question of the lines between simulation and reality in ways related to, but also quite distinct from, the mystery posed by Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer) in the original.

Simply put, Blade Runner 2049 is one of the better sequels in recent memory. Early in production, Christopher Nolan had been bounced around as a possible director, but – while I’ll never say no to more Nolan (particularly since his frequent collaborator, Hans Zimmer, appears to have discovered the vuvuzela with his follow-up to Vangelis) – I do think Villenueve is the ideal candidate here. As we saw with Arrival, Villeneuve has mastered the balance between wonder and revelation, in portraying immense scope with the weight of narrative to match. (Has anyone called him yet for a Star Wars film?) Villeneuve’s direction is capable and confident, taking its time but earning that extended runtime by doling out information and momentum to keep the audience right where he needs them to be.

I almost don’t want there to be a third Blade Runner, but then I didn’t know I wanted the second one, either. It’ll be exceedingly difficult to capture replicant lightning in a bottle once more, and though there’s a thread here and there left unknotted the film does seem to end in a place that feels whole and proper. If Villeneuve is in the driver’s seat once more, though, I’m confident we’ll be in a good place.

Blade Runner 2049 is rated R for “violence, some sexuality, nudity and language.” Directed by Denis Villenueve. Written by Hampton Fancher and Michael Green. Starring Ryan Gosling, Harrison Ford, Ana de Armas, Sylvia Hoeks, Robin Wright, and Jared Leto.

Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015)

First of all, if you haven’t seen The Force Awakens just yet, read on without fear of being spoiled (although really, what else did you have to do this weekend?). I’m very sensitive to the fact that this is a film with a heavy curtain of secrecy around it. The spoilers are out there if you really want them, but I’d advise anyone to go into The Force Awakens with a clean palate because this is a film that works best when it washes over you and introduces itself to you on its own terms. It’s a remarkable achievement, breathing new life into a franchise that needed it, setting a fantastic tone for the forthcoming Disney era.

Again, no spoilers here, so I’ll refrain from the usual plot synopsis, only to say that the film’s opening title crawl is immensely captivating stuff, clicking into place a lot of the rumors and official releases such that you have an instant sense of the state of that galaxy far, far away these thirty years after Return of the Jedi. In addition to the familiar faces of Han Solo (Harrison Ford), Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill), and Leia Organa (Carrie Fisher) – listed in the order they’re credited on the film – The Force Awakens introduces us to a new trio: stormtrooper Finn (John Boyega), scavenger Rey (Daisy Ridley), and hotshot Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac). And menacing the galaxy is one more black-clad acolyte of the dark side, Kylo Ren (Adam Driver), and the First Order’s plan to unseat the Republic.

I found myself thinking immediately of the words of Obi-Wan Kenobi from Return of the Jedi: “You cannot escape your destiny.” And while I’m on record as being one of those moviegoers who ordinarily detests the deus ex machina of destiny, it’s undeniably woven into the fabric of the Star Wars universe, and director JJ Abrams does some very intriguing work with it. Throughout The Force Awakens, we have characters who are either running from their destiny or sprinting headlong toward it, and all of them end up pretty much exactly where they are meant to be – from the stormtroopers in the opening scene to the folks present in the final shot of the film (and what a gorgeous, sweeping final shot it is). Heck, even Greg Grunberg, a childhood friend of Abrams, fulfills his destiny by appearing here as an X-wing pilot.

JJ Abrams had the unenviable task of being the only person to direct a Star Wars film without George Lucas's hand on his shoulder (including, of course, The Clone Wars and that horrible thing I watched last Friday). While I’ve never been a full Abrams disciple, there’s no question that he more than lives up to the legacy of the original trilogy. (As for the prequels, they’re largely set aside, save for one passing reference.) As a director, Abrams keeps the pace of the film at an even clip, sprinkling in enough humor to make this possibly the funniest Star Wars film in the saga without compromising the film’s overall tone. More apparent is the film’s reverential and referential attitude toward the original trilogy; nearly every sequence in the film has some callback to a previous moment, giving lie to George Lucas’s oft-quoted refrain about the poetry of the saga. But what’s remarkable here is that the aggregate effect isn’t one of plagiarism; there’s a deference, to be sure, to what came before, but it advances the saga forward and cues up more than enough for Episodes VIII and IX to continue to explore.

Bizarrely, and actually gratefully, I’m more interested in the new characters than in the returning faces. Yes, there’s a wonderful reintroduction moment for every returning character (even the ones you weren’t expecting to be applause-worthy), but the Finn-Rey-Poe trio could easily be the new Luke-Leia-Han for this generation, and not necessarily in that order. This is great news for the franchise as a whole, because it shows that Star Wars is capable of sustaining itself beyond the inevitable first flash of nostalgia that The Force Awakens was always destined (there’s that word again) to invoke. And say what you want about the prequels, but they always pointed to A New Hope, never sufficiently building their own world (save for those long and tedious political conversations). The Force Awakens propels the narrative forward, to say nothing of the introduction of an equally compelling trio (or quartet, depending on how you do the math) of antagonists. Let’s just say this – Kylo Ren is everything we wanted from Hayden Christensen’s Anakin Skywalker.

I’ll have to see the film again to give a more detailed assessment – I know there are folks chomping at the bit to talk about some of the more spoileriffic details – and I’d like to revisit the film with more of the John Williams score under my belt. I was just too overwhelmed by the film to drink it all in at once. And that’s such a good thing. I felt myself smiling like a child again once those blue words “A long time ago...” appeared on the screen, felt my jaw fall as the title crawl clued me into the story. I smiled, I laughed, I gasped, and I very nearly cried in a few moments, and not only out of sadness when the film went for the emotional tug. My eyes were misty because I felt, finally, I’d come home. Chills up my arms, chokes in my throat (not the kind induced by the dark side, mind you), and a permanent grin across my face: these were the feelings The Force Awakens conjured up in me. Like some magical incantation, cast out across the void of decades, Star Wars is back.

Star Wars: The Force Awakens is rated PG-13 for “sci-fi action violence.” This film is slightly bloodier than previous Star Wars films, but the level of violence and action is about the same.

The Star Wars Holiday Special (1978)

Last night while the rest of the world slept, fans across the country were united in projecting their hopes, dreams, and imaginations against the latest – and, some have said, greatest – Star Wars film.

This is not a review of that film. This is a review written by a very confused, very dissatisfied Star Wars fan who, for the first and likely last time in his life, inflicted upon himself the horror, the horror, that is The Star Wars Holiday Special from 1978.

Any attempt to summarize the plot of The Star Wars Holiday Special, such as it is, would be doomed to inevitable failure. Suffice it to say that something has happened to prevent Han Solo (Harrison Ford) and Chewbacca (Peter Mayhew) from attending some kind of festivity (the nebulously defined “Life Day”), leading the audience to be held captive for a series of bizarre and senseless vignettes which can only loosely be defined as tangentially relevant to the Star Wars universe, including the sale of a mustache groomer, a Wookiee cooking/drag show, a kaleidoscopic sex drug, and the first appearance of Boba Fett, which is in no way, shape, or form worth sitting through this monstrosity.

To say that this film is unwatchable by modern standards would be to pay The Star Wars Holiday Special a compliment. It is, in fact, unwatchable by any standards of any generation ever. Ten minutes in, I was already not sure whether what I had seen – an interminably long segment which consists of an apparent Married With Children script done entirely in Wookiee-speak followed by a hallucinatory juggling act with Chewbacca’s bloated son Lumpy as voyeur – was actually real or whether I had somehow died on the way home that evening and dreamt up the rest.

