The Dial of Subtext

Saw the new Indy Jones with the wife and the mother-in-law and the visiting nephew and his visiting partner. It was a perfectly acceptable time at the movies. Honestly, up until the aggressively boring-looking climax, I kind of thought it was the best Indy movie since the very first one — or perhaps since Temple of Doom (1984), a stunningly nasty film that feels somehow historically necessary. Temple has to be right there, this spiteful gift from two divorced boomer dads to the children of Gen X,