Kick-Ass

Kick-Ass
Directed by: Matthew Vaughn
Rated R
117 Minutes

Review by Giraldo Barraza



Kick-Ass carries itself as a superhero film we’ve not seen before, but the truth is many of the elements of this film are not new. Superheroes in a real-world setting? Watchmen did that last year; as did The Dark Knight the year before. And I also think NBC still has a show about that same subject that no one watches anymore. Instead, Kick-Ass is a crazy hybrid. It’s equally influenced by Marvel comics and by Kill Bill. Nerdy hero who overcomes awkwardness to become a man? Check. Ultra-stylized violence? Check. But how about not taking itself too seriously? A ha! That may well be the refreshing concept here, and that’s why Kick-Ass as a whole is much greater than the sum of its clichéd parts. It aims to be plausible, but it still takes place in a world of comic and comedic fantasy. I mean, this is a realm where Nerdy Guy gets stabbed, hit by a car and doesn’t die. Where Nicholas Cage is cool again. 11 year-old girls move like killer ninjas, and where teens still use MySpace. I’ll admit, this movie isn’t for everyone. Yes, it’s profane and violent, but it’s abrasive because it reflects the new YouTube culture. If nothing goes viral like violence, then Kick-Ass is surely infectious. It has style and an engine that can roar. At times it fires on all cylinders, and the action hits you like a bullet in the chest. If that’s your cup of tea (or can of Red Bull), then strap in and get ready for a hell of a ride.

The premise IS crazy, but follows your typical comic book mythos. Dave (Aaron Johnson) is a nerdy kid who looks like a lost sibling of Tobey Maguire or Jake Gyllenhaal. He’s a wallflower; and if not a loser, at least is generally invisible. The high school he hails from feels like the one from Superbad. I often was hoping Michael Cera or Jonah Hill would turn the corner. Instead, we literally see McLovin. Yes, I know it’s Christopher Mintz-Plasse, but he’s basically playing the same role from Superbad with a touch of James Franco from Spider-Man (by that, I mean he’s wealthy, not handsome).

The movie makes it clear Dave has no motive to become a hero, but he does so anyway. It’s an idea that is suicide-level crazy. He becomes a self-costumed hero, dresses like a can of Sprite, and proceeds to get the tar beat out of him again and again. Underlined by this repetitiveness, one comes to realize that the movie’s biggest weakness is this title character. He seems too much of a parody to take seriously. Presented as a Peter Parker clone with Harry Potter glasses, I could never get behind him during his adventures. He’s too naïve, too nerdy, too inaccessible to the audience that after a while I didn’t really care if he lived, died or got the girl. Instead, I was concerned about the company he eventually keeps. Those characters had spunk, interesting pasts, and most important for a costumed hero… motive.

A dynamic duo of fellow vigilantes enter the picture, but unlike Batman and Robin they take no prisoners. Big Daddy (Nicholas Cage) and Hit-Girl (Chloe Moretz) are avengers cut from a darker cloth, and every time they vanish into the night they leave you wanting more. Hit-Girl in particular steals the show. She’s the nitro in this batmobile of a film. With her bright concord outfit, violet hair and butterfly knives, she’s like Robin mixed with a Strawberry Shortcake character raised watching Tarantino instead of Sesame Street. Armed to the teeth with a vocabulary that would make Scorsese blush, you can really feel the movie kick into a higher gear when she’s on the screen. And when she cuts loose a wave of violence like a killer tornado, the pedal hits the metal and plasters a huge Joker-sized grin your face.

The cornucopia of chaos needs a steady hand to keep it from flying off the rails, but director Matthew Vaughn does a fine job of juggling humor, terror, action, and heart. More importantly, he keeps the screenplay itself in check. A few scenes are just played strictly for shock value, and I got the sense that some elements of the movie were making a conscious attempt to be “edgy,” Those moments draw too much attention to themselves and come close to pulling the audience out of the mirth of mayhem. Luckily, even these moments move at a breakneck pace and quickly get swept away by a tidal wave of adrenaline; keeping the popcorn-level fun at high tide.

Sometimes it’s a fine line between being cool and being stupid, and Kick-Ass does some fine balancing on such a ridiculous narrative. Like a tightrope walker it comes close to losing balance, but luckily the “I don’t give a f#$%” attitude carries the film. That alone is worthy of merit, but the true miracle here is that for all its adult themes and humor, I could not detect an ounce of cynicism in the film. That sincerity keeps the film honest, and more importantly keeps it fun despite the buckets of blood.

