“Where to find a little workout inspiration?,” I wondered. “Ah, yes, Rocky IV.”  Watching it for the 5,849,948th time, I am compelled to share with you my thoughts on… the greatest film ever made.  Yes, that is not mere opinion but fact.  Rate it on a sheer entertainment, emotions-evoking, never-goes-stale standard and surely you’ll agree.

To be fair, “Rocky IV” is not an overly political film, nor was it intended to be.  But it nonetheless encapsulates several key conservative points, so much so that it was, and still is, slammed by leftist critics as right-wing propaganda.  Behold, the top 10 conservative lessons of “Rocky IV”:

1) Communism… (let me be succinct and find the right word here…) sucks.

a) It allows no hint of individualism. Not only is Drago forbidden from speaking and behaves as a robot but, in a moment of raw honesty during the final fight, fed up with the commands of his superiors, he finally breaks free emotionally, looks up at the Politburo in attendance, and shouts: “I fight for me! For ME!!!”  (which, based on my repeated viewings, I can tell you sounds like “Ya-te-beeah!” in Russian, without evening cueing the DVD)

b) Who wants to live in that system? Does any one of us envy Drago? Uh, no.  Need we even ruminate what happened to him after he lost and publicly humiliated Mother Russia? Shipped off to a Siberian labor camp.

c) It keeps people in order through violence. During a (rare) sober moment, Pauly says it best when addressing the Soviet rep at the press conference: “Hey, WE don’t keep our people behind a wall with machine guns!” (I’d love to ask Stallone how he ever got a Hollywood studio to green-light that line.)

d) They cheat (doped-up Drago) and manipulate public opinion (really? They honestly felt ‘unsafe’ in the U.S. and the fight had to be in Moscow? On Christmas Day, no less?).

e) Loyalty to the State takes precedence over all else. Although not explicitly stated, you know cold-as-ice, calmly-smoking-a cigarette-while-her-husband-boxes Brigitte Nielsen’s character would spy on and sell out Drago in a heartbeat.

f) There is no, and I mean NO, freedom. Rocky is assigned steely-eyed “official chaperones” (a.k.a., spies) during his stay.

To be sure, Rocky understands the majority of the Soviet people themselves are victims. He doesn’t put down the individuals in the Moscow audience and instead appeals to the idea that they “can change.”

2) There are wealthy people who are also (gasp!) perfectly good people. Rocky’s a filthy rich guy – yes, he’s got the smokin’ hot black Lamborghini, the gaudy mansion, and can buy his wife fancy, albeit tacky, jewelry (a gold snake bracelet? That’s what “the guy at the store” recommended, Roc?). But he earned it. And, as we saw in “Rocky III”, he’s generous and does his part for charity, too (including having his as* whooped by the scary-Viking-chief-looking Hulk Hogan). Yet Rocky’s in the 1 percent the Occupy movement would have us resent – I ask you, who could hate on a guy like Rocky?

3) Traditional family values are beautiful.  As annoying a buzz-kill as Adrian can be sometimes, Rocky has stood by her and seems just as in love with his wife as he was the day of their wedding. Sure, he could’ve dumped her and married a younger, hotter, glass-heels-wearing stripper, but Rocky’s no fool – he’s a traditional guy who stays true, knowing he’s got a good woman at his side. The series also emphasizes the emotional support and value a spouse can provide in one’s life – who else could’ve motivated him the way Adrian did in “Rocky II”? (“There’s something I want you do for me… Win. Win!”) Indeed, while we’re on the subject – notice there are no gratuitous, unnecessary sex scenes in the “Rocky” franchise.  Hollywood, take note: it is possible to have a wildly entertaining, appealing film without the need to show our leads gettin’ it on.

