Indiana Jones and the Need for Mythology
“We can keep from a child all knowledge of earlier myths, but we cannot take from him the need for mythology.” – Carl Gustav Jung
Confession time: I’m a huge honkin’ Indiana Jones super-freak.
Yes, that’s little me in the picture at left. I was attending a Halloween party at the time the photograph was taken, but, truth be told, I was not often without my fedora as a tyke. (I went as Indiana Jones for several Halloweens in part because it didn’t really require much of a costume change.)
Like Jung says, mythology–or, perhaps more specifically, mythography (the representation of myths or aspects of myths in the creative arts)–is important for children growing up. The (early chapters of) writer/producer George Lucas and director Steven Spielberg’s Indiana Jones saga–1981′s Raiders of the Lost Ark, 1984′s Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, and 1989′s Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade–certainly offered me a mythic hero: a rogue archaeologist (played like it was what he was born to do by Harrison Ford), equal parts brain and brawn, in search of artifacts that could serve as “transmitters for speaking to” the divine (to paraphrase one of his enemies). He was the one fictional protagonist I wanted to be like, so much so that I even had to dress like him. For some of the other kids I knew growing up, their mythic heroes were found in the J.R.R. Tolkien books, C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia, the Star Wars movies, comic books, and elsewhere. For me, though, if my own need for mythology (or mythography) had a name, it was Indiana Jones.
And the films nurtured an interest in ancient cultures, civilizations, religions, and stories. It’s because of my wanting to be like “Indy” that I got to know a good bit about these subjects as a young person. And I can directly credit the spellbinding tales told in the Indiana Jones films with inspiring me to read (among other things) such vital books as Joseph Campbell’s The Hero With a Thousand Faces, Edith Hamilton’s Mythology, and Thomas Bulfinch’s Bulfinch’s Mythology. (I should add, though, that it’s thanks to the direction of my parents, particularly my mother, that I found my way to these kinds of books.)
With the release of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull this week, as well as the appearance of two interesting articles (in the Washington Post and USA Today, respectively), it has been fun for me to revisit my childhood fascination with these stories and, in particular, this character.
So what was it about Indiana Jones? And was there really much there to be so taken with? In the Post piece I mentioned above, entitled “Indiana Jones and the Meaningless Void,” author Hank Stuever argues that the films are bereft of any real meaning at all. I’m mostly inclined to agree with him. Looking back, I’d say they’re largely about nothing. (Though there’s a common theme I see about humbling oneself before higher powers, ideals, etc. For the sake of things bigger than himself, Indy always has to give up what he wants–whether it’s a look at the Ark’s power, “fortune and glory,” the Grail itself, or the advanced knowledge contained in the crystal skulls.) Or, if they are about something, it’s about Lucas and Spielberg having a creative field day. Still, there’s something about the character of Indiana Jones that gets missed in Stuever’s piece, I think. Hell, the American Film Institute named ol’ Indy the second greatest hero in screen history–behind Gregory Peck’s incarnation of Atticus Finch no less! And the films have been phenomenally successful with audiences, while others films like them haven’t necessarily. What’s that all about?
For me personally, as a child, the thing that was appealing was that unlike, say, Superman or another traditional hero, Indiana Jones wasn’t an ideal hero. He made mistakes and got the crap kicked out of him on a pretty regular basis. He was vastly imperfect, in fact–a more human sort of hero than we’re probably used to. Being like him didn’t feel impossible to me. In a weird way, the character made me feel like I had room to make mistakes and still be heroic. I was delighted to read a recent interview with Spielberg where he said almost exactly the same thing:
- [We allowed] our leading man to get hurt and to express his pain and to get his mad out and to take pratfalls and sometimes be the butt of his own jokes. I mean, Indiana Jones is not a perfect hero, and his imperfections, I think, make the audience feel that, with a little more exercise and a little more courage, they could be just like him.
Of course, looking back, perhaps he’s a little too human a hero. He’s impatient and arrogant, and has what one critic (whose review I can’t find) aptly calls “a casual sadism” (that dad Sean Connery is rightly shocked by in Last Crusade). Still, it all makes for a grounded, accessible hero. Whether the qualities of the character make the movies “about something,” I don’t know–but it seems to me worth considering. Due credit and respect to Spielberg and Lucas, I don’t think the success of these films is entirely about their command of cinema. I think people like the character, and beyond just his “insouciant bravado.”
