Required reading: Kris Tapley’s hateful review of IJ, Part IV. Pull quote: “Truly, there isn’t one thing I liked about “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.” I could fill this space for days with items on the other side of that fence, however.”
Anticipation is a dangerous emotion when it comes to pop culture, I think, and it’s hard to imagine a film that has been longer anticipated than the fourth Indiana Jones. Perhaps it’s a challenge George Lucas enjoys, since the last comparable movie could be his fourth edition to the Star Wars series, the disastrous “Phantom Menace.” If it’s a challenge he’s enjoying, it’s also a challenge he should stop undertaking.
My review of the “Crystal Skull” can’t hardly be as negative as Tapley’s, but it should serve as far from a recommendation. This is a movie that, as much as it looks like Indiana Jones, as much as it sounds like Indiana Jones, it never truly feels like a film belonging of the name. This has never been a series, I don’t think, that took itself particularly seriously, but surely it should have paid a bit more attention to seriousness than … this.
In an attempt to make the fourth shine, Steven Spielberg added two pretty supporting characters to the film: Cate Blanchett cast as the enemy, as Stalin’s right-hand woman Irina Spalko and Shia LaBeouf as, well, a young sidekick for an aged Indy. Blanchett does a nice job, but it’s not exactly a well-developed or sensible character. LaBeouf isn’t very likable in a performance that needed to be very on the mark to work.
If those two are Spielberg’s addition to the film, the venture into science fiction is clearly George Lucas’. While surely the previous three films have contained elements of science fiction, Lucas introduces Roswell to us early in the film and does not let it go. His own fascination with the great unknown is thrust into this series, and for that, I’m sincerely sorry.
The good news is that it’s unquestionably funny in the most Indiana Jones ways. It’s unrealistic in the most brilliant, lovable way, with Indy dodging as many bullets as ever before. It has comic breaks when it needs to, and if nothing else, you can always laugh at the movie’s ridiculousness. Yesterday I talked about how “Lars and the Real Girl” was wrongly positioned as a comedy when it wasn’t; well today I’ll say “Indiana Jones” is a comedy that wants to be an action movie.
For many of us, Harrison Ford is Han Solo, for others he’s Indiana Jones. He’s Colonel Lucas, he’s Rick Deckard, he’s Dr. Richard Kimble, he’s Preisdent James Marshall. And, at 68, he’s all grown up, and that’s just about as hard to watch as seeing the Indiana Jones series reduced to … this.
Posted by Bryan 
Posted by Bryan 
Posted by Bryan
Over the next hour, David Cook turned in three worst performances of his Idol career. The odds were already stacked against him: we knew the night’s “inspirational” song was David Archuleta’s bread and butter, and we knew his sappy take on “Imagine” would be hard to top. But what was supposed to be a classic David versus David battle quickly turned into David versus Goliath, with the little and likeable kid slingshotting the rocking beast well past his prime.
But if you still want to see how it all went down, click through for a song-by-song analysis on three levels: first, for the track hand-selection by ever-aging and less-relevant-each-year record exec Clive Davis; second, for the inspirational track handpicked by the contestants from ten choices; and third, for the contestant’s personal choices. I’ve forgone a final prediction this week because I think it’s clear where I stand: my heart is with Cook, my money’s on Archuleta.
Ever-prolific and still critically beloved, the Black Keys (made up of just Auerback and drummer Patrick Carney) have now perfected a blue-banner brand of blues so dark and murky that our country’s only other blues duo might as well be called the Whitebread Stripes. Attack & Release is their opus: lyrically inventive, funky and rocking at once, and helmed with just enough of Danger Mouse’s sonic invention that it stands above the rest of their impressive back catalogue — even 2006’s superb Rubber Factory. Just take a listen to standout “So He Won’t Break,” which roughly approximates Cream covering Nirvana’s “Heart-Shaped Box.” On its own, the grimy riff isn’t far removed from the Key’s own “All Hands Against His Own” (also from ‘06) — but Danger Mouse layers on violinic guitar sweeps and and an eel-slick bassline to turn it into something quite majestic.
Attack & Release’s softer side, on the other hand, provides some of the prettiest tracks we’ve heard from the Keys yet. Opener “All You Ever Wanted” approaches country western until its final third, when the whole thing collapses into organ-assisted carnival funk. And “Lies,” which finds Auerbach at his most contemplative, is bare-bone blues aided only by a crew of backround singers working their graveyard shift. “I wanna die,” sings Auerbach, clever to pause before delivering the second half of the couplet: “…without pain.” It’s a simple, heartfelt message, and yet another reminder that you don’t need a broken heart to sing the blues — but it sure helps.
Now the duo returns with The Odd Couple, which they sprung on the general public last month with absolutely no marketing. From the getgo, the album starts in the same place as 2006’s St. Elsewhere — with the sound of a flickering movie reel, as if to signify that the next 39 minutes are some type of surrealist show. And the filmic metaphor doesn’t stop there: this year’s Odd Couple, an obvious allusion to the ’70s TV show, continues the joke started by Elsewhere — which namechecks a lesser-known Denzel Washington TV series from the ’80s. It’s as if Danger Mouse, perhaps most famous for his 2004 mash-up of Jay-Z and Beatles snippets that inspired just as many remixes as it did lawsuits, still feels the need to prove his pop culture credentials. But just because an idea was innovative in the first place doesn’t mean it’s original the second time around; you never hear about the second guy who invented the lightbulb.
It’s fitting, then, that The Odd Couple’s worst tracks are its poppiest. “Whatever,” a bratty fuck-off that stunts the album midway through, is not only immature but also an irresponsibly blatant reworking of the chord structure from the Violet Femmes’ “Gone Daddy Gone” — which Gnarls themselves covered on their last disc. And the catchy “Blind Mary,” despite a great intro that sounds half Nintendo and half Sgt. Pepper, just doesn’t sound as good the second time around. Other songs can be reduced to a single trope: the hyperactive percussion on “Open Book” distracts from a sensual string arrangement, and the jazz flute on both “No Time Soon” and “Neighbors” seems a little too hipster for its own good. 

