Yesterday I mentioned that there are things in the past that should be let to rest – case in point, the pseudo-science/UFOs/ancient mysteries books of the seventies, that I loved as a kid and now find insufferable.
Another case in point – The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles, the spin-off series telling us the early exploits of Henry Jones Jr., before he went looking for the Lost Ark… and even before a number of the tie-innovels.
I re-watched the a few episodea yesterday night.
Goodness was it boring!
Now don’t get me wrong.
Great production values.
Shot on location in Egypt.
Costumes just great, photography a smash, the music is beautiful.
But the story, for crying out loud… basically a big Scooby-doo number – and not one of the best.
It was impossible to get into the story – it was too distant, cold, detached. Banal.
I blame the cast, and the writing: they even managed to make Lawrence of Arabia look dull. And the very young Indiana Jones was an insufferable brat.
But it’s me, of course.
Maybe I’m too old. Maybe I am no longer the target audience for which these movies were made.
I did feel a little guilty – after all I love Indiana Jones, and I was able to find something good even in some of the tie-in novels.
But this… after the first episode I tried two others, from the other DVDs.
Then I just decided there are better ways to get bored.
When even a young Catharine Zeta Jones as an Oriental dancer doesn’t make the story any more interesting, it’s time to call it a day.
A pity, really.
But the question remains… how come Hollywood has such a hard time doing simple, good pulp entertainment, even when the property seems to be watertight?
This post first appeared on Karavansara | East Of Constantinople, West Of Shan, please read the originial post: here