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. 

Atomic Blonde (2017)

Between Atomic Blonde and Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, I’m really digging the “retro spy” genre – and I’m including throwback spy flicks like Kingsman. There’s something very satisfying about the technological limits placed on the story, which must proceed without the advantages of cell phones and Wi-Fi; usually that careful crafting leads to a more cerebral script – something I always appreciate – and ends up having a trickle-down effect on the rest of the creative process. Going into the theater, I hadn’t known that Atomic Blonde was a period piece, nor had I realized quite how much I’d like the film – both of which were welcome surprises.

It’s 1989. The Berlin Wall is about to come down, and MI6 sends Lorraine Broughton (Charlize Theron) behind the Iron Curtain to find a list of operatives stolen from a dead agent. Berlin station chief Percival (James McAvoy) helps her into East Berlin and enlists her help with East German defector Spyglass (Eddie Marsan), who’s stolen the list. While Lorraine looks for the truth amid a dalliance with French operative Delphine Lasalle (Sofia Boutella), she begins to wonder who she can trust.

I was exhausted after Atomic Blonde – not because the movie was overlong or boring to the point that my hindquarters went numb, but because I’d had to keep up with the film’s sneaky storytelling while enduring the intense and enervating action sequences. Atomic Blonde is not a film that goes for easy moments; none of it looks effortless, and the audience has to work just as hard as Lorraine to discover the identity of Satchel, a traitor in the ranks of MI6. But at least we have the good fortune not to get in the middle of those fight scenes, because they’re incredibly vicious.

Director David Leitch has done a fair job of staging his action scenes like single takes; there’s some digital trickery, to be sure, but in the moment it looks as though these long fights are all done in a straight cinematic line. We’ve got two long and arresting fights staged in apartment buildings – one in the living room, one on the stairs – that most other directors might have done in forty-cuts-per-second shakycam, but Leitch’s patient attention to the intensity of the fights allows them to exhaust the moviegoer and the characters, whose breathy pauses and stumbles make the combat even more real. Brownie points are due to the storytellers who devised Lorraine’s creative uses of an extension cord, a record player, and a doorframe.

In the interminable wait for Bond 25 and the ever-present question of whether Daniel Craig will suit up once or twice more, Charlize Theron proves herself a capable “Lady Bond,” although that does a disservice to Lorraine Broughton. There are certain similarities – their capabilities in close combat, their equal dexterity in the art of seduction – but Lorraine almost feels more of a piece with Bryan Mills in Taken, possessed of a “certain set of skills” that make her unstoppable, even as the odds against her increase. She’s more vulnerable than Mills, though, emotionally and physically; her stake in this fight is personal, and her fling with Delphine seems more genuine than any Bond girl’s. Moreover, those moments where she picks herself off the floor and continues to fight, even as she’s bruised and short of breath, give the character a smartly-crafted strength.

The soundtrack to the film is a smashing mix tape of 80s tracks, and the cinematography is as unforgivingly fluorescent as I imagine the 1980s would have been. It all adds up to a nicely unified experience, where the stark white lights of an interrogation room echo the neon pipes of a Berlin hotel room. Amid it all, there is the brainy sense of needing to keep up and the fervent hope that, as the credits roll, this won’t be the last time we see Lorraine Broughton. I’m ready to enroll her in the same camp as Wonder Woman, welcome alternatives to the same-old/same-old dudes who have run these genres for fifty years. Roll on the new, but please give me a moment to catch my breath.

Atomic Blonde is rated R for “sequences of strong violence, language throughout, and some sexuality/nudity.” Directed by David Leitch. Written by Kurt Johnstad. Based on the graphic novel The Coldest City by Antony Johnston and Sam Hart. Starring Charlize Theron, James McAvoy, Sofia Boutella, Eddie Marsan, John Goodman, and Toby Jones.