Hardly Magical

Today I went to see the new Indiana Jones movie. Let me say right at the beginning that I had few expectations; a sequel is, after all, a sequel, and though sometimes they shine (Aliens after Alien, for instance), statistically hope is slight. My expectations were not required to go to bed without any supper. By which I mean, neither was it brilliant, nor did I desperately desire the return of my two hours. I came, I saw, I was pleasantly reminded of one of the film beacons of my youth - the original Raiders.

Although there are many reasons the film ultimately failed in its promise, I don't really want to discuss them now. I have just spent the past several hours dissecting issues of pace, believability, focus on character, winking too much, and so forth - as all my neighbors are undoubtedly are aware (I tend to get excited about these things). Instead, I want to look at one issue that is subtle, that often goes unnoticed, but is utterly critical to magical realism in film. Films like the Indy series (and the Mummy series, Pan's Labyrinth, and Like Water for Chocolate) try to create a balance between our heroes and the unknown, mystical powers that they confront, come to terms with, seldom understand, and ultimately brush by rather than defeating. Raiders and The Mummy successfully threaded this metaphorical needle. Although their hero(in)es frequently flirted with the unbelievable, they took planes, drove cars, rode horses, and raced away from explosions with aplomb without fully abandoning the rules of physics. The supernatural in the form of the Mummy and Ark had an impact, but it was outside the realm of their physical efforts to combat it.

In The Mummy Returns, however, this covenant is broken the minute our heroes board a large boat rendered airworthy by an enormous hot-air balloon. At this point, we leave magical realism; we no longer confront the unknown; we enter the land of Jules Verne and become a part of the magic instead of remaining the humans buffeted by it. In our latest Indy movie (this isn't really a spoiler, but if you want no details about the film, close your eyes now), the filmmakers also lose their grip on the division between the supernatural the heroes combat and the tools mortals may bring to bear. The instant is not so clear, but it occurs at some point between the moment Miriam (Karen Allen) purposely accelerates their long-suffering vehicle onto a tree growing out over the cliff that overlooks the river to be deposited gently on the surface of the water and the moment they land at the bottom of the THIRD waterfall (after traversing the first two while still IN THE CAR) to emerge dripping, but uninjured and breathing normally, in a closely clustered group (if you closed your eyes to avoid the description, you can safely open them now).

I'm not certain why this transgression irritates me more than other, much more visible ones. I think it is because these rules are so deeply rooted in the convention of storytelling. It is not a misstep; it is not failing to trust the audience; it is not even pandering the the big moment at the expense of the crafting that makes that big moment shine. It is a failure to fully grasp the convention of magical realism of which these adventure films form a part. If you have watched Like Water for Chocolate, you know that Tita's cooking is never magical when we are viewing the historical moment in real time, but only when her niece recounts the family legends those events have given rise to. Honoring that division is a fundamental in crafting any film that shows "ordinary" mortals confronting the unknown of the mystical world.