Director Report Card: Steven Spielberg (1993) - Part Two

18. Schindler’s List

In 1980, novelist Thomas Keneally would enter a briefcase shop owned by Poldek Pfefferberg. After learning he was a writer, Pfefferberg showed Keneally his extensive collection of documents about Oskar Schindler, the man who saved him – and 1200 other Jews – from the Nazi death camps. After two hours of talking, Keneally agreed to write a book about the man. “Schindler's Ark,” published two years later, became a best seller. Coincidentally, Pfefferberg was friends with Steven Spielberg's mother. He had been trying to get a movie about Schindler made since the sixties and seemed certain Spielberg was the right man to finally bring the story to theater screens. The director, however, wasn't sure he was mature enough to make a movie about the Holocaust. He spent the eighties trying to convince other filmmakers – ranging from Martin Scorsese to Roman Polanski and Brian De Palma – to direct it instead. Yet the distressing rise of antisemitism and Holocaust denial in the early nineties, as well as a pep talk from Billy Wilder, finally gave Spielberg the courage to make “Schindler's List.” The film would, of course, change the director's career and become one of the most acclaimed and important movies of the decade.

In 1939, Nazi Germany conquers Poland. In the city of Kraków, the local Jewish population is forced into the ghettos. Oskar Schindler, a Czech-born member of the Nazi Party, moves into the city to open an enamelware factory. He hires a Jewish accountant, Itzhak Stern, to fill the worker positions with desperate Jewish workers. By listing them as “essential workers,” Stern keeps many people out of the concentration camps. Schindler, meanwhile, is only interested in money and women. SS lieutenant Amon Göth arrives to build the Plaszów camps, leading to the liquidation – systematic slaughtering or imprisonment – of every Jew in the ghetto. Becoming increasingly effected by the horrors he witnesses, Schindler works harder to keep Jewish prisoners employed in his factory and protected from the tortures of the camps while hiding the truth from the Nazi forces.

It's all too understandable why Spielberg was reluctant to make a movie about the Holocaust. Not just because he, personally, specialized mostly in popcorn cinema before this point. There's a reasonable case to be made that the horrors of the Holocaust are so insurmountable that any fictionalized retelling of them is irresponsible. Perhaps such events, any genocide anywhere, should only be told in a documentary context. Trying to make "entertainment" out of the systematic murder of millions of people is morally offensive, right? As a Jewish man himself, one can only assume that Spielberg was aware of these difficulties. “Schindler's List” stands apart from his earlier movies for its sheer commitment to realism. The director and his team seemed to take the philosophy of, if these events must be retold as fiction, they must be approached in as realistic a manner as possible.

Especially in our modern age, when fewer survivors of the Holocaust remain every year, when fascism is on the rise again, a film like “Schindler's List” seems truly important. If this motion picture achieves nothing else, I would hope it imposes on every viewer the unbelievable number of innocent human lives destroyed by the Nazi regime. Spielberg's film achieves this through means both subtle and sledgehammer blunt. One of the most chilling sequences in the film's early half is a slow pan through a Nazi warehouse. We see piles of shoes, clothes, family photographs, and other personal belongings, all stripped from Jewish people recently forced onto trains. Shortly afterwards, a Jewish jeweler – forced to work for the government that seeks to eliminate his people – is presented with a collection of gold teeth to count. Later on, the film depicts ashes falling over the city, billowing up from the furnaces of the death camps. Trying to even imagine murder on such a scale, that the ashes of the incinerated bodies literally rain down from the sky, is almost unfathomable. But it happened. And this is something that must never be forgotten.

To portray such horrific historical events, and to avoid sensationalizing them as much as possible, Spielberg and his team sought to create a documentary-like air. "Schindler's List" frequently uses title cards, to establish locations and historical context, much the way a documentary would. Spielberg intentionally did not storyboard the film, to increase a sense of on-the-spot verisimilitude. This is most evident during a sequence where Jews inside the Plaszów camps are forced to strip and run laps, to determine who is healthy enough to work and who is to be killed. The camera work is shaky and handheld here, to make it easier for us to imagine that we are there. These events happened and the film is visually constructed in such a way as to always remind us of that, to impose the reality of these horrors on the viewer. 