The film knows what it’s doing, and turns out to be crazy like a fox for being self-aware. Profane yet humane, Kick-Ass will surely arouse controversy. Despite the blood and bullets and bombastic soundtrack, it is far from reprehensible or repulsive. Like a young kid playing with matches and fireworks, it’s simply pure naughty fun. It may not be entirely kick ass, but it’s pure escapism and entertaining as hell. So is it crazy to be a superhero in real life? Yep. Is it crazy to love this fun but ultra-violent movie? Most likely. But it’s a good crazy. Crazy like the beats of a Gnarls Barkley song. And damn if it ain’t a catchy tune. “Maybe I’m crazy, maybe you’re crazy. Maybe we’re crazy. Probably.” Just go with it. Surrender to the orchestra of mayhem and dance with the devil in the pale moonlight.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Directed by: David Yates
Rated PG
153 Minutes

Review by Giraldo Barraza



It’s amazing what a little confidence can do. And when confidence is bountiful, the results can truly be magical. Such are the lessons in the most recent year at Hogwarts school. In Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, our intrepid wizard students face dangers few can foresee, and are also confounded by the most unpredictable (and hormonal) of spells, love. The latest installment reminds the audience that few things can be more fearful than the very experience of adolescence. We’ve witnessed these kids grow from plucky youth to moody teens, and the payoffs arrive in spades in this film. The atmosphere, direction, and uniformly solid performances make for the most satisfying chapter yet. In fact, the confidence both in front of and behind the camera make Half-Blood Prince the most faithful adaptation yet of J.K. Rowling’s magnum opus of wizardry and maturity.

The single most striking component of the film is the confidence of director David Yates. Forced in many ways to pull a rabbit out of a hat in adapting Order of the Phoenix by making cinematic mountains out of a literary molehill, Yates clearly feels much more comfortable this time around. In many ways, he goes with the flow of a much stronger story, and juggles more deftly than last time. The film feels less frantic and more natural, particularly for the actors involved. The secret, Yates has found, is that adapting a literary work isn’t about following the text verbatim or punching up a film with tedious action scenes. The genius is in following the spirit of the work. Earlier this year, Watchmen captivated many with its slavish devotion to the book’s imagery that inspired it, but also bored many due to the same relentless devotion to the dialogue and plot structure. The difference in Yates’s direction between the fifth and sixth film is like night and day. With Phoenix, he was trying to please too many. Here, there is a confidence to just tell the story and trust the actors.

After two previous films that have frankly been a bit clunky in execution, Half-Blood Prince has once again given the characters a chance to breathe. Since this film doesn’t blatantly try to be an action movie, the adults are given ripe opportunity to play into the drama of the events surrounding them all. After being mostly whimsical in the past few films, Michael Gambon as Dumbledore is fleshed out and captivating to watch. A ragged sadness is worn like a yoke, and he dutifully yet regrettably sows the seeds for young Harry Potter that may well lead to the young wizard’s triumph and destruction.

Supporting characters and fellow teachers are also given moments to spread their robes and flourish. Jim Broadbent plays a new potions teacher with an arrogant tone and a tortured past, stealing nearly every scene he appears in. Maggie Smith’s somber eyes and gaunt features allow her to express the gravity of a world under siege; underlining the responsibility of our young heroes with the rapid loss of innocence they endure. And finally, Alan Rickman as Severus Snape comes to the forefront. Questions about his ultimate role in Potter’s tale are dealt with, and yet raise more pressing inquiries that can only be revealed in the final chapter. Snape’s presence in this film is itself an intoxicating elixir, yet even at the film’s conclusion we crave more.

The young actors also are given the director’s trust and the screenplay’s opportunity to shine. Both Daniel Radcliffe’s Harry Potter and Rupert Grint’s Ron Weasley have long since grown comfortable in their roles, but a revelation here is the newfound depth in Emma Watson’s portrayal of Hermione Granger. This gifted young witch is absolutely befuddled by her growing feelings, and one can feel her pain, frustration and infatuation in the performance. Perhaps even more striking is Tom Felton as the incorrigible Draco Malfoy. Previously viewed as merely “that nasty blonde kid,” here we see hints of the vulnerability beneath the surface. Felton’s Malfoy in this film is eye opening. In fact, with the exception of Jesse Cave, as the lovestruck Lavender Brown (who’s acting tapdances on the landmine of campiness), all of the young actors are near perfect. Throughout the film, one can practically smell the pheromones in the air, and not even these magical teens are immune to the mixed bags of emotion involved.