The Holiday Special – a poor name indeed, for it is neither festive nor special –  is so catastrophically mystifying that it is a great wonder that Star Wars became the fan-fueled juggernaut that it is today. One wonders how many fans looked at this thing and never returned to that galaxy far, far away, for fear of getting another Holiday Special as recompense for their entertainment dollar. After twenty-five minutes, I felt so insensate that I wondered if Jar Jar Binks might show up as the least offensive thing on the screen. That’s right; a racist cartoon rabbit would not only fit in perfectly in the milieu of the Holiday Special, but might actually have been the most entertaining part of it. Wrap the ethical centers of your brain around that one.

Thirty minutes in, I had to go to the bathroom. I considered leaving it run in my absence, wondering if it would make a difference. I started asking myself a lot of questions. Would I miss anything of merit? (No.) How the hell did they get Art Carney to appear in this travesty? Was this still canon, in the wake of the Great Disney Purge? Had it ever been canon? What had become of my life that I was thinking so deeply about this thing at eleven at night? Could I ever enjoy anything ever again?

Halfway through the Holiday Special, my computer abruptly restarted itself. A scan of my computer revealed no corrupted processes, no viruses, no malware. It is as if my computer refused to suffer any further indignity by playing a moment more of the Holiday Special than was absolutely necessary, as if it wished to spare me the perpetual suffering. As I verified that my computer wasn’t irreparably damaged by the experience, I found myself at a crossroads. I could go to bed, post the review as if I’d seen the whole thing. No one would know. No one would ever have to know, and I’d probably be doing myself a favor. But, equal parts stubborn and honest, I soldiered on.

Thank heavens I did. Not because the animated segment lived up to any expectations at all. No, I’m thankful I didn’t give up so that I’m never tempted to sit through this thing again. I can now say that I’ve watched the first appearance of Boba Fett, and the cartoon episode which interrupts the Holiday Special is as shambolic, plotless, and pointless as anything else in the ninety-some minutes of my life I’m never getting back. Then there’s a strange scene in which Bea Arthur cuddles with a hamster while tending bar at the Mos Eisley Cantina, in which the set and the costuming look even cheaper than their playfully hokey appearance in the original Star Wars film.

It’s at this moment in the Holiday Special that my mind returns to inquisition. Is this thing meant to be funny? Coherent? It’s certainly neither, though there are moments that playact at the former. In short, what the hell is this thing supposed to be, and on what level did anyone look at the finished product and say, “Yep, that’s something I want the rest of the world to see”? If this film was so much as shown a picture of a cohesive narrative, it wasn’t looking. It’s as if George Lucas had a child with David Lynch, and then that child were given a box of Star Wars action figures and a Betamax video camera, and then that child snorted a tremendous amount of cocaine and passed out. The Star Wars Holiday Special is that fever dream.

Thank God I’m going to see The Force Awakens in a matter of hours. I had said of the new film, “It can’t be worse than The Phantom Menace.” What I should have said was, “It can’t be as unfathomably inaccessible as The Star Wars Holiday Special.”

The Star Wars Holiday Special is rated why are you even still reading this.

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984)

Of the original trilogy, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom is the least fondly remembered.  It’s a prequel which departs somewhat radically in tone and in cast from its two companions, and it contains a few very ill-advised creative decisions, about which director Steven Spielberg has said that the best thing to come out of the film was meeting his wife Kate Capshaw.  But on revisiting, there’s more about Temple of Doom to enjoy than not, though it’s still far from the other two in my eyes.

A year before the events of Raiders of the Lost Ark, Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) careens off the heels of one adventure and into an Indian village where the children and a sacred stone have been abducted by the sinister forces of Pankot Palace.  His compatriots, lounge singer Willie Scott (Capshaw) and pint-sized Short Round (Ke Huy Quan), follow Indy into the eponymous Temple of Doom, where they face the brainwashed hordes who obey the devilish Mola Ram (Amrish Puri).