This is most apparent during the film's treatment of violence. The death onscreen is often depicted as bluntly as possible, bodies jerking backwards and folding to the ground in a totally lifeless fashion. There is no "cool" movie violence in "Schindler's List." The only effect is to horrify the audience with depictions of such brutality and slaughter. The liquidation of the ghetto – which is such a sterile name for such a vicious act – begins with little warning. In a tumultuous series of scenes, we see human souls reduced to nothing but limp meat. Machine gun fire rains out, cruelly assaulting the viewers' senses every time, as blood and feathers from mattresses fly. There is no orchestral music in this scene, to further emphasize the horrible reality of it. Nazi soldiers bicker among themselves, play piano, and even mock the survivors as the killing goes on around them. It is perhaps the best example of how the film sets out to make these then-54 year old events feel as real, as raw, and as awful to viewers as possible. 

If Spielberg strips his visual style down as much as possible to make the horror of the destruction of the ghetto apparent, another scene maximizes the visual mood to further emphasize this point. Sometime afterwards, the bodies of those killed in the ghetto are dug up and moved to a mass grave. In this scene, John Williams' elegiac score blares. The sound design is thundering. The visuals, of flame and piles of bodies and corpses falling from the sky like rag dolls, brings nothing but pure hell on Earth to mind. Which it was. It is all shot in chaotic a manner as possible, to further overwhelm the viewer with these very real events. It is fitting that this scene, and the discovery of the corpse of the highly symbolic girl in the red coat, marks a personal turning point in Oskar Schindler's story. How can anyone witness such atrocities and not be moved to action?

Ultimately, "Schindler's List" is Spielberg's most visually disciplined film. Every directorial choice has a clearly defined purpose behind it. Janusz Kaminski's black-and-white cinematography is clearly designed to bring the stark horrors of these events into further contrast. It recalls what would've been documentary footage of the time. Yet it is stylized at times too. The Nazi officers, and Schindler in his most conflicted moments, are often shrouded in shadows, to cause us to further reflect on the obscure movement of the mind that brought them to this place. The only example of stylized violence in the film is when a one-armed worker is murdered out in the snow. The camera watches his blood spread over the white snow, as if the purity of the land is being sullied. It is a visual foreshadowing of the pain and death that was only beginning. 

“Schindler's List” depictions of real events forces us to grapple with another question: How does something like this even happen? An idea the movie returns to over and over again is the way Jewish people were dehumanized by the Nazi government. Early on, groups of Polish Jews are reduced down to a list of names. Among the film's many difficult-to-watch sequences involves Amon Göth's treatment of Helen Hirsch, the Jewish woman he has conscripted to be his maid and mistress. He's sexually attracted to her. Yet any time it seems like he may have actual feelings for the girl, he reduces her again to something less than human, beating her and blaming her for his attraction to her. His philosophy, enforced by the state, causes him to consider someone he clearly sees as a living being as nothing more than vermin. A few times throughout “Schindler's List,” we see German citizens sneering at the Jews, throwing things at them and yelling. This is what happens when an entire race of people are othered by those in power. When they cease to be human in the public's eyes, it makes their extermination seem more acceptable. “How was the Holocaust allowed to happen?” is a question with many different answers but a successful propaganda campaign, playing on centuries of bigotry, to make people believe other human beings are not like them is certainly a big component.

More than anything else, to me, "Schindler's List" is a film about what makes a man to choose to sacrifice and what makes him choose to do evil. Oskar Schindler's transition from cold-hearted businessman, only concerned with how much money he can make, to someone who risked everything to save lives is intentionally cast in ambiguity. The exact moment the horrors of the Holocaust dawn on him is never made clear. Sometimes he seems motivated solely by practical purposes, complaining to Nazi officials of how their killings effect his business. Other times, his motivations are clearly humanistic, as he comforts Helen. Yet even when going out of his way to rescue Stern from the death trains, or when he's briefly imprisoned for kissing a Jewish woman, the audience can never be sure of how altruistic he's being in that moment. We are left to wonder on the boundaries of human empathy. If we were in this situation, what would cause us to act one way or another? Would we save a life or would we be complacent in the murder of others? Everyone hopes that they would do the right thing in such an event of such gravity but we all know it's more complicated than that. Spielberg's film forces us to ask that question of ourselves, to reflect on our own potential for good and evil.