Visually, the film’s color palette is striking. The entire film is lavish and painted in broad strokes of despair; even the most joyful of sequences (including the glorious return of quidditch) are saturated with a tint of melancholy. Hints of grays and greens dab the images we see, reflecting the decay of a once vibrant world of magic. In many ways, it’s the antithesis of Chamber of Secrets. They are structurally similar, but thematically Half-Blood Prince is miles more mature because of the moral ambiguities involved.

As a narrative, the film hits all the right notes. It moves briskly for a 153 minute long movie, and is very accessible despite its darker tone. The film itself casts spells on the viewer, making one appreciate all the laughs, scares, and especially the discomfort of the teenage years. It’s fun for young audiences and rewarding for older ones. In fact, like the novel itself, the film’s greatest gift is to older audiences. It makes us recognize the frustration of youthful indiscretion and miss our own at the same time.

Expertly mixed together like a fine potion, Half-Blood Prince is a royal pedigree of entertainment. The climax builds tension beautifully, and the conclusion is the most satisfying yet. Our heroes (or what's left of them) are left with a sense of excitement, remorse, and finally a true end to the innocence of youth. In spite of this sadness, the audience is eager to complete the journey with young Potter. Ahead lies the road to resolution paved in regret; an uncertain path with a certain goal. We find Harry has the resolve to complete a personal sense of duty. After contending with the awkwardness and insecurities of adolescence he has accepted his life and found direction during these trying times in school. Confidence is key. That’s a elusive lesson even us older muggles can struggle to find long after we leave our own school grounds.

The Happening

The Happening
Directed by: M. Night Shyamalan
Rated R
91 Minutes

Review by Giraldo Barraza




What happened to M. Night Shyamalan? I recall a time nine years ago when he was being hailed as the next Spielberg. The Sixth Sense was a Best Picture nominee, if you don't recall. He followed that up with Unbreakable, a highly underrated film about superhero mythology (long before people lauded the television show "Heroes" for the same concept). Since then, it's been a long, uninspiring slide downhill. The buzz on his career used to be lightyears ahead of any other young directing talent. Now, his motto should read: "to mediocrity and beyond!" After the lackluster Lady in the Water, it appears interest in Shyamalan began to wane. Two years later, he comes back with The Happening, and it splashes down with all the ceremony and subtlety of a trip to the restroom. I'm talking about good ol' number 2, and it's wise to just quickly flush this turd and move on. It's bad. Boring bad, uneventful bad. Not even "make fun of it" bad. It's almost too easy to say, but it's the truth. In this film, there's nothing happening.

This is the most bland piece of film I've had the displeasure of viewing in years. It's too unoriginal to be a Shyamalan movie. It doesn't look like one. It doesn't really even feel like one, and not just because this film lacks that "twist ending" that unfortunately has become a trademark of his. Everything is flat and lacking in flavor. Sitting through this is like eating a big stale bag of stale Cheetos. The normal ones, not the curly ones (you know, because there's no twist). You crush and crush and it's miserable. You really want to enjoy it, because it's still Cheetos, but it's insufferably unappealing.

The Happening has the most uninteresting visual style in recent memory. Cinematographer Tak Fujimoto, who has worked with Shyamalan twice before, is more than capable of making beautiful imagery. But here the drab neutral tones and visuals are as boring as the action on screen. At least they match. When the best images of a film are shots of a mood ring, you know you're in trouble. Yet it appears no one happened to tell either the cinematographer or the director.

Technically, the only thing of merit is the haunting score by James Newton Howard. It really is a great musical companion, and stands out in sharp contrast to the inactivity. In fact, I wish The Happening would have been released as a silent movie with only the score to drive the narrative. Not only would that have been daring to try, it would've spared us some truly horrendous dialogue.

The strongest human element in this film is provided by Mark Wahlberg, and this is still one of his worst performances since he was rapping with The Funky Bunch. Heck, his old Calvin Klein ads had more substance. For all his efforts in this film, Wahlberg is not believable as an earnest character here. He only serves to explain the scientific method in trying to figure out cataclysmic events, but as the main character he should be much more relatable. His wife, played by the normally charming Zooey Deschanel, is an inconsistent and annoying character. I'm not sure what happened during the filming, but her role changes wildly from one shot to the next, and it's clearly not in the name of character development. Her performance is all over the place. Are we supposed to care about these people? Is the story even about them? If so, similar themes have been done a dozen times before. In fact, it was done much better in 2002's Signs, which happened to have been directed by M. Night Shyamalan.

