Indiana Jones and Manhood
I tend to knock the current glut of movies about man-boys. I imagine my vehemence stems from my own struggle to grow up and be a man. It’s something the sociologists talk about all the time in reference to my generation: we’ve grown up in the post-feminist, post 60s, postmodern world, where manhood has been robbed of all meaning. Which makes growing up is a bit of a struggle. Add an absentee father into the mix, and, well, let’s just say I’m not exactly on my way to husband and fatherhood.
I bring this up not to curry sympathy (or, clearly, get a date), but because watching old movies is helping me to paint a better picture of what manhood might be than the movies I grew up with. In fact, the movies that really hit me when I was younger, the “geek movies,” as they’re called, didn’t really help much when it comes to learning how to be a man.
When I was six years old my cousin Robert took me to see Raiders of the Lost Ark. I remember being completely hypnotized for every single one of its glorious 115 minutes, and then at the end Robert made me cover my eyes for the scary head-exploding/face-melting bit. I didn’t see that sequence until I was seventeen years old, but it didn’t matter. I was sold.
I watched Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom at the Grand Lake Theater in Oakland with my grandfather. Somewhere around the part where Indy’s been force-fed the mind-control poison from that nasty mummified head, and he’s writhing around, my grandfather leaned over to me and said: “I don’t think this will be remembered as the best installment.” Whatever Grampa, I loved it. Still do.
For Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade I waited outside in the rain for three hours at the Arts I/II in Berkeley. My Grampa chaperoned me and my best friend Jaron and we ended up in the balcony, cheering and laughing with everyone else.
Indiana Jones is, of course, a power fantasy par excellence. Nerdy college professor by day, sexy archeological swashbuckler by every other day. He’s not a grown-up, he’s not a man, he’s a guy who gets his boyish kicks by beating up bad guys. The theme of all of those movies is Indiana’s difficulty in growing up. That’s why Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom is set one year before Raiders of the Lost Ark: so he can’t mature. Last Crusade is about reconciliation with the father, which is a step towards maturity, but Indy’s still nowhere near having a grown-up relationship.
All of which is why Lucas and Spielberg try to show their beloved man-boy finally growing up during the course of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. The problem, of course, is that Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is a bad movie.
I won’t go over it. It’s been gone over. But I will say this: it’s obvious in Raiders that Marion’s the woman for Indiana Jones. She’s his foil. And in order for him to grow up, he’s got to bring her into his life. But it’s impossible for him to do that in Crystal Skull because that thing on the screen is not Marion Ravenwood – it’s not even a character. Characters have goals and obstacles and contradictions and a distinctive voice. That thing wearing Marion’s face doesn’t have any of those things, and so Indy’s wedding at the end just rings hollow, which means he never really grows up.
And if Indiana Jones can’t grow up, why the Hell should I?
Which brings me, finally, to this week’s case in point: 2003’s Frank Darabont script for Indiana Jones and the City of the Gods.
There have been many version of Indy IV. This is the one you want to read. You can find it online. Try a blog by a guy called “Mystery Man on Film” of you can’t find it on your own. It was leaked, clearly. Although I suppose it could be a fake, but if it is, it’s someone doing a good job of mimicking three-time Oscar nominee and writer/director of The Shawshank Redemption, Frank Darabont.
Make no mistake: George Lucas had a mandate for this movie. It’s his story. But comparing the Darabont version to the Jeff Nathanson/David Koepp version that got shot is like comparing different arrangements of the same song. It’s fascinating.
Darabont does a whole bunch of great things, but I’m just going to point out one: he makes Indiana Jones grow up. Jones’ age isn’t handled with three throwaway lines, it’s the heart of the film. Indy’s living out the consequences of a lifetime of choosing adventure over intimacy, and even though Darabont’s script is as fun as it gets, it’s still about growing up. Darabont structures the entire movie to a moment when Indiana Jones must choose between Marion Ravenwood and “fortune and glory”: how’s that for taking the first three Indy movies and boiling them down to one moment?
Every nerd of my generation had their heart broken by Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Darabont’s version shows us what the movie could have been: a parable for giving up the power fantasy and getting on with life. Which isn’t what we wanted, but it may have been what we needed.
Next week: for real this time, “By the time you read this, I’ll be dead…”
