Disclaimer One: Spoilers, rants, and probably (most certainly) expletives about Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny ahead.
After months of hearing about the latest (and hopefully last) iteration of the whip and fedora-wielding teacher, we’re finally here. Sadly, Indiana Jones & the Dial of Destiny is a long convoluted movie with a mouthful of a title. Forward, we’ll simply address it as Dial of Destiny ’cause D&D is already taken.
Disclaimer Two: I watched this movie in Spanish while undercover in an undisclosed, zero-English location. My cover was never blown because only three other people were watching it with me. So never fear, your reviewer is back home and the mission accomplished within budget.
REHASH
Despite what Youtubers, critics, and some loud aunts on Twitter have been screaming since Cannes, this movie ain’t that horrible. Dial of Destiny opens with our boy Indiana (Harrison Ford) doing Jones things. Already captured by the boogie men of WW2, he’s on a moving train toward an unknown destination. A made-up friend, concocted specially for this film, comes allegedly to his rescue. Now, the imaginary friend is not only ill-equipped but also way over his head in scope and magnitude to accomplish this; the equivalent of asking your cat to help you bring in the groceries from the car. That is the film telling you your disbelief more than suspended needs to be expelled— forbidden to return.
NEVER MIND THE DE-AGING, DIAL OF DESTINY IS MIRED IN PLOT CONTRIVANCES ONLY CREATED TO TAKE YOU TO POINT X WITHOUT BOTHERING TO HAVE EVEN POINT A OR CRAFT A BELIEVABLE ROUTE TO MAKE THE VOYAGE REMOTELY INTERESTING.
By the grace of the gods (the unimaginative writers), Indy un-captures himself, rescues his hitherto unknown friend, and somehow blows up the train. All this, while discovering and securing the main McGuffin of the movie. Twenty-one minutes of what you could call almost fulfilling action. When Indy asks made-up friend why he didn’t wait in the forest his answer is so annoying I could have smacked him. “What kind of man stays hidden while his friend is in danger?” Fukko, you didn’t do anything! You were only there to put the McGuffin in the movie! Actually, he merely exists to bring stuff to the movie. And by stuff I mean his daughter Helena Shaw (Phoebe Waller-Bridge).
Twenty-some years later, we’re celebrating the moon landing. Whatever city Indy lives in is getting ready for a parade to commemorate the occasion. Subliminal but also forced messages hit us as our protagonist awakes to his neighbor embracing the festive atmosphere— loudly. By now, if you haven’t seen the memes of Curmudgeon Indy count yourself lucky. The whole scene is crafted to make you feel bad; from an octogenarian in his underwear interrupting the youngsters’ party to a fully clothed Indy pouring alcohol in his coffee. All I felt was disgust and annoyance. Who disturbs other people’s party at 8:00 a.m.?
DIAL OF DESTINY’S PITY PARTY CONTINUES WITH DOCTOR JONES IN HIS TEACHING ITERATION. HERE’S WHERE YOU REALIZE WHOEVER WROTE THIS MESSY SCRIPT SLEPT DURING THE “SETTING YOUR SCENE” CLASS.
We have fifty students in the room, some falling asleep and others daydreaming— still present if not fully engaged. As much as they try to make it like Indy’s lecture is boring, they even pan out the window to the preparations for the parade. These students came to class after partying all night. None would have shown up if they didn’t care a bit. Also, a history class about some Roman invasion that begins with how to recognize pottery details? A smarter writer would have put only four students there and Indy stubbornly teaching the whole class anyway.
Now, all that rookie writing is to bring the goddaughter and some nonsensical foreshadowing into the movie. From the back, Helena answers questions the irresponsive students fail to address. Perhaps it was the Spanish dub, but she doesn’t sound condescending here, only knowledgeable. Like someone wanting to impress their teacher. Bless the Spanish dubbers’ hearts. The class is unceremoniously interrupted with more “setting up the parade” nonsense, and Indy goes to his retirement party. I call shenanigans. Do people really work their shift and then go to their farewell bash? Or is it just another vignette to smack us over the head with how pathetic Indiana’s current life is?
ONCE AGAIN DIAL OF DESTINY SPEWS ITS MIXED MESSAGE SINCE THOSE AT THE PARTY SEEM SINCERE IN THEIR WELL-WISHES. I HONESTLY DON’T GET WHAT THE MOVIE IS TRYING TO CONVEY SO FAR.
Helena follows Indy to a bar to reveal her identity. They exchange pleasantries, and we hard cut to a hotel hallway— a man pushes room service. The scene is an awkward introduction to the movie’s villain, Herr Whateverthefukken his name is (Mads Mikkelsen), and his cronies. My boy Mads chews up any scene he’s in, but this shite is just pure garbage. Yeah, he’s from the Prologue Train, but now is when we’re shown his true evil. He even belittles the hotel employee who brought his food after asking if he fought in the war. The man resumes his war efforts in a sentence. Herr TrashKkKan wonders if he’s enjoying that victory, but the guy ignores the bait.