4) Patriotism.  Three words:  APOLLO ’effing CREED.  One of cinematic history’s greatest characters, period.  Apollo’s unbridled enthusiasm for his country never gets old, no matter how many times I watch this masterpiece, and it’s particularly touching that the fiercely patriotic, no-apologies-for-American-exceptionalism-found-here / “if you’re looking for someone to put this country down, look elsewhere” character … is a black male.  What’s not to love?  He-llo, the man is wearing an Abe-Lincoln-style red-white-and-blue hat and matching boxing trunks. Liberals recoil in horror.  And James Brown’s “Living in America”? Goosebumps. Best of all, we get to watch the Godfather of Soul himself (who, incidentally, was an outspoken conservative!) perform it, with American flags waving all around. (As if a patriotic black male weren’t offensive enough, liberals’ heads must explode in this scene – in fact, I reckon one would be hard-pressed to find a true leftist who’s able to sit through the whole film, sans spontaneous combustion “Spinal Tap”-drummer style).

5) Color-blind race relations are the way to go.  No affirmative action style ‘token’ minority characters but rather an authentic lead in Apollo – a strong role model who simply happens to be African-American. A true patriot who shuns Leftist mentality, Apollo has no counter-productive resentment towards whites – in fact, in “Rocky III” he trains Rocky against a fellow black boxer (perfectly played by Mr. T).  We grow so fond of Apollo that, when (***spoiler alert to any and all FOOLS out there who haven’t already seen this gem***) he dies, I dare you not to weep.  If only Rocky had thrown “the damn towel”…  In a flashback to “Rocky III”’s beach-training sequence, we are treated to the beautiful visual of Rocky and Apollo, embracing in exaltation on the sand:  a black man and a white man — neither of whom sees color, just his buddy.  (Indeed, a comment on a YouTube clip of this scene rightly notes: “When white people and black people work together, they can accomplish anything.”  Hear, hear.)

6) There is no room for moral relativism.  Apollo, stressing to Rocky the importance of his fight against Soviet Drago: “This is not just an exhibition fight that doesn’t mean anything. This is us against THEM!”  Bam — clear lines of good and evil.  (Could I love Apollo any more?  I think not.)

7) Faith in God is paramount.  Rocky kneels in prayer twice before his fight (in an earlier franchise installment, he even stops by church for his priest’s blessing and, upon beating Apollo in “Rocky II”, he thanks God “most of all” – a Tebow forerunner, if you will).  Nowadays, this would naturally be edited out of the film so as to not offend anyone.  Rocky, Apollo, and Duke always have their crosses hanging from their neck, throughout the films. And there’s an ode to Judaism in Rocky’s lovable trainer, Mickey Goldmill, whose faith is highlighted via Mickey’s synagogue burial and the Star of David on his mausoleum plaque.  The message?  Judeo-Christian beliefs are as American as apple pie.

8 ) Manliness personified.  No liberal, hand-holding wimpy ideals here. Rocky knows there’s a job that has to be done and sets out to do it.  “I just gotta doooo what I gotta dooooo,” he matter-of-factly tells Adrian. It’s all about duty and honor. Rocky is exactly like our soldiers – just in the boxing world instead of the military.  100 percent alpha and not a hint of beta.

9) Think for yourself rather than going with the tides.  Adrian to Rocky: “Why can’t you change your thinking?! Everybody else does!”  But does Rocky? Nope. The opposite of robotic Drago, he is offended by the mere suggestion and sticks to his guns (cue the roar of the Lamborghini’s engine and the chills-inducing, best-motivational-song-ever:  Robert Tepper’s “There’s No Easy Way Out”). You think Rocky would’ve been caught up in the 2008 wave of Obama-mania? Wrong.

10) If you apply yourself and work hard, success is attainable:  i.e., the very essence of capitalism.  Rocky shows us that, even with the odds stacked against you, a person can succeed. Duke’s pep-talk to Rocky when they arrive in Russia: “I know you’re gonna have to do almost everything alone. . . . Now you’re gonna have to go through hell, worse than any nightmare that you ever dreamed. But in the end, I know you’ll be the one standing.” (a lesson the ‘gimme, gimme’ entitlement-crowd laying about at an Occupy rally would do well to learn… )

So there you have it – “Rocky IV”, the greatest unintentionally-conservative film ever made and, not coincidentally, a cultural masterpiece.