The biggest sin is that the film is not engaging at all. Also, for a film marketed as "M. Night Shyamalan's first R-rated feature," this is some tame and non-scary stuff. We're supposed to be scared by wind rustling through the tall grass and trees? Due to my lack of attention, I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. I wondered, "how big are the fans off-screen being used to blow the grass like that?" Hey, I had to entertain myself. The film wasn't trying to do so.

Why there was a need for this to be an R-rated film is also beyond my comprehension. Typically, regardless of whether he hits or misses, Shyamalan has always been more cerebral in his building of suspense or terror. He used to know that the film's scariest element existed in the audience's mind. Here, there are numerous gratuitous shots of violence that never look convincing, because the visual effects are so bad. And the degree of gory deaths in this film is simply absurd. Lion attacks viewed on iPhones (was that video on YouTube, I wondered)? Lawnmowers running over people? Suicide gunshots? Building jumpers? Jeeps crashing into trees? I've seen stronger stuff on the TruTV network.

I have no idea what Shyamalan's goal is in this film. Is it a study of fear? If so, I've also seen better in Frank Darabont's adaptation of The Mist by Stephen King last year. Instead, The Happening feels like an empty episode of "The Twilight Zone" stretched to a laborious 90 minutes. His style in this film is near self-parody. It brings to mind the self-indulgence of Tim Burton's Mars Attacks!, only that film actually had a few chuckles in it. In The Happening, moronic story elements are left out to dry, and only add stupidity instead of mystery. When the characters wonder why the events only happen in the American Northeast, I want to shout at the screen "Don't you watch Shyamlan movies? They all take place in Pennsylvania!

The positive for M. Night is this: rock bottom has arrived. There is literally no where to go but up from this weakest of films. It still begs the question though of what happened to this former wunderkind of talent. Has ever a filmmaker declined so rapidly based solely on his body of work? It's almost as if he's trying to flush his career down the toilet. Are the police pounding on his bathroom door and he thinks his talent is a kilo of drugs? Perhaps he's simply tapped as a screenwriter, because each story has become more pretentious than the one before. In that case, he should be prescribed to handle some Stephen King adaptations. Frank Darabont can't do them all, right? Yet after watching The Mist, one can argue Darabont can do it better. Perhaps M. Night needs a nice long sabbatical. It's really a shame, because we are witnessing the irrelevance of a formerly promising filmmaker. That is what's happening.

Sex and the City

Sex and the City
Directed by: Michael Patrick King
Rated R
145 Minutes

Review by Giraldo Barraza



Love them or hate them, the women of Sex and the City have been culturally significant for the past decade. Look at the quartets of ladies now parading around having "girls' night out," with their heels, big purses, and liberated attitudes. Liberated, or maybe selfish… take your pick. Point is, numerous twenty-somethings live by the gospel according to Carrie Bradshaw. Yes, that HBO show sparked a new-fashioned material revolution about new fashions that revolve around material things. Now after a few years comes the big-screen continuation of these Manhattan ladies. Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker), Samantha (Kim Cattrall), Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) and Charlotte (Kristin Davis) are older and a bit wiser. Well, some of them are. After years of glam frivolity, it appears fabulous has become fabuless. Sex and the City is a very long film trying to tie up loose ends that were mostly tied up at the end of the series. For a coda about what happens after "happily ever after," it's not a lot of fun. Somber in tone and reflective by nature, it feels like a hangover rather than a fruity drink.

Much has happened since this show left TV four years ago. "Sex and the City" left a void that not even "Lipstick Jungle" or "Cashmere Mafia" could fill. Although clearly tailored to meet the appeal of the xx chromosome audience, the main appeal of "Sex and the City" was the camaraderie of the four central characters. The series concluded with closure for all, and yet here we are. Set four years after the series' conclusion, the girls have scaled back as their lives mature. As a result, the themes of the film are more admirable, but the movie itself is lacking the spunk of the series. What lacks is that spark, that personality of the New York lifestyle. It's Sex without the City.

There are shiny elements sprinkled throughout, but it all seems so artificial. Random scenes of photo shoots and personal modeling are showcased, but serve no real purpose. In fact, much of the film is unnecessary. The characters are only stagnant for those four years because the screenplay requires them to. Sadly, the film feels contrived. It operates like it has to include all of the characters we grew accustomed to. How many different characters floated in and out of their lives in six seasons? Yet here it is four years later and nothing new is happening? Why don't their lives become interesting until the opening credits roll? When viewed through those lenses, Sex and the City feels as organic as a deliberate reunion tour.

