Indiana Jones and the dial of destiny: Review

A miserable finale for the legend who already found his happy ending

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After a nazi-punching, train hopping, explosive deep-fake opening, indiana jones and the dial of destiny finds us shortly back on form with the whip cracking archeologist in a film that is otherwise far too afraid to take any risks. 
There’s a burning ember that resembles a classic indy adventure, but the film never harnesses its own potential. Dial of Destiny misses the tense, zippy, zany energy of its predecessors but equally struggles to navigate its melancholic tone.

​Indy is clearly a man out of time, aged like the very relics of his past, he struggles to adjust to a world that has comparatively forgotten him. mangold plants these seeds in the first act but completely neglects them, as the film clumsily rolls around to a half-baked, unsatisfying ending that fails to service its titular character’s legacy. The film does unnecessary damage to indy’s arc which felt perfectly realised by the end of Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

That said, it’s much less the offensively numbing nostalgia ruse i feared it might be, but it’s entirely lacking the thrills of days of old. Mangold’s direction has this certain kind of insipid studio-blandness that lacks the visual scope which most of these blockbusters have routinely succumb to. All the set pieces appear like tired, artificial-looking studio interiors. it feels almost parodic - holding this uncanny quality the same way Indiana Jones tries to pass off as a german soldier. It’s a familiar comfort that simultaneously seems very off. though a valiant attempt in parts, Indiana Jones and Dial of Destiny proves that maybe the world really has outgrown him.