Let’s say the obvious – the film is culturally insensitive to the max, if not unspeakably racist.  It deals heavily in the “white savior” archetypal narrative without challenging that trope in the least, to the point where we literally have a British cavalry arriving just in the knick of time.  Now, it’s possible that Spielberg is playing with the old adventure serial formula from the 1920s and 30s – as suggested by some cliffhangery moments like the inflatable raft parachute over a cliff – and it does give him some of the ookier moments of the movie like the chilled monkey brains dessert, but the fact that the film seems at times virulently demeaning of India is a bit troubling.

The other major issue with the film is, perhaps surprisingly, Kate Capshaw’s performance.  After Karen Allen’s deft and empowering female lead in Raiders, Capshaw’s Willie Scott is a colossal step backwards.  She’s fantastic at screaming her lungs out and standing around rather uselessly, and if that’s the character the filmmakers really wanted to create, kudos to them.  But the result is something akin to the worst excesses of the “Bond girl” stereotype over in the James Bond franchise (to which, to be fair, both Spielberg and George Lucas claim Indiana Jones is partially indebted).  She is largely unwatchable and impossible to sympathize with, and I can’t help but wish Indy and the filmmakers had left her behind on this adventure.

Now for the good news:  I actually liked the film much better than I thought I would.  I’ve been going back and rewatching the films in order, and usually when I do this I skip over Temple of Doom in order to get to the vastly superior (and probably perfect) Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.  This time, however, I’m glad I stopped off in 1984, because the film does a number of things very right.  For one, the character of Indiana Jones is very well-developed in this film, following a compelling arc from an obsession with “fortune and glory” to a more sobered approach to archaeology and sacred artifacts.  Ford does great work as the protagonist, who’s still heaps of fun to watch.

And for all the cultural insensitivity at play in the film, it does give a very well-crafted tone to the film.  For any of the viewer’s qualms about Temple of Doom, it more than lives up to its name (and the PG-13 rating it inspired).  This original trilogy does seem to be a series of three masterpieces in setting a mood: the first, a sense of high-stakes adventure amid danger; the third, a rollicking romp through the feel-best action comedies.  Here, the tone is nearly relentless dread amid dingy and red-tinted sets; the darkness of the film pays off the character’s arc in a dénouement in which (spoilers?) all balance is restored and good triumphs.  In this sense, Temple of Doom uses its own gloom to say something important about morality.

That, and it’s an enjoyable ride along the way.  In terms of dark second installments in a trilogy, it’s not The Dark Knight or The Empire Strikes Back, but it is a film that, I think, deserves revisiting from older fans who brushed it off in their youth because it wasn’t as lighthearted as its companion films.  Surprisingly, the best part of the film on this most recent viewing wasn’t the infectious fun of Short Round (who remains a scene-stealer of the highest order and gets one of the best moments when he tells Indy, “You’re my best friend”) – it was the fact that Temple of Doom isn’t a creative failure.  It’s a much smarter film than it seems, and I’m surprising myself by how much I liked it.  I went in expecting to review it very much in the “Yes, but...” vein, but instead I’m coming away with a resounding thumbs-up.

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom is rated PG.  It’s probably the most intense of the four films, dealing with a human-sacrificing Thuggee cult who is fond of removing their victims’ hearts and then dropping them into a pit of lava.  There’s an aborted seduction scene in which “primitive sexual practices” are discussed, and Indy gets in one S-bomb.  Other scenes of violence – fistfights, shootings, stabbings, and being eaten by alligators – play out with either fake-looking or no blood.

Return of the Jedi (1983)

At the end of the Star Wars trilogy, it’s virtually impossible to top The Empire Strikes Back, which truly is a perfect movie.  But fortunately Return of the Jedi isn’t a fumble – think Godfather III without Sofia Coppola.  It’s a fitting conclusion to the Original Trilogy, though a few beats feel repeated from Star Wars.

The Empire has begun constructing a second Death Star, but before the Rebels can launch their attack Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) and Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher) must rescue their carbonite-frozen friend Han Solo (Harrison Ford) from the slimy clutches of the vile gangster Jabba the Hutt.  After that memorable first act, Luke must contend with the revelations about his father while all his Jedi training tells him he must face Darth Vader (voiced by James Earl Jones) one last time while his friends launch an assault on the Death Star’s shield generator on the forest moon of Endor.

I have a very vivid memory of the first time I watched Return of the Jedi – I was eating bubble gum ice cream (we had gone to Baskin Robbins between the Jabba and Endor scenes), and the lush greenery of the Endor sequence impressed me, since I had only seen Empire Strikes Back on a black and white television.  Now, I’m not that old, but I have a harder time looking objectively at Return of the Jedi than at the prequels, partially because of this childhood remembrance; I don’t have a problem, for example, with the cuddly teddy bear Ewoks (though I think that using Wookiees might have been more interesting), and the first act in Jabba’s palace is really more of an extended precredits sequence in the James Bond tradition.

But it all adds up to something really quite entertaining, even if it steps on the toes of Star Wars a bit with a retread of the Death Star trench run climax.  After the sturm und drang of Empire Strikes Back, Jedi feels refreshing without the whiplash of an abrupt course correction.  The Jabba sequence, more prologue than plot, really only serves to get Han Solo back into the story, but director Richard Marquand keeps it interesting by populating the scene with fascinating visuals and a fantastically confident performance by Hamill.

Hamill’s turn as Luke Skywalker, now a full-fledged Jedi Knight, makes me very excited for the as yet unnamed Episode VII, because by the time Jedi rolls around the core group of performers are obviously very comfortable in their roles; if Star Wars felt a little bumpy for the fresh-faced nature of the cast, the big three are their characters in this installment.  The Han/Leia relationship comes to fruition here, and Ford & Fisher play it very well, very naturally, with a nice reprise of the “I love you”/“I know” exchange. 

The stakes are upped by the appearance, finally, of Emperor Palpatine, portrayed with fine villainy by Ian McDiarmid.  For a role that’s mostly sedentary, McDiarmid exudes menace with every snarled vowel and malicious glint in his eye.  Furthermore, the Force-lightning trick works better here than in Attack of the Clones, because it’s the only weapon the decrepit Palpatine has beyond his words; it’s a fantastic surprise that the wizened old geezer can actually do real damage.  This new villain perhaps mitigates the overly adorable nature of the Ewoks, who manage to dismantle an Imperial garrison with sticks and stones; with Palpatine commanding the fleet from the air, the Empire continues to feel like a true threat.

But in spite of the compounded darkness in the film, Return of the Jedi is probably the most feel-good of the franchise.  Star Wars tastes good going down too, but the original film carries more of a sense of astonishment at innovation than comfort at the company of old friends.  Return of the Jedi feels like the band getting back together, with all the laughs and nostalgia that a fine epilogue should have.  For a series that begins as ill-advisedly as The Phantom Menace did, Return of the Jedi brings us back to where we ought to be – a definitive science-fiction epic for the ages.

Return of the Jedi is rated PG for “sci-fi action violence.”  More of the same from the last outings, really – lightsaber duels, a mechanized hand is severed, explosions and blaster fire, and one skimpy metal bikini.

Thanks for joining us today for “Star Wars Day”!  We’ll be back tomorrow with a review of The Amazing Spider-Man 2, and then again on Wednesday for the Double-Oh-Seventh of the month!

The Empire Strikes Back (1980)

If Star Wars is a perfect movie, it may seem hard to believe that The Empire Strikes Back is a more perfect movie.  The Empire Strikes Back follows religiously in its predecessor’s footsteps, though it turns the excellence up to eleven with a darker yet more human story that takes its characters to their most emotional moments.

Three years after the destruction of the Death Star, the Rebel Alliance’s hidden base on the ice world of Hoth is discovered by the Empire, and the Rebels flee after a spectacular battle in the snow.  Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) journeys to Dagobah to continue his training as a Jedi under the tutelage of the diminutive Yoda (Frank Oz), while Han Solo (Harrison Ford) and Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher) fight their mutual attraction and the pursuing Empire.  All three become pawns in a larger game controlled by Darth Vader (David Prowse & James Earl Jones), who wants revenge for the Empire and holds a dark secret about what really happened to Luke’s father...