*Sidebar lessons:  A) The Soviet anthem is a stunning musical composition and, were it not a Communist sing-song… hey, I’d like it!  B) Drago demonstrates it’s possible to take a needle in the arm without flinching or even blinking. Channel him during your next flu shot – it works.

(Drago, taking the needle at the 1:57 mark, in the greatest film-montage ever. If you ever need to show someone ‘juxtaposition’ done right, here it is!)

What do you all think?  Is “Rocky IV” indeed a masterpiece? Any conservative points I missed? And, should I follow through on my urge to show up at an Occupy rally decked out as Apollo and blastin’ “Living in America” from a boombox? I say ‘yes.’

Thanks to political correctness, ours is a rough day for masculinity. Strong men are painted as tyrants, heroic men as ego-centrists, and moral standard bearers as bigots, or worse. This is particularly true in Hollywood, where a purposeful revisionism toward manhood has been under way for decades.

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Not surprisingly, big screen super heroes and mythic figures of valor – male figures – have been among the hardest hit by this revisionism. As a result, the mighty have learned to cry, the powerful to admit vulnerability, and the brave to second-guess themselves, all in an effort to win over the effeminized masses. And this is what makes the screenplay for the upcoming feature film, “THOR,” so wonderful: not because it carries on the ridiculous revisionism, but because it shatters it with a hammer blow from Thor himself.

Through its clear portrayal of an unapologetically strong male who comes to the rescue of female characters, risks his life in the defense of right and wrong, and loves his world (his realm) in an undying fashion, “THOR” promises to revitalize masculinity in 2011 the way “The Expendables” did in 2010.

Early in the screenplay we see Thor as a young man, and a citizen of the realm of Asgard, about to be crowned king of that realm by his father, Odin, who had been King of Asgard for some time. In that moment of passage, Odin’s words to Thor set the tone for the rest of the film — a speech about how responsibility, duty, and honor” are central to the charge Odin gives Thor, and as the screenplay unfolds, they are central to all that Thor does.

Yes, there are moments when a young Thor demonstrates the brashness of youth and launches attacks against other realms (particularly Jotunheim) that threaten the peace of which his father spoke. (Yet even in attacking another realm Thor never seeks his own glory but the defense of his people.)  Nevertheless, Thor’s father banishes him to earth for having “betrayed the throne” via his brash attack on Jotunheim, and in casting him to earth strips Thor of both his immortality and the powers that attended that immortality.

Once banished, Thor’s mortality is represented by the fact that he and his famous hammer are separated. From there the rest of the screenplay is ultimately the outworking of Thor doing what he must to recover his hammer, and thereby his powers. The catch is that the hammer can only be lifted by “one who is worthy.”

While on earth, Thor is befriended by a group of scientists, among which is Jane Foster: a female who never becomes a romantic love interest yet who loves Thor nonetheless (and by the end of the screenplay is loved by him in return). It is for Jane that Thor risks his mortal life more than once, and in risking himself learns what “responsibility, duty, [and] honor” really mean.

Moreover, through these risks Thor unknowingly proves himself worthy to lift the hammer once more.

As the screenplay approaches its final, climatic pages, Thor learns that his hammer had fallen to earth when he had fallen from Asgard. Thus he determines to retrieve it.

If the screenplay remains as it is, suffice it to say that Thor’s efforts to retrieve the hammer will provide movie goers with an excellent display of things like focused aggression, righteous indignation, and a proper use of one’s fists: for these things are all on display in Thor’s character, as he uses brute force, cunning, and unbending determination to break through a small army of men who are dedicated to keeping him from the hammer.

I will neither tell you that he reaches the hammer nor that he doesn’t: Nor will I provide the details of the many battles he wages along the way.

