Detailed Newspaper review for 'Crystal Skull'
Steven Spielberg's very stupid adventure: who's to blame for Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull?
One morning early in 2007, Ray Winstone sat in his home in London watching a young man in a crisp suit sip tea. Winstone’s latter-day incarnation as the face of online gambling was still a few years away and, to kill the time, he was in the process of lining up one of his highest profile jobs ever. Such, at least, was the theory. Reality was proving rather stranger.
Several days previously, Winstone had been contacted by representatives of Steven Spielberg. Did he want to be in the director’s next movie – a return to the swashbuckling Indiana Jones franchise? Most actors would have said “yes” on the spot – his future co-star Shia LaBeouf had, to his subsequent regret. But canny, cautious Winstone always insisted on reading the script, even when the offer was from Spielberg.
Which is how he came to find himself hosting a polite yet inscrutable functionary who had jetted across the Atlantic with a numbered copy of the screenplay. Winstone was allowed to peruse it under strict supervision and with the clock very much ticking.
“They sent the script over to me, with a young kid in a suit,” he would tell Jonathan Ross. “He turned up at the door and sat there…while I read it. I liked it… there was plenty to work with. I gave him the script back and off he went on the plane…Even after filming we had to give the scripts back…They’re very clever about the way they sell their films.”
On its 10th anniversary Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is remembered as a misfiring postscript to an otherwise glorious blockbuster saga and a great, dribbling copybook blot for Spielberg and his collaborator George Lucas (who wrote the story).
What’s forgotten is that at the time Crystal Skull owed its infamy to the extreme secrecy in which it was shot and marketed (Winstone wasn’t the only one to be chaperoned as he read the script – co-star John Hurt reported a similar process).
By the time the film was released 10 years ago this month several bread-crumb trails of fake clues had been carefully scattered. The project’s name was, for instance, variously leaked as Indiana Jones and the City of Gods, the Destroy of Worlds, the Fourth Corner of the Earth, the Lost City of Gold and the Quest for the Covenant.
“There's lots and lots of people who don't want to find out what happens,” Spielberg had explained. “They want that to happen [in] May. They want to find out in a dark theatre. They don't wanna find out by reading a blog.... A movie is experiential. A movie happens in a way that has always been cathartic, the personal, human catharsis of an audience in Holy Communion with an experience up on the screen. That's why I'm in the middle of this magic, and I always will be.”
Spielberg and Lucas were paranoid that, in this new era of internet gossip and social media [by 2008 Twitter was already two years old], Indiana Jones’s dramatic comeback might be ruined in advance. They had resolved that as little as possible be known – to the point where they initially refused to confirm Cate Blanchett’s casting as the main villain (a surprise they arguably spoiled by then bringing her along to that year’s Comic-Con).
Anyone flouting the blackout was dealt with harshly. A extra divulging minor plot points to his hometown newspaper back in Canada was sued; the opportunistic pilferer who stole production photos and attempted to auction them to the media prosecuted and sentenced to two years in prison.
Yet in their determination to conjure an aura of mystery as Indy swooped onto screens after an 19 year hiatus, Spielberg and Lucas lost sight of what made the original Raiders movies so compelling – that singular mix of grit and derring-do, humour and rollicking action.
They would soon be left in little doubt as to how badly Crystal Skull failed to keep up with the previous Joneses. The first indication things were amiss arrived an early scene in which Indy (Harrison Ford) escapes a nuclear blast in the Nevada desert by hiding in a refrigerated unit. The sequence became a byword for the worst cinematic overkill – what happens when jump the shark… jumps the shark.
“What people really jumped at was Indy climbing into a refrigerator and getting blown into the sky by an atom-bomb blast,” Spielberg would reflect. “Blame me. Don't blame George. That was my silly idea. People stopped saying “jump the shark.” They now say, “nuked the fridge.” I'm proud of that. I'm glad I was able to bring that into popular culture.”
“Nuked the fridge” actually had its origins in another Spielberg production, 1985’s Back to the Future. In the original script, Marty McFly travels back to the present day by climbing inside a fridge as it is driven into an atomic explosion. Spielberg nixed the concept fearing kids would be encouraged to climb into fridges.