The Empire Strikes Back amps up everything that Star Wars did correctly but augments the gee-whiz science-fiction angle with a more grounded sense of characterization.  The characters in Star Wars seem a lot like archetypes, which isn’t bad for a high mythic narrative, but The Empire Strikes Back really plays up the personalities of Luke, Leia, and Han (and, to a degree, Darth Vader).  It’s really the result of stronger writing; I’ve chastised George Lucas all along for creating relatively flat characters (cf. the Plinkett rule), but Leigh Brackett and Lawrence Kasdan’s screenplay feels much more three-dimensional and even more engaging.

Subsequently, the core cast members all rise to the occasion.  The will-they/won’t-they courtship between Leia and Han is positively electrifying, and Fisher & Ford nail the dynamic with a healthy dose of wry banter and lingering glances.  Even before we fully learn that the two are in a Benedict/Beatrice standoff, the chemistry between them tingles, and you’ll be pulling for them to end up together long before Han delivers his iconic last line (ad-libbed, to boot!).  As for Hamill, he’s given the unenviable task of acting opposite a puppet for much of his screen time, but his work onscreen is so compelling that you might forget Yoda is a glorified Muppet.  (One senses that Yoda’s introduction is what Lucas wanted out of Jar Jar Binks, but as per usual Empire offers a masterclass in how to do a movie right.)

I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest that The Empire Strikes Back is one of the principal forerunners of our current grim-n-gritty approach to genre narrative.  Without Empire’s focus on the darker side of conflict, both internal and external, I doubt we’d have The Dark Knight and its ilk.  I don’t want to take away from Christopher Nolan’s accomplishment – he really did kickstart the movement in comic book films – but there’s much in Empire that feels comparable to the Nolan level of respect for the source material.  Director Irvin Kershner regards the Star Wars franchise incredibly reverently, telling a story with tremendous sincerity that aims not just to entertain but to follow a strand of very human logic and emotion that just happens to have dueling lightsabers, asteroid fields, and little green gurus.

As in Revenge of the Sith, the third act of Empire is frankly astonishing.  (The key difference being, of course, that the rest of Empire is unproblematically dynamite, as well.)  Underlined all the while by a tour de force score by John Williams, which works beautifully even through the headphones of an iPod, all the film’s plotlines come to a boil on Cloud City, with Han and Leia trapped in Vader’s web.  Emotions are running high – love, betrayal, fear, resolve, Vader’s menace.  As Luke comes to the rescue, it’s impossible not to get caught up in the good-vs.-evil plot, even though we know the forces of good are horribly outnumbered.  The revelation of Vader’s master plan and his darkest secret are exceptionally memorable, very well-crafted by all hands on the creative deck.  It’s a moment that sweeps you up, 34 years later, making you feel as excited as the first time you heard the words, “No, I am your father.”  And even having the prequels tell you that already, even after it’s been homage’d very nearly to death, Jones’s delivery is still powerful enough to send a chill through you.

The film ends in a very grim place, though as the credits roll there’s a breathtaking feeling of having been taken on a whirlwind journey through a galaxy of exciting possibilities, guided by an able pilot in the form of – no, not Han Solo, not even George Lucas – director Irvin Kershner and his able copilots Brackett and Kasdan.  The Empire Strikes Back was long my favorite movie of all time (up until, at least, I finally saw Casablanca), and it’s still Top Ten material for me, standing solidly in the ranks of the perfect movies.

If nothing else, it’s fine context for the strangest thing that Lando Calrissian (Billy Dee Williams) has ever done.

The Empire Strikes Back is rated PG for “sci-fi action/violence.”  A few lightsaber duels transpire, and two result in dismemberment.  Darth Vader force-chokes a few minions to death, and a character is frozen in carbonite amid fears that he might not survive.  Other laser blasts and explosions occur, as do a few kisses.