What I will tell you is that “THOR,” as presently scripted, promises to hit us the way “Rocky” hit us in 1976. In other words, it could be a movie that men who shun political correctness will enjoy for generations to come.

But no other genre of that time divided people’s loyalties as much as the decade’s testosterone-fueled action films. Bruce Willis, Arnold Schwarzenegger and Chuck Norris were three of the muscle-bound wisecrackers laying claim to the title of World’s Toughest Man. But none of those guys ever held a candle to the toughest guy of all, Sylvester Stallone.

With the Rocky franchise going full bore and Rambo first making the scene in 1982, it was a great time to be Sly. But then came the ’90s, and moviegoers were offered a menu of sensitive heroes and spectacular special effects taking the place of stars and stuntmen risking their necks onscreen. Stallone himself actually blames the ability of Michael Keaton to put on a suit full of fake muscles and become Batman as the moment that his own juiced-up muscles ceased to be important to audiences.

But if there is one thing Hollywood loves more than a mere winner it is a successful comeback. And in the past three years, Stallone’s been slowly building one, mainly through reprising roles he created and knows best, first in 2006’s “Rocky Balboa” and then “Rambo” in 2008.

Now, Stallone has single-handedly pumped new life into the sagging careers of nearly every otherwise washed-up action star of the ’80s and ’90s — among them, briefly, Governator Arnold Schwarzenegger — in the ridiculously entertaining film “The Expendables.”

Boasting a lineup of Stallone, his “Rocky IV” nemesis Dolph Lundgren, Mickey Rourke, Jason Statham, Jet Li, Terry Crews, wrestling stars Steve Austin, Randy Couture, ubiquitous ’80s villain Eric Roberts, plus Willis and Schwarzenegger in cameos, this film makes it clear from the casting that it’s not going to be vying for any Oscars. Stallone also directed the film and co-wrote it with Dave Callaham, meaning success or failure will be directly tied to Stallone’s ability to maintain his comeback and finally pull off his dual dream projects of portraying mobster John Gotti and Edgar Allen Poe (yes, Poe).

Based on this third entertaining film in a row, Sly’s succeeding. “The Expendables,” much like “The Dirty Dozen” and “The Magnificent Seven” before it, is about a bunch of tough guys on a mission. This time, a team of mercenaries is called to save a fictional South American island nation called Vilena from the ruthless American (Roberts), who’s bought his way into total control of its people.

The man who talks Stallone’s character Barney Ross into the job is a mysterious figure who goes by the name Mr. Church (Willis). However, Ross only gets the job after another tough-talking mysterious European figure (Schwarzenegger) engages him in a battle of one-liners before turning down the gig. This cleverly done five-minute scene, featuring the Holy Trinity of ’80s action superstars together onscreen for the first time, doesn’t have any action but its witty verbal sparring could be the scene that draws the most action fans into theaters.

After the team’s efforts go awry and they fly away with their mission distinctly not accomplished, Ross is morally conflicted over the fact the woman who hired them to topple Roberts and his minions chose to stay behind rather than escape certain peril. The team gets back in their private cargo plane and rides back into high-octane action that barely makes sense and requires little explanation to follow.

One thing that’s refreshing about this film is that there’s relatively little profanity for this kind of movie – almost none, in fact. And the heroes’ sense of honor and quest to defend women at all costs, including in a highly entertaining fight by Statham on behalf of an ex-girlfriend who was beaten by her new boyfriend, also lends some humanity to the proceedings.

Basically, if you love seeing stuff blow up —including bad guys — this movie is for you. “The Expendables” is by-the-book action filmmaking that still does the job with panache. Every one of its stars looks thrilled to be back on the big screen and — with lots of bangs and booms — make the most of their second chances.

