Indiana Jones returns for one last hurrah before retirement in Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, the fifth and final entry in the legendary series.
★★✰✰✰
It’s five and out for the whip-cracking, wise-cracking, Nazi-beating explorer, Indiana Jones, the adventurer who first won our hearts in 1981’s Raiders of the Lost Ark. Unfortunately, the fifth instalment of this increasingly lacklustre film series, Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, only serves to emphasise the point that five is one too many—two counting the catastrophe of The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. James Mangold of Girl, Interrupted and Logan pedigree struggles to stamp his mark on The Dial of Destiny, resulting in a bland, forgettable affair that is lacking both the adventure and cinematic magic so synonymous with many of Indy’s previous adventures.
At the height of World War Two, Jones and colleague Basil Shaw (Toby Jones) prevent Jürgen Voller—a slimy Nazi brought to life wonderfully by Mads Mikkelsen—from obtaining a mysterious dial known as the Antikythera. Before he died, Basil was driven to insanity and obsession by this object and, fasting forward to the late 60s, an ageing Jones is on the verge of retirement as a professor. In classic Indy style though, it was never going to be a quiet sail into the sunset; Basil’s daughter and Jones’ goddaughter, Helena (Phoebe Waller-Bridge), appears and together they race against Voller to recover the lost artefact again.
The plot is suitably silly; in fact, it’s preposterously stupid, especially in its latter stages. This absurdism feels beautifully in line with other entries in the franchise, particularly the explosive, electric finale of Raiders of the Lost Ark. That same playful nature is still there in The Dial of Destiny too, with world-ending events playing out alongside comedy, but unfortunately, as beautifully stupendous as the plot is, it becomes bogged down by dull exposition, unimaginative sentiment, and mundane action.
The set pieces of The Dial of Destiny—a train chase, a car chase—feel largely predictable, although there are some interesting iterations, particularly in a chase that segues from the rooftops of an American city to the protestor-filled streets. Jones on horseback is, unsurprisingly, a sight to behold. In every set piece, though, the action is ugly, repetitive and most notably, heavy on the CGI. It only takes a few unremarkable low camera pans or whips before the boredom sets in, and jittery, nauseating camerawork along with unclear editing do little to elevate the swiftly diminishing excitement—which for an Indiana Jones film seems particularly problematic.
Aside from the uninventive action of The Dial of Destiny, the promising plot is executed poorly, with its exciting premise playing out in a conventional procession. Much of it rests on Ford and Waller-Bridge’s chemistry, which feels oddly lacking; the latter grates, and her character is unevenly written. Ford is as compelling as ever as the grizzled explorer, but he is given little to work with. Mangold hints at themes of old age and regret, the same concepts he navigated successfully in Logan, but they never coalesce into anything resonant or meaningful. The Dial of Destiny rides the wave of nostalgia for as long as it can; the film’s lengthy runtime and lack of its own identity eventually depletes this sentimental allure.
Ultimately, The Dial of Destiny becomes less an interesting entry into the franchise, and more a quick checklist of nods to previous films, a turgid affair of muddy action and mundane plot points. John Williams’ original score is great, although it has less slapstick bravado or wondrous magic than previous iterations—an issue that blights the whole of The Dial of Destiny. Mangold, along with co-writers David Koepp and Jez and John-Henry Butterworth, tie things up well with knowing winks and affection, but everything leading up to its conclusion is inescapably dull, unimaginative, and downright generic.
The Verdict
Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny is a far from fitting swansong for our favourite explorer, with its promising plot damaged by unimaginative execution and ugly, CGI-heavy action. This is a relic for your attic, much less your mantelpiece.
Words by William Stottor
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