"Schindler's List" is a film about good and evil but not in broad, abstract strokes. Amon Göth was undeniably a monstrous human being. His actions, literal random acts of murder and cruelty, can only be described as sadistic. The film depicts him as a man obsessed with power, with the ability to exert that power over other living things. The Nazi philosophy, which elevates the self-defined "pure" individual over countless other people who have been deemed "inferior," obviously appeals to men like Göth. Men who can only define themselves in contrast to those they consider less important. The thirst for power is the search for self-actualization, to make oneself feel important. Nazism – and all fascism – bends this in the most sickening direction, as it strips away empathy for our fellow humans to make the self feel stronger and more momentous, in pursuit of a political body's goals.

Yet even this does not strike me as the most despicable thing about Göth. During the slaughter in the ghetto, he complains to his fellow officer that it's a tedious, drawn-out process. The murder and imprisoning of countless humans is just a job to him. It means nothing but a long, boring day at work to this man. Later, while attempting to execute a metal-worker for the pettiest reason possible, Göth becomes repeatedly frustrated by his gun refusing to fire. He's more upset that his weapon isn't working, that his daily routine of executions is interrupted, then he is by a person suffering. And what causes him to ultimately turn away from Schindler's plan to protect people? A bribe. A briefcase full of money that the camera focuses on for a solid minute. When Spielberg pans over countless shelves full of gold and silver objects taken from Jewish homes, or devotes a montage to Schindler's sexual conquest, he's showing us that evil is not complicated. It's greedy. It's selfish. It's the decision to go about your day while others are suffering. It's the ability of the human brain to zero in only on the self – to treat the systematic killing of millions as just another day at the office – that is the truest evil of all. And that's something that's inside all of us.  

That, to me, is the greatest gift "Schindler's List" gives the viewer: The ability to reflect on all of our capacities for good and evil. Yet that is also me intellectualizing a story based on real, horrible events. And that's one of the trickiest things about “Schindler's List:” The Holocaust was not a movie. These events happened. People died and experienced cruelty beyond imagination on a level that's enormous. Steven Spielberg, no matter how good his intentions may be, is a maker of movie. There's two scenes in “Schindler's List” where this tension, between the film's purpose as education and being a story with dramatic purposes, is most apparent. When Schindler is disturbed by the sight of hundreds of Jews, crowded onto trains and suffocating in the heat, he demands they be sprayed with water hoses for relief. It's a suspenseful moment, as Oskar clearly fears this will give away his sympathies to the Nazi officers. Later, a group of Schindlerjuden women are mistakenly sent to Auschwitz, instead of Schindler's munition factory. As they are stripped and marched into a shower, the grimmest sort of tension arises. These women are, like far too many people before them, facing down death here... Before the scene swerves. 

To what purpose do you include moments like this in a film about the Holocaust? Why are you trying to build suspense in the true story about how six million lives were exterminated? I also feel this conflict as “Schindler's List's” perfectly paced three-hour-and-fifteen minute run time winds down. After the war ends, Oskar flees Poland and the incoming Soviet army. The workers in the factory thank him for all he's done but Schindler breaks down in tears, saying that he could have done more. This is the only reasonable response. Oskar Schindler saved more than a thousand people, which is amazing, but it does nothing to bring back the millions more who were lost. This lack of catharsis is reflected in another ending scene, when Amon Göth's execution is delayed by the chair under his noose refusing to give way. Yet Spielberg still goes for the inspirational ending, emphasizing those that were saved in the final moments. The real life survivors appear on-camera to pay tribute to the complicated, achingly human man who protected them. That's a story worth telling, yes. But it still feels weird to end a film like this on even a somberly triumphant note. 

Regardless of the fraught balance between history and emotional storytelling apparent in “Schindler's List,” there's no denying that it's an extraordinarily well-made film. The cinematography is gorgeous. The production design and costumes are flawless. The editing insures that every on-screen act conveys just the meaning that was intended. John Williams' score is elegant and powerful, incorporating melodies from traditional Jewish folk music. All the cast do incredible work. Liam Neeson essentially gives a double performance, as the Oskar Schindler that the Nazis saw and the true man that helped the Jewish workers. He always finds the complications and complexities between the two. Ralph Fiennes is consistently terrifying as Göth. Embeth Davidtz is heartbreaking as Helen, a woman constantly pushed pass her breaking point. Ben Kingsley does some of the most subtle acting of his career as Itzhak Stern. There's no doubt that everyone involved in this production approached the material with the utmost seriousness it demanded. 

