Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom

Koko: How do you fuck up a movie about deranged Indian cults, a slutty lounge singer, and a Chinese midget? Steven Spielberg is art's answer to the war criminal. 1 severe gorilla beating.

Ass-Headed Bottom: First movie: evil Nazis. Third movie: evil Nazis. Second movie: evil voodoo-crazed Indians? Fourth movie: maybe evil Bahai-crazed Rastafarians?

Panther: The great Roman poet, Horace, originally said, "Homer sometimes nodded," referring, of course, to the idea that even great artists sometimes shit a brick, and such is the case with the fourth movie in the Indiana Jones franchise. Actually, let me back up.....what justifies a Homer in modern cinema? Ticket sales? Action figures? If so, then George Lucas, writer of this abortion, and Steven Spielberg, director of this turd, are Homers, indeed. 

On the other hand, if being a "Homer" constitutes memorable lines that give our lives meaning (Mhnin, aeide, qea, Phlyhiadew Acilhos--the wrath of Achilles, sing, goddes) or a story on which we can actually base our existence (like the incredible scene from the "Iliad" when Hektor says goodbye to his wife and baby son as he leaves for battle), then these two geniuses, who have, in fact, done this in the past......

Does "Star Wars" ring a bell?
Remember "Jaws?"

....have failed miserably.

Other than the brief Telemachean strains that caper nimbly through the chamber of this apartment simplex, reminding me of my recently born mighty son (seen here with his lyre),

who will one day string my bow,

this movie is a waste of Netflix.

Just as Indie tries to bring back the dead to solve the insipid mystery, so, too, Lucas and Spielberg cast John Hurt as "Oxy" or "Ox," who, coincidentally, reminds me of how the great Iliadic hero, Ajax, was, also, unfortunately named after a cleanser, and the resurrected corpse of Karen Allen, from the original and great "Raiders" movie. In this, her character is incidental and ridiculous, much like an unpopped zit that sneaks its way onto your face between the 6PM shower and the 9PM makeout session in the parking lot of Trudy's. The fiesty Cate Blanchett, whom I kind of want to fuck, drags out her soggy Russian accent as the intrepid KGB (why do I want to type KGSR?) agent bent on........."alternative country" songs by bands known only in Austin or Eastern European bands with accordions.

This movie is, altogether, a waste of celluloid, and the only thing that made it even remotely (please tell me that someone gets this pun) watchable was that I watched it while working a Rogue Training Systems water stop, which, as I'm sure you know, is like a masters degree: it takes a long time, and there's nothing you can do with it.

Avoid this abomination at all costs and rent the original, instead. In the original masterpiece, "Raiders of the Lost Ark," Harrison Ford is pre-Botox, and you almost believe him when he says he's "making this up" as he goes.

Slothrop: Referring to Spielberg as a genius and great artist in the space of one review is the best case not for Homer but for Sophocles and the universal applicability of Oedipus-- after he stabs his eyes out.