We’ll be back in two hours for the final installment of this review series, a look at Return of the Jedi!

Star Wars (1977)

Even if you strip away all the bells and whistles of the myriad “Special Edition” rereleases, at the core of Star Wars (now known also as Episode IV – A New Hope) is what I’m ready to label a “perfect movie,” a deft example of genre-(re)defining science fiction that never hits a sour note as it tells a relatively simple story with graceful aplomb.

Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) is a farmboy with dreams of space travel when the Rebellion against the malevolent Empire arrives on his doorstep in the form of two droids – R2-D2 and C-3PO – carrying data that could spell the end of the Empire’s latest technological terror, the Death Star.  Luke and his new mentor Ben Kenobi (Alec Guinness) charter the Millennium Falcon, captained by roguish Han Solo (Harrison Ford) and his Wookiee copilot Chewbacca, though their flight is derailed by an effort to rescue Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher) from the very embodiment of evil, Darth Vader (movements by David Prowse, voice by James Earl Jones).

After all the disappointment we’ve endured over the last few hours’ worth of reviews, it’s amazingly easy to fall back in love with the franchise from the very opening shot of two starships in combat – which brilliantly tells us everything we need to know without a single word of dialogue:  an enormous Star Destroyer bearing down on the miniscule and outgunned fleeing Rebel ship.

I do want to judge the Original Trilogy on its own merits and not quite in comparison to its prequel successors, but Star Wars does such a deft job of storytelling that it’s a wonder this is the same George Lucas who would later inflict Jar Jar Binks and ultimately meaningless political posturing upon us.  Star Wars is elegant in its simplicity – there are good guys and there are bad guys, and any special effects in the film are entirely at the service of the plot (rather than the other way around).

In fact, even before Lucas went in and revised the films with all his computer trickery (some of which is actually an improvement, especially the scene between Jabba and Han, which was absent from the initial theatrical release), Star Wars has aged spectacularly well.  Though I’ve seen the movie umpteen times by now, this most recent rewatch still captured all the movie magic for me, and it’s probably the most fun I’ve had with a movie since Captain America: The Winter Soldier.  There’s action, adventure, humor, romance (even if it’s uncomfortable knowing that Luke and Leia are related), a remarkably tight screenplay, and a slew of first-rate performances – the constellation required for a perfect movie.  And let’s not forget the John Williams score, the (mostly) unsung hero of the series, which swoops and soars when it needs to but pulls out the heavy brass lines when villainy is afoot.

If the film feels in any way familiar, remember that Star Wars distilled preexisting myth narratives and simultaneously reinvented them; it’s impossible to imagine a film in the mythic realm that hasn’t been influenced by this classic tale.  Even without the prequels, the introduction of Darth Vader, gliding over the bodies of fallen Rebel soldiers, is instantly iconic, and Jones’s vocal performance is genuinely chilling.  The rest of the cast, too, are doing pitch-perfect character work – Hamill naïve but determined, Ford charismatic yet cocky, Fisher resolute and courageous, and Sir Alec Guinness as the scene-stealer among them all, wise and pragmatic.  Each of these roles is legendary, but the addition of all of them together in a tightly-plotted and intensely focused screenplay results in... well, how many ways can I say “perfect movie”?

Science fiction at an undeniable apex, Star Wars proves a worthy inauguration to a long-lasting franchise, even nearly forty years after the fact.  Take it on its own or as the first/fourth chapter in a longer narrative; Star Wars is a perfect film.

Star Wars is rated PG for “sci-fi violence and brief mild language.”  A few folks get blasted by laser fire and explosions (both in person and in spaceships); one is choked to death, and another is briefly choked by The Force.  A planet and a space station explode, killing all aboard.  The expletives are of the “damn” and “hell” variety.

We’ll be back in two hours with (Star Wars: Episode V –) The Empire Strikes Back!