You can argue about the right-mindedness of the intentions behind “Schindler's List.” People have done exactly that since its release. Ultimately, if the film is made people more aware of what happened in the Holocaust, insuring that both the horrors wrought and the reasons why these events came to pass are not forgotten, then Spielberg's work is valuable. Taken as a work of art, “Schindler's List” is a powerful, propulsive piece of work that disturbs and touches the viewer. The film won countless awards, including Best Picture and Director Oscars, which is doubtlessly trivial in comparison to the actual goals here. If movies are empathy generating machines, then “Schindler's List” is surely a masterpiece. [Grade: A]

Director Report Card: Steven Spielberg (1993) - Part One

17. Jurassic Park

I remember “Jurassic Park.” As a little kid fascinated by dinosaurs, with an enthusiasm and love for the subject that only the very young can muster, I was hugely excited for the film. I was vaguely aware of the movie being based off a best selling book. I knew who Steven Spielberg was. I knew that he was someone who created amazing cinematic visions. I had many of the toys, with their rubbery skin and “Dino Damage.” I saw the perfect poster and “JP” symbol slapped all over the place. I could even hum the John Williams theme song. When I finally saw the film, I was enthralled, frightened, and entertained. There’s no denying that “Jurassic Park” is one of the defining blockbusters of the nineties and an iconic film from my childhood. But does it hold up? 

Billionaire John Hammond has created something wonderful. Pushing his considerable fortune into genetic research, he has done the impossible: Cloned dinosaurs. The thunder lizards, extinct for millennia, walk the Earth again inside the walls of Jurassic Park, Hammond’s island-bound theme park. In order to approve the park and satisfy insurance backers, Hammond has brought in a group of experts: Paleontologist Alan Grant, his lover and fellow scientist Ellie Sattler, and chaos theorist Ian Malcolm. Partly through sabotage, and partly through the uncontrollable quality of the dinosaurs, the vacation to Jurassic Park goes horribly wrong. Now Alan and the others must escape the island before they all become dino-chow.

As a book, “Jurassic Park” sprung from the mind of Michael Crichton. Crichton’s science-tinged thrillers overcame his conservative politics to become consistent best sellers. “Jurassic Park” belongs to the old tradition of the cautionary science-fiction story. The scientists tamper in God’s domain and are punished for it. Not only is the moral time-tested but “Jurassic Park” is boldly derivative of one of Crichton’s earlier works. His 1974 film “Westworld” was about an amusement park filled with robots that go mad and begin killing people. Crichton took the same basic plot outline, added the then-hot button topic of cloning, and switched out the robots for another evergreen point of boyhood fascination: Dinosaurs. As transferred to film by Spielberg, screenwriter David Koepp, and an army of hugely talented effects artist, “Jurassic Park” became a sci-fi fantasy tinged with horror and awe.

There had been dinosaur movies made before “Jurassic Park.” Some of them where even great. However, the dinosaurs were usually hampered by obviously artificial special effects, like rubbery suits or stop-motion. “Jurassic Park” made dinosaurs feel real. To contrast with the real world horrors of his other 1993 release, Steven Spielberg wanted to get back in touch with the boyish adventure stories that made him famous. And what’s more boyish then a love of dinosaurs? Spielberg seems as in awe of the film’s creation as the audience was. When Grant and Sattler first see the Brachiosaurus, their eyes widen in wonder. So does the viewers'. The characters are amazed by the sight of a sick triceratops. Grant comments that it was his favorite dinosaur when he was a kid and now he’s seeing it with his own eyes. “Jurassic Park” is keenly aware of the audience’s deep, nostalgic connection to these creatures. The state-of-the-art special effects make them seem more real than ever before. The result is a movie that delivers on sights long dreamed about by rarely seen before, granting them with an immense amount of power.

Despite the movie being all too aware of how wonderous the dinosaurs are, “Jurassic Park” ultimately comes down against genetic experimentation. Ian Malcolm, played with the perfect amount of shivering nervousness by Jeff Goldblum, warns the scientist that things are going to get out of hand. Though awed by the dinosaurs, both Grant and Sattler are concerned that the geneticist created meat-eaters. By making all the dinosaurs female, the scientists assumed they could control the population. But, as has become a meme by this point, life finds a way. This twist is foreshadowed early on when Grant ties the two female ends of his seatbelt together. John Hammond’s character arc is that of someone who uses science irresponsibly if whimsically. By the end of the film, he’s come around, agreeing that the park was a mistake. “Jurassic Park’s” seems anti-science at first. A closer examination reveals that its in favor of responsible science and against a strictly profit-driven version of experimentation. 