The apparent novice scriptwriters are determined to make Mikkelsen the ultimate villain; thus, they whip up this jewel for him to deliver, “You didn’t win the war. Hitler lost it.” The fookity fukk does that mean? I’m positive them greenies were hi-fiving and patting each other’s backs after one of them spouted that refuse.
It’s been almost ten minutes without an action scene so let’s jump into that burning wagon. The McGuffin, I mean, the Clock of Contrivances ain’t putting itself together, right? Godfather and child go back to Indy’s college to retrieve the piece the imaginary friend gave him long ago to destroy. Of course, it’s at grabbing distance; we’ve been gearing for that parade chase touted by the trailers. That can’t happen with thingamabob buried in Timbuktu, can it?
WE HAVE THREE WOMEN WITH SPEAKING PARTS IN DIAL OF DESTINY: THE GODDAUGHTER, A CIA AGENT, AND THE EX-WIFE. THEIR TRUE DESCRIPTIONS ARE: ONE SELF-INSERT, ONE DIVERSE HIRE, AND ONE LEGACY CHARACTER.
The CIA agent looks more like a Bond Girl than a government employee. I mean, she’s hot as hell, but the costume department put her more in Soul Train territory than daily “undercover nothing to see here.” Now, I’m 86.73% sure this character’s gender and race background had an agenda. Mikkelsen’s main goon has not only killed several people for no real reason but lost Helena on the rooftops. So she berates him, ending with “blanquito de gatillo alegre.” That roughly translates to trigger-happy whitey. She dies an hour into the movie without being anything but an exotic exposition prop, and (why the fukk not?) a strong female character commenting on the evil white men’s behavior because current Hollywood. Yay!
Had this film come out six years ago, every instance of diversity throughout the movie wouldn’t have felt like pandering. Today, we don’t know if any minority involved in a fictional situation fits the story or is just another checkpoint to make some kind of “statement.”
Regardless of that, in typical explorer adventure fashion, Indy uncaptures himself, steals a horse, and fukks the parade. He also gallops through the subway, punches randos and ends up a fugitive, blamed for Mikkelsen’s goon murder spree.
DADDY HARRISON FORD PUTTING THE “JONES” IN COJONES ONE MORE TIME, BABE! BUT THAT’S EXACTLY THE PROBLEM WITH DIAL OF DESTINY— IT TEETERS BETWEEN GRUMPY OLD MAN AND “I’M 80 YEARS YOUNG, SUCK IT.” DISTRACTING CANNOT BEGIN TO DESCRIBE THIS STUPID FLUCTUATION.
Did I mention the force-fed parade is possible because Herr Fukkenface created the technology that took America to the moon? Yeah. According to this masterpiece that milestone was thanks to a former Nazi; who, by the way, wants to go back in time and give the Third Reich a fighting chance. Woo-hoo! What the fook is subtlety?
REIMAGINING
By the magic of lazy writing, Indiana Jones boards a plane to Tangiers. Forget he’s wanted for murder and his face is plastered in every TV screen. Remember that shit we told you to expel at the beginning of the movie? Don’t you dare try to bring it back now. The movie needs a colorful location, so we’re going after Helena, who ran off with the Instrument of Instigation. I mean, Octogejones is doing this to prove his innocence, not just because he’s a puppet of the plot.
More memberberries are thrown into the Caldron of Contrivances with a shady establishment and an underage sidekick. We still have eighty minutes to go, but never worry— another action scene is coming right up. Helena is auctioning her half of the McGuffin of Miracles because she owes very bad people money; the dotting daughter trying to finish daddy’s life quest was a charade. Indy disrupts the proceedings, followed closely by the bad guys, and shenanigans ensue. Feats of strength, defiance of gravity, plot armor, and wacky races are summoned. Surprisingly, neither Keanu Reeves, Vin Diesel, nor Chris Hemsworth cameoed in this thing we’ve seen a thousand times already.
I WAS ALMOST IMPRESSED BY DIAL OF DESTINY BECAUSE AFTER REPEATING EVERY PLOT BEAT OFF BETTER INDIANA JONES INSTALMENTS THEY DIDN’T USE THE CARTOON MAP WITH A CUTOUT OF AN AIRPLANE TO MOVE US FROM LOCATION TO LOCATION.
Here, I’m going to channel my inner Bella Swan to tell you my feelings at that point in time. “About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Helena was a higher-up self-insert. Second, there was a part of her that wanted to be a villain— but was just a piece of shit. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably bored by this fukken movie so far.”
Another bout of lazy writing wins the day in Tangiers, and we go to the Aegean Sea. There we meet Antonio Banderas as another old friend brewed specially for this film. So many imaginary friends. Beware, all imaginary friends were harmed in this film and released into the ether once their function was completed.
Banderas, Indy, Crapdaughter, and a hunky sailor dive to find another piece of the Fuckial of Fookery. The bad guys arrive, more rehashing, sorry re-imagining happens, and again Octogejones escapes with limb and life intact. There’s a boatful of dead sailors in his wake, but we got what we needed. And those were mere NPCs, so no one cares.