There are few greater joys than ‘80s action films.  When I was younger, my brother and I sought out the craziest ones we could find for marathon viewing.  The appeal is obvious:  these movies are pure; they don’t waste time trying to excuse their existence.  There are no hackneyed back stories that reduce the protagonists to simpering man-babies in third act monologues; there are no juvenile progressive sucker punches (usually); and, most importantly, there’s no pretension. 

You can’t tell someone who didn’t like Die Hard that they didn’t “get it” or use your love of Rowdy Herrington flicks to passive-aggressively show off to your friends.  You’re not watching these movies to groom your image or impress anyone.  All you’re doing is marveling at the most sensible use of a medium that consists of moving images:  incredible feats performed by tough, charismatic men.  You’re laughing at the goofy charm (or genuine stupidity) of whatever insane premise is holding it all together. 

As noted previously on BH, Hollywood has abandoned these fundamentals, and the result has been a decade of hum-drum, camera-shaking clunkers with no personality and virtually no special effects created for real-life cameras to capture.  That is, Hollywood has abandoned these fundamentals, with one exception:  Sylvester Stallone. 

Out of all the goofy movies my brother and I watched way back when, the Stallone ones were the best.  Cobra, Tango & Cash, Over the Top— the man had such conviction, no matter how preposterous the movie, that he could be a compelling, magnetic screen presence, yet he always carried himself with a goofy charm, often having fun at his own expense. It’s not surprising to me, then, that while the careers of several of his’80s action peers are on shaky ground, Sly is forging his own second golden age at 64 years old (he and George W. Bush share the exact same birthday—coincidence?).  After a hiatus of several years, Stallone successfully rebooted both of his signature franchises–Rocky and Rambo– and his latest offering, The Expendables, is poised to make big bucks this weekend. 

So, since Sly seems to get it—since he’s offering us the no-frills, no-CGI man’s movie that we, the moviegoing American public have been starving for—at Big Hollywood, we’re celebrating the legacy of Stallone and giving the American ‘80s action film its due in an event titled: Bring On “The Expendables!”

As our resident music critic/punching bag, let me kick things off with a bit of an aside before the actual writers with politics and media cred jump in.  How awesome is Sylvester Stallone?  Rhinestone awesome.  Apparently, Stallone turned down roles in Romancing the Stone and Beverly Hills Cop to star in a goofy, slapdash Dolly Parton film by the director of A Christmas Story.  If he’s ever done anything more ballsy than breaking with 99.99% of his peers to endorse the opponent of Barack Obama in the 2008 election, it’s this movie.  

In a gender-reversed take on My Fair Lady, he plays a fast-talking New York cabbie who has to become a country singer to help Dolly Parton win a bet that may cost her…  well, you can guess what men would make her wager.  He could have paid someone to overdub some singing for him, but he really sings those silly country songs, and he makes them work with his rough voice.  He could have played it cool, but he really goes for broke with an inspired, downright spastic comic performance.  Of course, the Hollywood snobs gave him a Razzie for it, but his performance (and revisions to the script) really turned the film into a screwball camp classic.

And that is exactly what’s great about the man.  With Sylvester Stallone, you always know he isn’t worried about what other people think—not because he thinks he’s better or knows better than them, but because he’s confident enough in his own artistry (yeah, I said it) to make movies just the way he likes them.  And, what do you know—most everybody else likes them, too.

[Author’s Note:  In case anyone who is involved at all in Mr. Stallone’s career reads this:  RAMBO vs. PREDATOR. Make it happen.]

I got more and I didn’t want it. 

Why don’t sequels do well? Obviously, I’m not alone in feeling the way I do about Raiders or Star Wars or Jaws or any other great character-rich, dynamically set film that pulls you in and doesn’t fully let go even after the end titles trail up and we see that film certification symbol fade out. So, why is it that more of what we love, we hate? Well, maybe not hate, but not love quite so much. What’s going on here? 