“But Zack,” sayeth my hypothetical readers, “what about the friggin’ dinosaurs?” Cloning meat-eating dinosaurs may have been irresponsible, yes. Yet both the movie and the characters in the film understand the unending appeal of the Tyrannosaurus Rex, the greatest dinosaur to ever live. The T-Rex is given a worthy entrance, proceeded by a tossed goat leg and the iconic rippling glass of water. The sequence by the dam is one of the most horrific in the film. "Jurassic Park" understands the power of the T-Rex. It overturns the jeep, smashing through the glass to get to the meat inside. The overpowering roar of the creature, its sheer size, and magnificent strength are properly conveyed. As frightening as the T-Rex can be, this is also a kid-friendly fantasy. The movie includes enough whimsical humor in this scene. Such as when the T-Rex eats the lawyer. Or, during the otherwise tense chase scene, when the dinosaur’s roaring face is reflected in the rear-view mirror. There’s no denying that the movie gets the T-Rex completely right, creating a perfect movie monster.

“Jurassic Park” also put another dinosaur on the pop culture map. Before this film, mentioning velociraptor to anyone outside the paleontology field would’ve likely produced confused shrugs. Afterwards, the velociraptor immediately became one of the most popular dinosaurs around. The dinosaurs’ appearance is heavily foreshadowed. In the first scene, the raptors yank some generic dino fodder to his death. Afterwards, Grant sets up the creature’s killing prowess by traumatizing some bratty kid. The raptors actually appear suddenly in the film, their dragon like snout pushing through a hole in the wall. The movie emphasizes their supposed intelligence, such as the widely parodied “clever girl” scene or opening doors. Just as the T-Rex rules the jungle, the raptor's easily navigate the inside of the facility. They stalk the children through the kitchen, a moment that makes good use of suspense and misdirection. Later, the raptors slam on doors and leap at air vents. Though the fossil had been discovered in 1923, “Jurassic Park” made the velociraptor the sleeker, smarter, dino killing machine for the nineties.

It’s hard to overstate just how fantastic the special effects are in “Jurassic Park.” The movie revolutionized the use of computer-generated imagery in Hollywood blockbusters. Amazingly, the CGI effects in “Jurassic Park” have aged extremely well. Even though they were made in a computer, the animals still have weight, force, and an impressive amount of detail. Why do the computer effects in “Jurassic Park” still hold up, when CGI from five years ago has already started to age? Maybe its because the film smartly combines CGI and practical effects. Stan Winston, a man whose work means the world to me, created massive, mechanical dinosaurs. Puppets, animatronics, and robotics stand side-by-side the CGI. The combination is nearly seamless, making the dinosaurs seem fully plausible. The animatronics, meanwhile, are some of the greatest ever put to the screen. The movie won all the special effects award that year and well it should have.

The actors in “Jurassic Park” had perhaps a thankless job. The stars of the movie are, after all, the dinosaurs. Understanding this, “Jurassic Park” fills its cast with character actors. Alan Grant is played by Sam Neill. Neill starts out as almost coldly logical before the sight of the dinosaurs fills his heart with joy. As the situation becomes more hairy, Neill brings a sweaty, natural intensity to the part, without loosing sight of his humor. The great Laura Dern remains light and playful throughout but is also real good at panicking when chased by velociraptors. Jeff Goldblum gives, no doubt, the most memorable performance in the movie. Ian Malcolm is the actor at Maximum Goldblum, stuttering, talking to himself, getting shirtless, and filling every inch of the screen with nervous energy. He’s hugely entertaining. Grant may be the heart of the movie but Malcolm is its human MVP.

In a story filled with friggin’ dinosaurs, you wouldn’t think “Jurassic Park” would need a human villain. Yet it does anyway. Dennis Nedry is one of the most weaselly, nasally, dislikable characters in the Spielberg canon. He sabotages the park for money, backbites everyone around him, attempts to steal dino eggs, and has a bikini lady as his computer desktop image. Wayne Knight plays the part at his most obnoxious. Nedry gets his, naturally, during an confrontation with the dilophosaurus. One of my favorite dinosaur designs in the film, the creature provides Nedry with maybe the movie’s most grisly death scene. Despite this, Nedry is nothing but a plot device, a mostly annoying impetuous for everything that will go wrong.