DIAL OF DESTINY MAKES A HALF-ASSED ATTEMPT TO IMPLY WE SHOULD BE SAD AFTER BANDERAS’S DEMISE. WE KNOW TONY IS MIGHTY CHARISMATIC, BUT HE WAS THERE FOR FIVE MINUTES. WE INTERACTED MORE WITH THE CIA GIRL BOSS, AND SHE’S ALREADY FORGOTTEN.
Cue some on-the-fly decoding and puzzle solving, and fold me sideways and stuff me hard! They used the freaking cartoon map! Jesus Adolph Christ! Mind you, they’re acting like their location in the Aegean Sea and Sicily are next door. That shit ain’t no ride from New York to Staten Island. Whatever— we are off to Archimedes’ tomb. Thirty more minutes to go, people. We can do this!
Our Plot Puppets find themselves in the original Syracuse. The bad guys are close on their heels because logic did not get an invitation to this party. Said bad guys capture underage sidekick, but Indy tells Helena not to worry because they won’t hurt him. Bish, we’ve seen these people murder folks just for looking at them the wrong way. Oh— right, plot armor. Sorry, one of the three other guys in the theater talking on his phone distracted me.
More DaVinci Code, National Treasure, and Uncharted shenanigans, and we arrive at the tomb. It mysteriously looks like a bootlegged version of the Arc of the Covenant. I guess memberberries gotta memberberry. The other half of the Come On Let’s Finish this Shit of Conveniences is finally at hand. But, gasp! The horror! Those bad men intent on world domination were just a minute behind our protagonists.
Grampa badassery explodes, but Indiana gets shot because his plot armor is expiring; a new Supreme needs to emerge. Movie gotta movie, though. Instead of killing Jones on the spot, Herr ReKlaimenMytaim takes him with them to witness his triumph. Oh. Fuck. Off.
DIAL OF DESTINY PROCEEDS TO DO THAT THING WHERE THEY FORCE-REDEEM AN OBNOXIOUS FEMALE CHARACTER; WITH A SINGLE, SOLITARY, SEMI-DECENT DEED TURNING THEM INTO HEROINES REGARDLESS OF PREVIOUS FUKKERI. YOU KNOW THE ONE. SO CRAPDAUGHTER GOES TO RESCUE GODFATHER.
We never learn how or why Mikkelsen assumes the Clanker of Clownery can take him to any point in time. A new bout of puzzle-solving skills begets coordinates to enter a temporal riff to bend over history. Indi realizes Herr Smartenfukken didn’t take into consideration continental displacement or some other nonsense just to mean the numbers are off. Too late. The collision course toward a massive hole about to swallow them into the past cannot be changed.
REMORSE
The McGuffin of Mysteries is actually a giant fukk-U. It does the expected time travel, but it only goes to a very specific location/time: The Siege of Syracuse. Dun Dun Dun.
Farted into an ongoing naval battle, the Nazi wannabes are out of their depth. You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes. History repeats itself with other white people defeating the Nazi, and we’re done with them.
Keep in mind the questionable redemption mechanism for Helena is still grinding; thus, against Indy’s specific desire to remain there and die, she knocks him out. Without his consent, she decides to take him back to his “crappy” life. They explain this decision with a throwaway line about Indy messing up the timeline if he stayed. This doesn’t work because the movie clearly established Prisoner of Azkaban (2004) time travel mechanics; whatever you change in the past becomes part of the timeline because it already happened. And the ex-wife cameos at the end to cramp more memberberries and finish Helena’s forced redemption arc.
DIAL OF DESTINY GETS A PARTICIPATION TROPHY JUST BECAUSE IT SHOWED UP. IT WAS JUST THERE, RUNNING AROUND KICKING THE MCGUFFIN FROM SET TO SET UNTIL ARCHIMEDES CAME AND GRABBED IT. IT ACCOMPLISHED NOTHING. NOT A THING CHANGED, EVOLVED, OR MOVED FORWARD.
So have we come to a point where if something isn’t outright crap we’re happy with it? Have we truly been conditioned to accept okay or alright as the best we can expect? I mean, for a society hell-bent on disregarding binary systems we’re fully entrenched in the EPIC/AWFUL dichotomy. You must either love or hate something; there’s no in-between. And remember to battle (harass and bully on social media) those who aren’t on your team.
Yeah, an alright movie is serviceable, but don’t we deserve excellence? If our expectations have become so fukken low the bare minimum feels like a win, I’m scared to think about the future of entertainment.
The saddest part of this unnecessary installment is how forgettable it is. Null, nada, niet is fresh or interesting about it. And no one cares if Phoebe Whats-Herface borrows the whip and fedora for a TV show; very few we’ll waste time on it.
This was simply another attempt of House of Mouse to bamboozle us using a boy’s name to give us a girl. Screw me once (Marvel), shame on you; screw me twice (Star Wars), shame on me. Try to screw me thrice, you gonna lose money, byotch. And losing money they are. The rodent needs to understand we ain’t falling for the “don’t worry, it tastes like pineapple” pitch anymore.
I’m giving Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny 6 out of 10. That cinema was probably showing an uncertified copy, and it only cost me 3.00 dollars to get in. Nothing but a couple of hours lost.
Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny is currently in theaters.
