Just shy of two decades in development, the long-rumored and much anticipated return of Indiana Jones is upon us.  Part of me wants to abandon this impression the job of writing up this impression altogether - to force a genuine and unbiased critique of this franchise doesn't just miss the point, it draws upon the viewers instincts to discard the absurd and begin the rationalization process.  Throughout his adventures, Dr. Henry Jones has traveled the world and been involved in nearly every aspect of its modern history, saved the world any number of times, and been touched by the hand of God.  He's also evaded Hitler, cheated death, and proved just how versatile and essential a good whip can be.  Throw in countless melting Nazis, chilled monkey brains, plenty of ooga-booga natives, and a spurned lover (or two) and you've got yourselves one fine time at the multiplex, and such is the gloriously welcome Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

What's a few years between friends?  The last we saw of our fedora-sporting hero was his climatic ride into the sunset, signaling a Last Crusade that was both historical and personal.  But now its time to dust off the fedora, don the leather jacket, and add a few more notches to the belt of one of cinema's most beloved and inspiring characters as director Steven Spielberg and George Lucas have settled on just the right formula to restore our hero to the public consciousness.  If the original trilogy paid tribute to the pulp serials of the 30s, then Indy's return is firmly indebted to the atomic age of the 1950s.  The world has purged the Nazi threat, and taking their place are the equally intimidating Russian Communists led by the commanding presence of psychic-spy Irina Spalko.  The introductions are kept short as Indy and post-1939 compatriot George McHale (a fun but underused Ray Winstone) are literally dusted off (from inside a trunk) and made to hunt down a mysterious crate in the mystical warehouse from Raiders of the Lost Ark, now fully realized as Areal 51.  It's here things begin to get otherworldly, and the globe-trotting adventure to obtain the mystical crystal skulls takes the franchise into places its never been before.

I wouldn't dream of giving anything away, but suffice to say it doesn't take long for the whip to come out and action to ensue.  From the very first sign of the old Paramount logo (literally), we in for a cinematic treat the likes we rarely get these days.  Spielberg wisely discards most of the tricks he's learned since the last installment, which results in a much more organic and fluid look that's relatively free from glitz and gloss.  Unlike Lucas' recent excursions into hyper-CG territory, Crystal Skull LOOKS and FEELS like the older films, with most of the effects and action staged traditionally.  Speaking of effects, despite some on/off again CG moments, the film's most spectacular effect is Harrison Ford himself, clearly relishing the chance to bring his most famous character to life yet again, but strut his stuff in a role that requires oodles of physicality.  He may be 65 years old, but he certainly doesn't act his age - thank goodness.

This is a series that lives and dies by the performance of one man, and here Ford wakes up from the decade-long slumber that's defined his career lately.  The man is a bona-fide MOVIE STAR in the best tradition, and say what you will about his other films, once he dons the fedora and cracks the whip (along with a few one-liners), the world is a much better place.  He inhabits the role like a well-worn shoe, and we can't help but cheer his return.  Whatever concern you might've had that an older, grayer Jones would have on the action and feel of Crystal Skull is unfounded - this is primo-awesome stuff here.  In fact, Ford carries the day by performing (most) of his own stunts in ways that'll make the younger guys feel jealous. 

Also impressive is Cate Blanchett's bizarre psychic-Russian agent Irina Spalko.  After suffering for years in fancy-pants art films, the gifted actress finally gets to open up and enjoy herself for a change.  Sporting a bodacious bob and tight-fitting regalia, Spalko does the impossible and becomes one of the most memorable villains of the franchise.  She's also sympathetic, and maybe even a bit tragic as one of Stalin's 'fair haired' girls chosen for experimentation with ESP and mind-reading abilities.  Her get-up is bound to be one of this year's most popular costumes come Halloween, rapier sword and all.  Ray Winstone as the probable British double-agent is absolutely hilarious when on-screen, which sadly isn't enough.  John Hurt (Oxley) is similarly excellent, with his befuddled performance as Indy's old chum and Mutt's stand-in papa help liven up the already excellent cast.

Shia LeBeouf as Mutt Williams...if nobody has already spoiled the surprise, then I won't either.  A gifted young actor with a great sense of comedic timing, he's still got a ways to go before we'll consider him a valid action-hero, let alone a substitute for Indiana Jones.  But for now, Shia's got the side-kick thing down pat, having played second fiddle to giant robots in last year's smash-hit Transformers and now alongside the good doctor.  Sporting a Marlon Brando attitude and greaser motif, he's a good addition to the series and isn't distracting at all.  All hail the return of Karen Allen as Indy's best and most destined of love-interests, Marion Ravenwood.  Fans have long-known that despite her absence in the first two sequels, Marion was always the one that got away.  Still beautiful after all these years with a smile that could light a room (or in this case, steamy jungle), Jones remark that all his romantic conquests after her had the same problem is the single-most touching moment of the franchise.  "None of them were you, honey."  Smiles.

I'm no apologist.  I genuinely loved Indy's return and found the whole thing quite thrilling.  This is old-fashioned adventure filmmaking the likes we rarely see anymore, and for inciting my imagination I'm once again grateful to Spielberg, Lucas, and Ford.  I loved the American Graffiti moments of the first university car chase.  I loved the parallel jungle chase that made little sense.  I especially loved the first time I heard Indy crack his whip, which made me want one of my own more than ever, even though I know that's just asking for trouble.  For all the hatred behind it, I even loved the Mutt-imitate-Tarzan multiple monkey scene, because heaven knows if I ever found myself clinging to a few jungle vines and surrounded by a mass of monkeys, I'd be doing exactly the same thing.  Those man-eating ants that'll drag you underground?  The stuff of bone-chilling nightmares, so you can bet I loved that.  OK, maybe I didn't love the rubber snake bit, but the audience I watched this with obviously did, so to each his own.

If there's any one thing you can color me disappointed with, its the overall lack of a distinguished musical performance from John Williams.  Maybe the recent Star Wars films have spoiled me, but I imagined we'd be treated to the most sophisticated and mood-setting Indiana Jones march of them all (think Duel of the Fates).  Then again, considering how well the new film plays nice with the older, such a thing might have seemed out-of-place and a bit overkill.  I'm still smiling like a school girl every time the familiar notes chime in, so no real complaints here.

A quick note before I take off, and this is to address the tragic proliferation of online naysayers and critical bullies.  That's not to infer these opinions are wrong, or even incorrect.  But its clear that for many, an irrevocable split has formed between the critic's ability to justify and enjoy their work.  There's a real sense of punishment in some of the early critiques of the new Jones film, as though the disenchantment of the online community felt for the recent Star Wars Prequel Trilogy failed to live up to their expectations necessitated the early destruction of this effort.  To put the early Jones Trilogy (even Temple of Doom) in such a hallowed space that, barring miracles, Indy's fourth adventure was destined for abject failure.  Not only do I disagree with this premise, but I feel empathy for those unable to simply enjoy the film for what it is, and not for whatever it was supposed to be.  I suppose their views are justified unto themselves, but when a film's pleasures must be justified under the audacious and insatiable auspices of marketing-lingo and irrational fanboy schadenfreude, it often collapses under the weight of these delusions. 

As the great E.B. White pointed out, "Analyzing humor is like dissecting a frog. Few people are interested and the frog dies of it."  For the rest of us, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull fits the bill.  Welcome back, Dr. Jones!