Speaking of annoying things! How about them kids? Maybe the most criticized part of “Jurassic Park” are the kids, Tim and Lex. Tim is introduced throwing dino facts at the paleontologists. Lex, meanwhile, is defined by her vegetarianism and her smug sense of superiority. A briefly dropped line early on sets up a later moment. Lex apparently plays with computers as a hobby. Somehow, this prepares her for rebooting the island’s entire system later on. Aside from improbably screenwriting decision, the kids are easy targets. When the T-Rex attacks the Jeep, Lex flashes a light in its face. They spend the entire last third running from the raptors. It’s not that the actors are bad, as Arianna Richards was perfectly likable in “Tremors.” Even Joseph Mazzello is less shrill then the character description implies. Like Nedry, the kids are mostly a lazy plot device, existing to up the tension and provide relatable characters for the youngest viewers. I don’t wish they were eaten by dinosaurs or anything. But I’m not sure they needed to be in the movie. 

And that’s the main problem with “Jurassic Park.” The movie combines the best and worst attributes of Steven Spielberg. It utilizes his strength for creating genuine awe on-screen. His keen understanding of special effects is beautifully used. His talent for organizing action in clear ways is on display. As is his ability to generate thrills and intensity. Tugging at the movie’s heart is Spielberg’s inclination towards sappiness. The kids are too cute. Their insertion into the movie adds little. In the book, John Hammond is punished for tampering with the natural order of things. Spielberg spares him, as well as softening the character. He sees a kindred spirit in Hammond, a dreamer who also wants to make a lot of money off that dreams. “Jurassic Park” has a lot of heart, and that’s a good thing. A more delicate hand then Spielberg’s was sometimes called for.

There is still no doubt the guy knows how to make a thrilling movie. Look no further than “Jurassic Park’s immensely satisfying conclusion. The heroes are cornered in the park’s giftshop by the velociraptors. They climb down that the shattered bones of the displayed fossil in the middle of the room. All seems lost. That is until the T-Rex bust in and quickly takes out the raptors. The movie may have made the velociraptor the newest dinosaur hotshot but it also understood that the T-Rex was the king. And so the movie’s biggest threat becomes its unlikely hero. “Jurassic Park” knows when to get out too. The film wraps up not long after that, Grant and the others flying away on a helicopter. Grant looks out the window, spotting a flock of birds, the modern descendants of dinosaurs. He’s reminded of the wonder of the world, even if it sometimes risks your life.

“Jurassic Park” isn’t perfect. It’s rife with scientific inaccuracies. No, it’s not possible to extract DNA from blood millions of years old, even if it makes for a really cool image. No, splicing frog DNA with the dinosaur DNA would not help matters. No, dilophosaurus did not have a cool frill around its neck or spit poison. There’s nary a feather in sight. The velociraptors in the film don’t resemble the actual dinosaur much. They look more like Utahraptor which was, coincidently, discovered after the movie entered production. None of this matters much. The plot holes and minor gaps in logic are more distracting. Obviously, a dangerous place like Jurassic Park could never actually exist. They’d be sued out of existence even before the dinosaurs started eating employees. And it’s awfully convenient that the entire island’s infrastructure relies on one room of computers. So is only having one security expert in the whole place. Because this is a popcorn movie, none of this matters much. “Jurassic Park” delivers on what it promises. You won’t even notice most of these things on a first viewing.

Lastly, there’s John Williams’ score. I don’t know how Williams has managed to create so many iconic pieces of film music. The main theme for “Jurassic Park” is sweeping and romantic. The melody is easily hummed and instantly memorable. It suggest adventure and wonder. At times, Williams’ darkly reprises this main theme, when things start to go wrong. But like the movie itself, the music defaults back to whimsy before too long. As far as great John Williams’ scores go, this one ranks below “Jaws,” “Star Wars,” “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” “Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” and “Superman.” Yet that’s some great company to be sharing.