To be fair, there is one new significant character that pops up after about an hour of the film has passed. Yet after showing so many characters, it is a grave misstep to add a new character to an already thinly spread ensemble. Jennifer Hudson is horribly miscast as a personal assistant to Carrie. Her role is useless. Presumably she is a naïve counterpart to all the rampant cynicism, but she really serves no other purpose other than to allow Carrie to make as many riffs on the phase "Saint Louis" as humanly possible.

Oddly, this particular misfire brings to mind the issue of minorities in the Sex and The City universe. Many have clamored on the topic before, and I was never one to subscribe to it… until now. The references are few, but the attempted humor used in regard to minorities is slightly appalling. The best they could do is an assistant with a Louis Vuitton fetish (although to be fair, ALL the characters are materialistic), a cab driver with a turban, and a five-star Mexican resort that's only good for diarrhea jokes? If that's the type of beverage this film serves, no wonder no one even drinks the water.

For all its droll and unnecessary dressing, the interaction of the quartet is still the selling point. Their dialogue and banter still bring an occasional smile, but the film adds ill-fitting situational comedy that mixes like water and suede. Why try and solicit guffaws from the audience about bikini waxes or someone crapping their pants? Is this an American Pie spinoff about a group of MILFs? Is this a Kevin Smith movie? For a film with this title, there isn't anything sexy about the humor. Subtlety is clearly NOT the new black. Gone are the annoying clever touches that passed themselves off as sardonic wit. What we have here in its stead is plenty of disillusionment. Both for the characters and the audience.

The anchor for the storyline is still the defining relationship of Carrie and Mr. Big (Chris Noth). Their stormy romance made for some interesting melodrama in the series, but sitting in a theater for two and a half hours I can't help asking myself why these people insisted on acting like middle-aged children after all these years. After all they went through, they still flake out in the same old ways? Why can't they grow up already? Aren't they all pushing fifty by now?

I guess if one has invested enough time in viewing the entire series and simply want to revisit some "old friends" like Carrie, Sam, Miranda and Charlotte, this might be enough to satisfy them. I have actually seen all episodes, and must admit I've never been a big fan (although, I must confess, a fan of Big). However, I always enjoyed the interaction of the four women and how they tried to cope with real (if petty) problems in their constructed lives. Here it mostly leads to cheesy clichés and redundant conclusions, with no payoff for anyone who really wants to know what happens after "happily ever after.

As a standalone film, it just does not work. There is no appeal except what was hinted at years ago on HBO. The film relies way too much on its past to maintain its attractiveness. I'd venture to guess that if Carrie herself had to describe this movie, she'd likely say it was like an old flame she was hoping to reignite a spark with. Alas, they only ended up lying there, and she went home unsatisfied. Leaving this film, I felt the same.

Ultimately there is no reason for this story to be told other than to make money off of the success of the series. After all, we never saw "The Golden Girls" movie or "Designing Women: The Movie." Much like last year's The Simpsons Movie, it's only more of the same on a larger canvas, only much less animated (in every sense of the word). Sex and the City is a menu picture of a cosmopolitan made with Grey Goose, but serves a mere cranberry Jell-o shot with lesser vodka. It's Absolut mediocrity. Do yourself a favor and stay at home and watch it on TV. For Carrie as well as the moviegoer, Bigger does not necessarily equate to better.

Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
Directed by: Steven Spielberg
Rated PG-13
122 Minutes

Review by Giraldo Barraza



When we last saw our intrepid hero, Indiana Jones movies had always been about pure adventure. The elements of excitement, fun, and mystery had driven these films to be the gold standard of action films for the past quarter century. Each one was like a postcard from exotic locales. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is the latest installment after a gap of nineteen years, but this is not your father’s Indiana Jones. Indiana has aged a great deal since he last rode off into the sunset; and the years show. A once high-octane hot rod of adventure has a heavy coat of rust, as well as an engine that never quite get up and revving. If the previous installments were those postcards, this one seems to be only a greeting card for purposes of nostalgia. Crystal Skull is full of saccharine level sentiment and hallmark moments, but lacks any moments of real excitement.

The problems with this film can be seen from the opening frames of footage the audience sees. In previous chapters, the Paramount studio logo dissolves into a shot of majestic rocks or mountains where action is already taking place. In Crystal Skull, the logo dissolves to reveal… a groundhog’s hill… and no action. It’s unconventional, it’s disappointing, yet it’s appropriate. Producer George Lucas and director Steven Spielberg give us a handful of dirt, and then proceed trying to make a mountain out of a molehill.