Perhaps like many of you, I get excited when I hear shooting has started on a new installment of a film series I enjoy. Back when I saw the first leaked images of Jones on horseback going up against a German tank in the employ of the Afrika Corps, I was “giddy as a schoolboy.” I couldn’t wait to for that thing to be in the can and out in the theaters. I was thrilled, anxious and ready for the journey. But then another feeling took hold. Again, like many of you, when mention of a sequel or prequel leaks out, a small fear creeps up the back of one’s neck that somehow curiosity will lead to a deep regret, rivaling that of John Hurt’s as he poked his nose over that egg in Alien. And, like John, our feelings are often very well justified. Because many times, almost always, if anyone’s counting, sequels fail to capture the magic of the first film. “You just can’t repeat it,” many repeat.  Well, I’m not so sure about that. I don’t think it’s that the filmmakers are not trying hard enough, I think it’s more that they’re trying too hard. 

People change, and so should characters, right? Well, not quite. I have been wondering for a long time now, why it is I can’t fully enjoy Return of the Jedi, Aliens,  Alien 3,  Alien Resurrection,  any Rambo emptying a SAW past First Blood, or any Rocky beyond the bell where an out-of-breath voice gasped wisely, “No rematch!” And where an equally wise one gurgled out, “Don’t want one.” Well, a little voice, similarly exhausted, tells me this could be said of Hawkeye Pierce and Trapper John, Radar, Burns and Hot Lips Houlihan. Of the cast and crew of the Minnow, and that other ship, where some rogue muttered, “Look, I’m not in this for your revolution, sister. I’m in it for the money.” 

What am I talking about here? It’s what has been defined as Character Development. Somewhere along the way character development, the arc or course a character’s actions, words, and behavior take along a story line has been replaced with something different, something not-so-natural, not-so-healthy, something very formulaic. The increase in depth of a character’s personality, is, we are told, a sure sign of good writing, good acting, and lot’s of other good stuff. It signals to us that the characters are being fleshed-out, are growing, just like us. Changing, just like us. And doing the things we normally do, like becoming superhuman, multi-dimensional, and, best of all, not at all in it for the money.

I’m here to say that it isn’t working. Not for me, anyway. Using Joseph Campbell’s Hero with a Thousand Faces as a tuning fork, Lucas played the characters of Star Wars with perfect pitch and tone. He hit every note right. Yes, I happen to like Luke Skywalker as an innocent, awkward, and yes, sometimes dopey farm boy, a kid out of his element fighting a huge empire. I don’t know many farm boys who have much experience fighting huge empires (though that’s no reason to deny them the job). I also happen to like Han Solo looking out for number one, and of course, also watching his trusty sidekick Chewie’s back. Sure I want Han to come to the rescue every now and then, saving everybody and maybe the universe, too.  But not as a full-time job! And I want him complaining about his predicament with every discharge of his blaster all the way down the celestial pike. What I don’t want to see is his transformation into a benevolent, altruistic, selfless stick figure, volunteering for the toughest assignment without so much as a quip, an insult or at least a good joke. In Return of the Jedi, his character became flat and blocky, more inert than when he was frozen in carbonite. 

I have an idea. It might even pass for a theory. It goes something like this:

In Ridley Scott’s Alien, Ripley made a interesting heroine because we didn’t expect her to be the heroine. Let’s face it, Tom Skerritt had higher billing and thus, a greater chance of coming out of that pickle with a heck of a lot more than a highly lubricated pile driver alien jaw through his head, or worse. So did John Hurt, Yaphet Kotto, and Ian Holm. Sure, Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley, by rising to the occasion and becoming the hero achieved the unexpected, it’s true. Yet her actions were not out of character. Why not? Because we had already been shown hints of her strength. No, not in any oiled-muscle, gearing-up scene – as in Aliens,  and now almost every other film which has a David on the way to slay a Goliath – but in her behavior toward Ian Holm’s Science Officer Ash. When Ash makes the rash decision to violate quarantine protocol and let the landing party re-enter the ship and mind of Conrad’s Nostromo, she’s pissed. He blatantly disregards her authority. Soon after, she confronts him and lays down the rules. That’s all that was needed.  Hints are what we like. Not HITS, as in ‘…over the head.’