Is “Jurassic Park” a great movie? As a special effects film, it’s undoubtedly a groundbreaking piece of art and amazes even to this day. Its heroes are simple but lovable. The movie puts some phenomenal moments and sequences on-screen, images that will resonate throughout film history until the end of time. The script, however, is ultimately a dumb popcorn movie script. The work of its brilliant effects artist and the director’s touch for on-screen magic elevates the finished project pass its silly screenplay. When it gets down to it, we’re all here for the dinosaurs. “Jurassic Park” delivers the dinosaurs, better than any film before it and most afterwards. It reaches the dino-loving little kid in all of us and that’s something special. [Grade: A-]

Director Report Card: Steven Spielberg (1991)

16. Hook

I suppose every film lover of a certain age and demeanor had a Steven Spielberg movie they watched over and over again as a kid. His movies are the kind almost tailor-made to capture the imagination of young movie nerds. I certainly saw “Jaws” as a youth and it probably changed my life but we didn’t own it on VHS when I was a young kid. “Jurassic Park” scared the crap out of me as a little guy, making me unwilling to return to it for many years. While I revisited “E.T.” and the “Indiana Jones” movies plenty, I ultimately can't say that the Spielberg movie young Zack watched the most was one of the “cool” ones. No, my childhood favorite was “Hook.” For reasons I shall attempt to uncover soon enough, I watched this one incessantly as a youngster. Seemingly, the film was a childhood fave of a lot of other people too, leading to a divisive, love-it-or-hate-it reputation. Some consider it one of Spielberg’s worst films, some say it’s one of his best. Let’s see where I lie.

It almost goes without saying that Steven Spielberg had a fascination with Peter Pan from childhood. The clues were all over his early films: The child-like sense of wonder he held onto well into adulthood, the reoccurring imagery of flying. You see shadows of Captain Hook's pirate ship in “Jaws” and of the Lost Boys in “E.T.” Inevitably, Spielberg would begin to develop a new film based on “Peter Pan” in the early eighties. At one point, it was rumored to be a musical produced by Disney and starring Michael Jackson. Pre-production had begun in 1985 when the birth of Spielberg's son led to him abruptly leaving the project. (This is the same reason he dropped out of the similarly themed “Big.”) Development continued for a few years, with Nick Castle in the director's chair, before Spielberg returned. “Hook,” as the film was now entitled, ended up being Steve’s Peter Pan movie after all.  

Peter Banning is a successful corporate lawyer so devoted to his job that he frequently neglects his two children, eleven-year-old Jack and seven-year-old Maggie. The family travels to England to spend the Christmas holiday with Wendy, the woman who fostered the orphan Peter and his wife's grandmother. Granny Wendy was supposedly the inspiration for the fictional Wendy in J.M. Barrie's “Peter Pan.” While Peter, his wife, and Wendy are at a celebratory dinner, Jack and Maggie are abducted from their bedrooms. None other than Captain Hook claims responsibility. Soon, Tinkerbell appears to drag Peter – actually a middle-age Peter Pan, who forgot all his magical adventures after falling in love with Wendy's granddaughter – back to Neverland. Now, the Lost Boys have three days to get Peter back into flying, crowing, pirate-fighting shape if he hopes to rescue his children from Hook.

The narrative hook, as it were, of “Hook” is painfully ironic: What if Peter Pan, famously the boy who could never grow up... Grew up? The script takes this perhaps obvious idea to its most extreme conclusion. Peter Pan doesn't just grow up to be a normal adult. He's an aggressively boring adult. He's obsessed with his tedious job. He practices grabbing his cell phone around his co-workers like he's a western gunslinger, showing the inflated sense of importance he gives to his profession. He's a “pirate” of Wall Street, a parallel the film points out at least twice. He screams at his kids, fights with his wife, is preoccupied with appearances and rules, and drinks too much. He's even afraid of heights, to take the inversion of the Peter Pan tradition as far as it can. Asking the question of what happens when Peter Pan grows up is as valid a concept as any, I suppose. “Hook” twisting this premise into “What if Peter Pan grew up to be an asshole?” is disappointing though.

That's far from the only way “Hook's” set-up is needlessly heavy-handed. The decade of my youth was awash with mediocre family movies about workaholic dads missing out on their kids' lives. Through some wacky or magical circumstances, they come to appreciate and prioritize their off-spring again. I can only speculate why “parenthood redemption comedies” were so prevalent at the time. It probably has something to do with baby boomer writers grappling with their emotionally distant fathers and a backlash to the materialism of the eighties. Whatever the cause, “Hook” might be the prototypical parenthood redemption comedy. Peter misses his son's ballgame, the most obvious narrative cliché of an absentee dad. He sends an underling with a camcorder in his place, symbolizing how he prioritizes fancy new technology over actually being present in his boy's life. He yammers away on his cellphone, then visual shorthand for someone bringing the office home with them. Mostly, he bickers non-stop with his son, the two not seeming to like or respect each other very much. The story bends entirely around Peter Pan regaining his youthful powers and abilities in service of becoming a better father. Peter's narrative arc is not so much about defeating Captain Hook as it is about proving to his son that he's worthy to be his dad.