That said, it was Indiana Jones’ “insouciant bravado” that burst the mythic bubble for me long ago. The older I got and the more independent thinking I did, the more I caught both strong and subtle whiffs of exoticism, pro-colonialism, xenophobia, and other unfortunate things in the Indiana Jones style of “adventure.” He stomps around exotic locales filled with strange and dangerous “others” and takes whatever he damn pleases. And if those “others” aren’t bad guys, then they need some kind of saving by an outside savior or saviors. [SPOILER ALERT!] One particularly egregious example occurs in the new film: A plot thread has to do with extraterrestrials teaching the pre-Mayan peoples how to farm, build cities, and so on. This is no doubt based on pseudo-scientific theories advanced by guys like Erich von Däniken, which one might criticize as coming from a really ugly sort of Eurocentrism. (“Those primitives couldn’t possibly have done agriculture, built pyramids, or come up with complex algorithms! Intelligences from outer space must have done it for them!”) [SPOILERS END.]
The films are also very violent in a Manichaean, consequence-free kind of way. Indy settles things with his fists, his bullwhip, or his gun, and that is never really questioned or examined. The older I get the more that sort of thing turns me off. I’m not at all squeamish about or against the use of violence in films, I just prefer that it teach me something about the reality of its use. (Ironically, some of Mr. Spielberg’s other films, like Schindler’s List, Saving Private Ryan, and Munich do this most effectively.) Even though the Indiana Jones films were an important part of my childhood and I haven’t turned into a psycho because of the violence in them, I’ll probably be wary of letting my kids watch them at a young age if I ever become a parent.
So what’s left to like then? Do the films mean anything to me today? Well, sure. For one thing, when I turn my brain off and just enjoy the ride, the first three films (and the new one) are very satisfying as cinema. Political correctness aside, they are undeniable, terrific fun. I’m certainly not the first to say it, but Raiders is a consummate masterpiece of American pop filmmaking–as thrilling the umpteenth time as it was the first. Temple of Doom, though it is was critically reviled and all but disowned by Spielberg, has enough going for it that I consider myself an apologist of sorts; it’s truly gorgeous, magnificently directed trash. (For a wonderful defense of the film, take a look at what Gregory Kirschling has to say.) And after almost twenty years, it strikes me that there have been few “Hollywood crap-taculars” as utterly charming, funny, and exciting as Last Crusade. (What’s more, the father/son dynamic gives Spielberg a chance to explore one of the prevalent themes in his oeuvre, that of estrangement from father, which makes for some unexpectedly moving moments–take this perfect little scene for example.)
Crystal Skull, which I saw opening day, of course, is an interesting addition to the series. In a reflection on the film, Cool Mel over at ~C4Chaos writes:
- Lucas and Spielberg could’ve done better. I can’t quite put my finger on it. But there’s an X-factor element missing.
As I see it, there are a couple of things missing, but that’s not always a bad thing. The film is not in the 1930s serial style of its predecessors, and intentionally so–in the months leading up to the film’s release, Lucas and Spielberg emphasized that because the new film takes place in the late 1950s, it draws much of its inspiration from different films of that era. (Crystal Skull begins with a desert drag race set to Elvis Presley’s “Hound Dog,” and as a whole resembles an atomic-age thriller more than a high adventure story.) In a way, it never set out to be exactly like the previous films. Of course, this is not to say it does everything right: there’s too much CGI (boo), the film juggles way too much plot (even for an Indiana Jones movie), and the laughs just aren’t as big as those in the other entries (Lawrence Kasdan wrote Raiders and Tom Stoppard ghost-wrote most of Last Crusade). Still, these problems are relegated mostly to the last hour–the first is hour is sublime entertainment, and very nearly perfect. And despite the spotty last reels, it’s still much better than most films of this type. Overall, Crystal Skull gets a pretty enthusiastic “thumbs-up.”
And despite my postmodern quibbles with his Eurocentric “adventures,” I have to admit that Indiana Jones the imperfect, accessible hero still manages to speak to the kiddo in me–even in new and exciting ways. My favorite scene occurs in a malt shop, where Indy’s young greaser sidekick is constantly snapping at him. Without taking it personally, Indy says gently, with the wisdom of age, “You don’t have to get so angry all the time to show me how tough you are.” Yea to the new, more compassionate Dr. Jones!
And imagine my delight when I walked out of Crystal Skull to see a little guy waiting outside the theater for the next showing, all dressed up like Indiana Jones. “Nice outfit, partner,” I said with a smile. He smiled back, happy to be noticed, and I wondered if Indy would offer him as much as he has offered me.
