A refrigerator. Indy hid in a refrigerator. In order to survive a nuclear blast. A refrigerator. A refrigerator that got tossed through the air, end over end, for miles. By the blast. The blast from the atomic bomb. The atomic bomb that instantly vaporized everything in a five-mile radius. Everything, that is, except for the refrigerator—which the blast from the atomic bomb instead launched through the air, for miles and miles, until it hit the ground. Hard. Miles away from the blast site. With Indiana Jones inside of it.
And he popped open the door and got out and coughed a couple times. And was fine.
And that was in the first 15 minutes.
Which brings me to the real point here, and that is:
Someone needs to cut off George Lucas’s hands and force feed them to him in order to ensure that he never again attempts to write a movie.
My expectations for “Indiana Jones 4” (I’m not typing out all that “Crystal Skull” bullshit again) were low. Like, really, really low. And I said as much to my Dad as we sat down on the couch to watch the DVD.
“How bad could it be?” he asked.
“Trust me,” I answered. “You didn’t see what he did with that ‘Star Wars’ prequel.”
But I still held out a little hope that all might not be lost. After all, Lucas both wrote and directed the “Star Wars” prequel … and, while the story and plot for those three flicks were convoluted as all hell, it was the horrifically bad acting that really sank the ship. Maybe, just maybe, in the hands of a more capable director, Lucas’s “Indiana Jones 4” would work.
Now, here I must ask: does Steven Spielberg know that he is listed in the credits as the director of “Indiana Jones 4”? Because, clearly, that can’t be true. There is no way that Spielberg would have risked his reputation by allowing this clunker to see the light of day.
“Hi, George? It’s Steven.”
“Hey hey! Steve-o-rino! Sorry, I was busy counting all this money that Burger King just dropped off. Do you have any idea how much cash they gave me so that they could plaster Harrison’s wrinkled mug on the side of a soda cup? God, I love this business!”
“Yeah, well, actually, Harrison’s here with me, and we’re calling about the script. We were shooting the warehouse scene today? The one with the magnetic skull? And we were noticing that the script calls for every piece of metal in the known universe to suddenly be drawn to the skull—every piece of metal, that is, except for the rifles carried by the dozen or so Russian soldiers standing right next to it.”
“And …? C’mon, Steve-o, time is money. What’s the problem?”
“Well, George, it just doesn’t seem very plausible.”
“Plausible? It doesn’t seem plausible? I take it you haven’t shot the refrigerator scene yet?”
I’d go on, but after writing all of the above, I discovered this satirical, abridged version of the script, which really does sum it all up rather nicely.
And while we’re on the subject of George Lucas exploiting the good feelings you had about an epic childhood trilogy, be sure to also check out this abridged version of the script for “Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace.”
UPDATED 06.26.09: No, I totally wasn’t kidding about the refrigerator: