Indiana Jones and The Lost Car Keys

So are you going to the movies this week? And if you are, are you going to see Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull?

I think I will – I will actually head to the Cineplex and brave the lineups, the infernal bleeping of cell phones and feet sticking to the floor, a rare event since we scored the 52-inch Sony.

But this is special. I signed up to search for the Lost Ark, worshipped at the Temple of Doom, and was a camp follower on the Last Crusade. So 19 years since the alleged final installment, how could I miss the quest for the Crystal Skull?

After all, I’m not getting any younger…and neither is the Indiana Jones franchise.

It’s hard to believe, but Indy started cracking that bullwhip 27 years ago with Raiders of the Lost Ark.

And Indy himself is even older: Harrison Ford is so old, he’s older than I am. He’s pushing 66, which makes him a little venerable to be wrassling with Cate Blanchett, who plays a sexy, scary Soviet scientist intent on using him to capture the prize – this time it’s a legend-soaked crystal skull.

Most 66 year-old guys don’t have to escape a death squad, a nuclear blast and several descents via waterfall. Most 66-year-old guys only have to worry about where they put their car keys, but then, they’re not Indiana Jones.

Still, in the 19 years since the last one, Indy has weathered a bit. Filmmakers George Lucas and Steven Spielberg (no spring chickens themselves; together they are 126) had to recruit a surrogate hunk of beefcake for the younger female audience – the improbably-named 24-year-old Shia LeBoeuf. Ford still has enough manly charm to be a cool father figure, but the filmmakers are obviously setting us up for a whole new generation of Indiana Jones.

Still, it’s one last wild, nostalgic ride for the Baby Boom, and baby, that’s me. Born to be wild, we ain’t never gonna die. There’s a lot of beard-tugging among reviewers over the annoying tendency of boomers to refuse to roll over and play dead, but at least allow us this one last simple indulgence before we shuffle off to our “active living” gated communities and the lemon jello. I hate lemon jello—and grape, cherry, strawberry, lime, orange, etc. Any kind of jello.

Meanwhile, check out Declan Burke’s review on Orato.com, and pass the popcorn…