Films in this series have always hitting the ground running. Each installment in this franchise leaves viewers with adrenaline flowing, blood pumping, and smiles gleaming. Yet here the film creaks in its beginning, plods to a slow trot, and then thuds to an indifferent conclusion. Little tidbits sprinkled in the dialogue hint at a colorful history for Dr. Jones since The Last Crusade. Spying in Europe during World War II? Fighting the Nazis again? Consulting at the Roswell crash? Why not give us those stories? In comparison to these “what ifs,” this atomic age tale seems absolutely pedestrian and soulless. Overall, this blasé attitude coupled with tedious editing makes this easily Spielberg’s most disappointing film since Jurassic Park’s equally half-hearted sequel, The Lost World.

The major problem is the storyline. We’ve seen quests for the Ark of the Covenant and even The Holy Grail, and now… crystal skulls. Rather than finding inspiration in the Old or New Testament, it seems our filmmakers found inspiration from a Time/Life book or an episode of “Unsolved Mysteries.”

The screenplay by David Koepp (War of the Worlds, Spider-Man) is merely serviceable. It’s clearly designed just to link a few action sequences together and to give the appearance of an adventure story. And as an adventure, it’s flat. Long gone are the strong characters from writers Lawrence Kasdan or even the cheesiness of Jeffrey Boam. There are no snappy dialogue or memorable lines. Too often the story does not elicit a sense of wonder, but instead groans of incredulity. Even with the required suspension of disbelief, there are far too many stupid moments in this film.

Although the stunt work is still fairly impressive, there is no sense of danger. You wait with anticipation for the tempo to pick up, yet the film never takes off. Even the John Williams score, normally one of the most recognizable in cinematic history, is surprisingly bland and yawn inducing. I could not identify a single new theme, but plenty of reprises from both Raiders of the Lost Ark and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

Another element that seemed out of place was the camera work and photography of Janusz Kaminski. Despite a working relationship with director Spielberg for over a decade, his cinematography does not lend itself to action films. Just like his work hindered the otherwise superb Minority Report, he strives way too hard to compose gorgeous imagery that only serve to interfere with the film’s atmosphere and overall tone. Indiana Jones films have always looked like pulp novels and comics, but here Kaminski is too concerned try to make every shot look like the cover of Vanity Fair.

A plethora of supporting characters also clog the story’s progress. There are far too many secondary roles to fill, and few of them are even necessary. Ray Winstone plods through an utterly useless role as a grave robber with constantly shifting allegiances. John Hurt mutters nonsense as a crazy lost professor; and sadly, the return of original heroine Marion Ravenwood is a waste of Karen Allen’s charm. Her return is just an excuse for some sappy moments and puppy dog grins.

One of Crystal Skull’s few strong points is Cate Blanchett’s appearance as the Soviet vixen Irinia Spalko. With her steely blue eyes, bob haircut and sword in hand, she magnetically grabs your attention whenever she’s onscreen. Yes, she’s over the top, but her scene-chomping antics at least display that she’s the only player with any enthusiasm, especially compared to an apparently disinterested Harrison Ford as the elder Dr. Jones.

One character added to the mix that obviously is going to be a part of potential future quests is Mutt Williams, a young pup played by Shia LeBeouf. I can’t comment on where the series would go under his stewardship, because he honestly isn’t given much to do except tag along with Jones. He’s not given enough time to give an impression, but the audience is told that he’s educated, tough and full of spunk. Oh, and that he must be related to Johnny Weissmuller based on his vine-swinging abilities. The only thing I deduced for myself watching Mutt Williams is that he’s clearly a big fan of Marlon Brando in The Wild One. Or perhaps that’s just Lucas or Spielberg.

So why even make this overbloated and overproduced lazy film? Is this just a setup for future movies featuring LeBeouf? No, the real reason for an Indiana Jones film in 2008 is crystal clear. Look both ways as you leave the theater and witness the intent is to sell, sell, sell. Action figures, cereals, sodas. Time to cash in like the Star Wars movies have for so long. Perhaps Paramount was tired of the pretenders getting all the attention. After all, there was money made on Tomb Raider, National Treasure, even The Da Vinci Code. Finally, the original pedigree returns after nearly two decades, but does little to inspire. While there are a few things to smile at, there is very little fun. When it comes to adventure, hold on to those old postcards to spark memories of the good old days. Crystal Skull is but a sappy “thinking of you” greeting card that was simply mailed in.