Aliens changed things. Don’t get me wrong, I loved this film, as I do many of James Cameron’s. But it’s another good example of writing going past the point of believability that is more distracting to me, and maybe others, than an audio pop, a jump cut, or violating the 180 rule. With this sequel the filmmakers decided to develop her character into a somewhat neurotic and unstable fusspot, suffering from insomnia, and having to still feed the same moody cat after 57 years. This is fine and understandable, and, very much in keeping with her character and what she’s been through, but it doesn’t really explain the superhuman strength and Delta Operator focus we see in her later on in the same film. Where did her fear go? And where did those skill sets mysteriously come from? Hicks? Spunkmeyer?  

Surrounded by goo-oozing aliens, pulsating eggs, and god knows what else, she charges back into the breech and certain death to find that darn cat again. Well, no, not really. But it might as well have been the cat. Instead, it’s the little girl, Newt, perhaps the most obvious in a long list of Cameron tributes to Gordon Douglas’ original “bug hunt” flick Them!  Ripley crawls into the growling belly of the beast with little more than a souped-up pulse rifle and spare magazines. And all through this mission, which would make John Rambo pause, she’s not even breathing heavy. While in the first movie, Alien, just one of those creatures hiding somewhere on a ship the size of Greenland made her hyperventilate into something resembling sheer panic. Justifiably so. But here, she calmly, and very professionally goes about her new task of rescuing a small girl from amongst several hundreds or maybe thousands of “Ripley’s bad guys”. Let’s not forget, this is within the dark, dank depths of a burning nuclear power plant that is about to do an impression of the Hindenburg at Lakehurst. Sure, the mother instinct is a crucial element of the theme here, mother vs. mother and all that. But, still, her behaviour takes on a super hero quality that transforms the story into more science fantasy than fiction. Where the original rules set down by the writers are being violated by who else, but the writers, in situations where anything, even the absurd is possible and to be expected. This is not to be confused with a suspension of disbelief. Rather, this is an expelling of belief that the setting and situation the writers have created for us is being transformed into a veritable Westworld run by renegade deus ex machina. 

Alien Resurrection displays more character development with our hero Ripley going gothic with touches of  arcade Street Fighter and left-over marine grunt mixed-in. Granted, to be fair she is merely a shadow of her former self, quite literally. She’s a clone. This time, an off-the-rack Ripley with a shelf life much longer apparently, than a synthetic Bishop, Ash and, while we’re at it, a Zhora, Priss or even Rachel could ever hope to get from the original manufacturer. But this unreasonable facsimile is just that, unreasonable. She’s not a whole lot of fun, either. Because we can guess rather confidently from the opening shots of her determination, that here sits our hero. This isn’t character development. This isn’t even a character. Unless you happen to be considering the cartoon variety.

Which brings me back to Luke, Leia, and Han (sorry Chewie). Principle players in the original Star Wars, they had their respective characters fleshed-out in fine form by the third act, the battle. We loved it, as did most of planet Earth. Which doesn’t really explain why the creators of the third installment, Return of the Jedi, would want to change that. Of course, we want change, but not at the expense of the things we have loved which connected us to it in the first place. I don’t want to see new facets of a character if I feel the filmmakers are showing me these new facets, these changes, these twists because they’ve exhausted all their original ideas in earlier installments and are now resorting to drastic means to keep the gravy train rolling, with add-ons that are more a product of meetings with merchandisers than anything else. If that’s the case, if in fact the characters are out of ammo, fleshed-out as far as their flesh will go – inevitable no matter how rich the character is written initially – then give us a new character or another adventure. For example, look what was done with the exceptional Leigh Brackett and Larry Kasdan penned Empire Strikes Back,  a rare winning sequel. It had taken the original idea, expanded on it and led us to places undreamed. Yet, all the while, retaining the character traits of all in attendance and firmly anchoring us to the original franchise without so much as a hiccup in believability or anything that a healthy smack on a cockpit control panel couldn’t fix.  That, Ladies and Gentlemen, is how you do it. You don’t pervert the characteristics of each member of a story, transforming them beyond believability, simply to get more mileage out of them or to justify a production, an episode or a sequel. Lovers of the original film, the fans, will rebel against that. They want to see more of what they love. They don’t want to see entirely new characters masquerading as the old ones for no other reason than to reel-in a duped loyal fan base at the box office. Not a good idea. 

