Yesterday I saw INDIANA JONES AND THE CRYSTAL SKULL. I was disappointed.
Harrison Ford looks great and if, as I've read, he really does do his own stunts, then he's in amazing shape. The various vehicle chases were fun and inventive. And nobody expects much plausibility of premise from an Indiana Jones script. We go to the movie for the snap and sparkle -- but that's just what was missing, along with any plot coherence at all.
A plot is supposed to make sense -- a minimum of sense -- if you accept its basic premises. Those premises may be outrageous, as in the previous Indiana Jones capers. They may be strictly mimetic, seeking to replicate reality as we know it or as it might become. They may be magical or comic or a half dozen other things. But once they've been shown, the plot is supposed to grow from them, not go off in seventeen incoherent directions. This movie looks as if Spielberg and Company couldn't decide what it was supposed to be about, so they throw in lost artifacts, Spanish conquistadores, Communists seeking psychic weapons, aliens, other dimensions, nuclear bomb tests, mind bending, and an ending that punishes Cate Blanchett for being thirsty for knowledge. Or maybe for being Russian. Or just for having blue eyes. It's impossible to tell what she's done to offend the aliens that everybody else hasn't done, or what their "gift" is, or why ants can outrun human beings. Or anything else.
And Indiana Jones's dialogue seems weary. It's not age; the strong impression is that Harrison Ford would rather have been someplace else. Like back looking for the Ark of the Covenant.