Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark

The Best Archaeology Action Movie Ever

“We have top men working on it right now.”

The summer versions of The Film Lit Pitch are likely to feature many superlatives; and I think that makes some sense. Indeed, that’s sort of the point. These movies, more or less unmoored from the tricky “teachability” element, are the ones that I have the most fun with, the ones I love the most.

And so, with that preface out of the way, let’s talk about Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark—a film that is in the discussion for best action movie of all time. It’s certainly one of my favorite action movies of all time.

Last time I gushed about Guillermo del Toro’s “endearingly brazen storytelling confidence” in Pacific Rim. (If you missed it: a) How could you? b) here you go.)  Raiders of the Lost Ark is just as confident, but exudes that confidence in different arenas. And while legends director Steven Spielberg and George Lucas (who is credited with the story) deserve a ton of credit, the more I watch this film, the more I appreciate the genius of its screenwriter, Lawrence Kasdan.

At least a few of you already know that Kasdan wrote the screenplay for The Empire Strikes Back. And while one summer I’ll give that masterpiece its due, suffice it to say for now that its reputation as the far-and-away best Star Wars film is well-earned.

Of the wonderfully well-executed elements to the Raiders screenplay, perhaps my favorite is just how good Kasdan is at giving everyone some history. Some backstories come in the form of exposition, and some we have to find out on our own. What is consistent is that the characters have been in their respective arenas for a long time. So many characters are proficient and know what they are doing; so many characters know and can predict what other characters are going to do; and so many characters carry baggage and world-weariness wherever they go.

Put another way, there are just so many moments when a Film Lit teacher could stop the film and ask, “Okay. So what did we just learn there that we aren’t told?”

On my most recent viewing, I took note of some especially pattern-proving lines. Next time you watch—or if you remember them already—think about the subtext, the implied histories embedded in them:

“If they knew we were here, they would have killed us already.”

“Again we see there is nothing you possess which I cannot take away. . . . This time it will cost you.”

“The museum will buy them as usual.”

“Think she’ll still be with him?”

“Always knew some day you’d come walking back through my door. I never doubted that. Something made it inevitable.”

I could go on and on.

“I see your taste in friends remains consistent.”

Everyone agrees that Raiders is easily the best film in the franchise. For my money, Last Crusade is the next best, and perhaps a bit underrated. Most reasonable people agree that The Crystal Skull is the worst so far. I say “so far” because I’m about a week away from seeing Dial of Destiny; and while I’m optimistic, I’m not stupid. I say “[m]ost reasonable people” because I know of at least one person who is reasonable and is yet somehow a Crystal Skull apologist. 

[Editor’s Note: It’s Ryan Lee, Gunn Class of 2012. He’s brilliant, and I love him and am so proud of him. His most recent writing credits include teleplays for CSI: Vegas. He’s written and directed several films, and has cast me in more than one. And he’s one of a select few Film Lit students who knew more about film when they took my course than I did. And he certainly knows more about film than I do now. In any event: Ryan, I know you’re reading this, and again, I love you. And you deserve credit for making me go a full 180 on The Cabin in the Woods, which I now think is totally awesome. But we will always agree to disagree on Crystal Skull. I’m sorry.]

That leaves The Temple of Doom, which I’ve always known was a disappointment. Sure, it’s got a few nice moments, but there are two glaring weaknesses I can’t get over: first, there are just two many extended charmless, humorless sequences; second, Willie is a very far cry from Marion. Recently, though, I’ve found a new reason to be disappointed in Temple of Doom. (And I admit, I’m late to this particular take; it would not surprise me if I’m not the first to have it.)

The key to this disappointment is one of the underrated gems in the film: the sitdown between Indiana and René Belloq. To tie back to the previous thread, I’m here to tell you that the best example of an implied history has to be the one shared by Indiana and Belloq. And he is an awesome foil for Indiana. I mean, he straight-up tells us as much, in this monologue:

“You and I are very much alike. Archaeology is our religion. Yet we have both fallen from the purer faith. Our methods have not differed as much as you pretend. I am a shadowy reflection of you. It would take only a nudge to make you like me. To push you out of the light.” 

[Editor’s Note: sounds a lot like a few lines in The Dark Knight, doesn’t it?]

Indiana’s response—“Now you’re just getting nasty”—tells us that he does not necessarily disagree with Belloq’s assessments. And, to be sure, while we can have a difficult time seeing Indiana as a Nazi accomplice, we can certainly see that he’s morally compromised. Who knows how Indiana came into those previous possessions that Belloq took away? In what ways has he “fallen from the purer faith”? When he describes himself as a “careful guy” as he’s packing his pistol for Nepal, shouldn’t we wonder how many people he’s killed? (Given his cavalier dispatching of the swordsman, it’s gotta be more than a few.) And, look: we don’t know exactly how the romance between him and Marion started. But it doesn’t take too much thinking about their origin story to come to some very ungreat conclusions about him—to put it mildly.

As Belloq says, “Where shall I find a new adversary so close to my own level?” These two are alike in drive, ego, and ability—and parallel in impurity.

The point here is that I really wish that the second film in this franchise had still been a prequel, but was a story about one—or more!—of the “stimulating encounters” Belloq refers to. The rich, shared history was already there, waiting for more stories to be told about it. I think that would have been a lot of fun.

“I don’t know. I’m making this up as I go.”

It seems the coldest of takes to say that John Williams makes every film he’s associated with better; that doesn’t make it less true. And the Raiders score is, in my view, one of his all-time best. The main theme is obviously great. The love theme is great. The Ark theme—somber, mystical, ancient—is just plain perfect. And I love how it absolutely makes the Map Room scene.

Perhaps my favorite Williams scene is also my favorite action scene: the desert chase. Now, I’m neither inclined nor qualified to launch into an extended diatribe bemoaning the downfall of practical effects in modern film, and all that we’ve lost with CGI effects.

Having said that, I am inclined to agree, once again, with my guy Justin Brown, who called the desert chase one of the best choreographed action scenes ever. It really is a moment—several moments—of beautiful synergy between Spielberg and Williams. (I mean: I shouldn’t, because I could do this all day, but here’s that scene.)

[Editor’s Note: One fun fact I’ll disclose here is that when I don’t have lunch meetings, I’ll watch that scene in heavy rotation with the Alec Baldwin scene in Glengarry Glen Ross, and the Reliant attack scene from Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.] 

“They’re digging in the wrong place!”

I’ll close by pointing out another arena of storytelling confidence on display in this film: the protagonist is a legit and bona fide intellectual. Indiana Jones is a brilliant archaeologist, and a nerd; and his intelligence is key to so many key plot points. For example: he’s masterfully geeky in his initial exposition about the ark; he deduces the correct location of the Well of Souls; and he knows enough not to lose hope in the asp-infested Well. 

But stop and think for a second about the implications of committing to this bit. For all the wonderful action sequences, the climax features an intentionally inactive protagonist. He succeeds because he’s smart enough to do nothing—except keep his eyes closed.

I don’t know that that approach is singular in action movies; but it’s certainly unconventional, to say the least.

“It’s not the years, honey. It’s the mileage.”

See you on July 19th, when we discuss Aliens (1986).

I’ll post something quick on July 12th, but it will be especially easy on the mind—and the author.

p.s. I know we’ve had an influx of new subscribers here in the last month. To you, especially, I say first: Thank You! And second: please help share and spread the word about The Film Lit Pitch.