Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny

 

I was entertained by James Mangold's assured direction of Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, which felt a tad more like "fan service" than credible conclusion to a truly venerable franchise.

And, as much as I was enchanted by Phoebe Waller-Bridge's roguish Helena and Mads Mikkelsen's sneering Nazi, I was underwhelmed and occasionally wearied by the film's title character (played, of course, by Harrison Ford), who, despite a pretty energetic, age-altered opening sequence set at the end of World War II lent the movie a forlorn creakiness that was, well, sad.

In this send off, the archaeologist / adventurer (Ford) joins forces, reluctantly, with his god-daughter (Waller-Bridge), whom he has not seen since the death of her father and Jones' close university associate, Basil Shaw, played by Toby Jones. Shaw was driven nearly mad by his obsession with a mystical timepiece created by Archimedes in the 3rd century BCE, which he believed if it were whole would have time-traveling properties.

Equipped with Shaw's notes and a lead, Jones and Helena set off to find the dial's missing piece, and as is usual for this series, the quest takes them and Helena's youthful partner-in-crime Teddy (Ethann Isidore) across the globe, recruiting the help of some of Indy's old friends, as the trio stays two steps ahead of nefarious interested parties led by Mikkelsen's Dr. Voller.

The Indiana Jones's franchise, which has belonged to Steven Spielberg and George Lucas since 1981, has been a predictable and bankable commodity that has turned the chase -- foot, vehicular, ocean vessel, aircraft -- into high art unburdened by plausibility or narrative coherence -- all for the sake of "gee-whiz."

Dial of Destiny pulls out all the stops in this regard but so much so that the set pieces felt bloated and tedious, to me -- porterhouse when sirloin would have been fine.

Still, fans will likely devour every ounce of it.