When Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull had its premiere at Cannes on Sunday it split critical opinion down the middle. It provoked emotive reactions, generated, one suspects, by the clash of genuine Indy affection with unforgiving marketing hysteria. Our own chief film critic, James Christopher, saw a movie that was “fantastic” and a “marvellous return to form”. I, on the other hand, respectfully beg to differ, and to deliver a few handy hints to those prospective Crystal Skull viewers (ie, the entire world) expecting to have their nostalgia deftly tapped and to witness an old-school 1980s action adventure reborn before their very eyes.

First, it’s not very good. In fact, it’s the worst in the series. It is a tribute movie to everything that’s gone before, but one that’s devoid of a life and a mission of its own. It sends Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) and a host of sidekicks, good and bad, into the Amazonian jungle in search of the mysterious skull of the title. The skull, it transpires, might be from an alien civilisation and it might just have the power to control the collective mind of the human race, but this hardly seems to matter. Instead, the plot is just a creaky frame upon which to hang conspicuous nods to the three previous Indy flicks.

Hence we have the truck chase from Indy 1, the torture scene from Indy 2 and the dangling abyss from Indy 3. Yet here these moments have been rehashed by the creators Steven Spielberg and George Lucas to satisfy the desires of fans rather than the immediate needs of their story. When Indy finds himself in a lengthy mano-a-mano fistfight with a hulking Russian soldier, complete with steel-hammer sound effects, it’s not because the movie needs it but because the series dictates it and because someone out there might think that it’s kinda cool.

Secondly, the film has no resonance. Say what you like about Judaeo-Christian symbolism, but the Holy Grail and the Ark of the Covenant (previous Indy fetishes) had unspoken gravitas. The 1950s-set alien themes of Crystal Skull, instead, are just silly.

The movie tries to compensate with character, but everyone is cartoon thin. Cate Blanchett is a Russian heavy no more complex than Natasha Fatale from the Rocky and Bullwinkle series. Shia LaBeouf plays Indy’s son Mutt as a Wild One-era greaser and someone who is introduced solely and cynically to inherit the franchise once Ford retires (Lucas revealed this in Cannes), while John Hurt gamely channels the spirit of Dennis Hopper in Apocalypse Now, playing a wacko college professor whose mind is high on alien juice.

Despite all the grand rhetoric from Spielberg about a return to old-fashioned film-making, the movie goes CGI crazy. Computer-generated ants, prairie dogs and scorpions are gaudy and wearisome where once the real things would have been chilling (remember the snakes in Indy 1?). The entire climax, again wholly computer-generated, is so synthetic and meaningless that it makes you yearn for the gorgeous simplicity of Indy 2, where a man, a sword and a rope bridge finished that movie in high style.

Finally, there are hints of greatness. Indy sinking into Amazonian quicksand while explaining to Mutt the difference between wet and dry quicksand is one. Indy, now a retired war hero, being persecuted by McCarthyite witch-hunters is another (it’s dropped after the first act). The opening warehouse chase scene, a genuine taste of inventive old-school Spielberg, suggests a bravura action adventure movie to come. Sadly, we can but dream. And wait for the inevitable Indy 5.

12A, 124mins

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