Which leads us to Indiana Jones and Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.  Certainly, it was no Raiders, no Last Crusade nor my and many others’ least favorite, Temple of Doom. Simply, it just didn’t measure up. But, with that said, I did enjoy it and was happy to see the settings and the characters, well, some of them, again. I missed Sallah, and Marcus. Who didn’t? I wasn’t crazy about the time period, though I’m a big fan of cold war anything. But for me, Indy belongs in a pre-atomic age, when leather satchels, whips and dusty bomber jackets were worn by men other than those without a cause to rebel against. That’s a change that didn’t need to be. “Yeah but it’s twenty years since they made Last Crusade!”, they cried. So? Harrison Ford is an actor, so are the other people in the film who call themselves actors. Hollywood makes magic, doesn’t it?  Now, more than ever, we’re constantly told. There is no reason why we couldn’t have had this fourth Indiana Jones installment, and most likely the last, set in the mid-forties. In an attempt to make the story more ‘real to life’ they made it too real, and lifeless.  Was this another mistake by Spielberg? Judging not by the reviews, which I never judge anything on anyway, but by the fans and of course, my own feelings, that humorously understated line by Last Crusade’s last Templar knight comes to mind:  “He chose poorly.”  

Before I forget, I want to mention one other thing about Kingdom of the Crystal Skull that bothered me. Something on the poster, something about Indy was missing. His smile. Indy wasn’t really smiling. They continued the poster style, keeping it consistent with the serial nature of the cliffhangers that Raiders re-pioneered, if I can say that in mixed company. And I applaud that with gusto. But they changed the illustrated Indy too much by leaving out that cockiness, even after 20 years. If he’s not going to smile, not going to be displaying that adventurous grin, not going to display that false bravado, that winning lovable mixture of Joel McCray, Bob Hope, and yes, Han Solo that made Indiana Jones come alive for us, making even the most harrowing situation and death defying stunt seem fun and something we’d like to try at home, then why bother? They missed it with the poster. So, right out of the gate, they went in the wrong direction, with the wrong approach. Sure, he’s 20 years older, so what? Ever hear of people like John Glenn, Malcolm Forbes or Michael Korda? There are plenty of examples of men and women in their middle and senior years pursuing endeavors that healthy college kids would run from. So, for a character like Indiana Jones to run out of steam, it’s disappointing to say the least, and certainly not a topic for a sequel. Frankly, I think they played on the age element far too much in order to introduce a new angle to Indy. A big mistake. They didn’t need a new angle. I think even a poor story – and this one was not up to par with the previous three by any stretch of the imagination – could have been a heck of a lot more fun and much better cinema if they retained the Indy that we knew and loved in Raiders, felt a bit distanced from in Temple of Doom and re-united with in Last Crusade.  That’s my feeling. But heck, I’m making this up as I go along.   

Here’s a plea to budding writers out there: 

If you want to write such huge character changes, don’t experiment with an existing, beloved creation, adding-on simple shock value and steroids or fatigue and a lack of collagen. You may hit on a winner, and you may not. In the meantime, though, you’ll be changing irrevocably the things from the original that we grew with and held close to our hearts. Don’t do it. 

Start with a new, original story. There, you can experiment with a clean slate and see for certain why the lines are forming, along the story arc and around the block. In the meantime you may find quite unexpectedly that the big screen isn’t the only place where your character is being developed.