Of course, themes of absentee fathers and broken homes run rampant through Spielberg's entire filmography. These ideas are, in a roundabout way, even baked into the Peter Pan story. It's stage tradition that Captain Hook and Wendy's father be played by the same actor, seemingly symbolizing the fear of mature authority figures children can have. (Up to and including their own fathers, everyone's ultimate male authority figure.) Part of Captain Hook's villainous plot involves turning Peter's son against him. He does this over the course of two scenes, one in which he viciously tears down the idea that parents actually care about their children. What makes this idea appealing to lonely, hurt Jack is that it's not entirely a bad guy's lie. Being a parent is hard. Having kids does take over your life. Sacrifice and compromises are necessary. Parents do resent their kids sometimes, much the same way kids resent their parents sometimes. Ultimately, like so much media made by the boomers, “Hook” rhapsodizes in a pure, nostalgic, impossible love between parent and child. Yet the film works best when acknowledging, even if from a sideway glance, the messier realities of having a kid and being someone's child.

A big reason why the “Peter Pan” story resonates – to the point that movie studios are still obsessed with retelling it – is because it's full of deeper, melancholy symbolic touches like that. Look at Tinkerbell's unrequited love for Peter. She pines for a forever-boy who will never notice her romantically, because she's literally not the right size for him. In Barrie's own sequel, Tinkerbell dies after Peter leaves with Wendy. Because fairies only live as long as people believe in them. That's a deep, sad concept full of layers that touches on universal themes. As is the idea of a boy who never grows up, who is so full of boundless youthful energy that he can actually fly and whose days of childish fun stretch on forever. Yet he is irresistibly drawn to the open window of a beautiful girl. Peter can only fulfil the carnal, romantic desires Wendy makes him feel if he leaves Neverland behind forever, a not-too-subtle metaphor for childhood ending once puberty begins. Pixie dust, a shadow untethered from his host and acting on subconscious needs, Peter's androgynous and elfin appearance: All of these are powerful symbols resonating with the mythological, Freudian meaning that floated under the tail-end of the Victorian era. 

"Hook" never touches on many of these ideas in any meaningful way. It squeezes all the darkness and weirdness of "Peter Pan" into the Amblin blockbuster mold. Yet hints remain. Peter and Tinkerbell's unrequited relationship is a subplot that never quite pays off. However, it concludes in a beautiful moment where Tink promises Peter she'll always be waiting for him in the twilight space between wakefulness and dreams. Hook, befitting his status as title character, gets maybe the most interesting reading. Captain Hook is an old man in a world of children. He’s always outrunning a crocodile who ticks like a clock, symbolic of outrunning time ticking away until the day you die. In “Hook,” the pirate has killed the crocodile and stuffed him, seemingly escaping death. Yet he remains obsessed with the idea, smashing every clock he sees and threatening suicide at least once. In the final fight, Peter stripes away Hook’s wig, revealing him further as an old man desperate to hold onto youth. And he meets his end inside the crocodile’s jaws anyway, vanishing into thin air as the unavoidable spectre of death finally catches up with him. 

Spielberg’s film is, perhaps, at its best when embracing these melancholy ideas of youth and death. There’s a montage in the last third of “Hook” that is so good that it stands apart from the rest of the movie. Deep in the Lost Boys’ secret hideaway, Peter finally recalls his origins. He remembers being a baby, gracefully rolling away from his mother as she talks about her deeply pedestrian plans for his future. Tinkerbell carries the crying infant away from the world of responsibilities to the care-free Neverland. We see, in a series of quick cuts, Peter returning to Wendy’s window and her growing older every time. Until, finally, she’s an old woman and Peter is tempted away from Neverland by her youthful granddaughter. By the time he’s holding his own son, he’s forgotten his days in Neverland. Yet the joys of being a parent, a chance to revisit childhood, provides him with the “happy thought” he needs to fly again. This spectacular series of images is when “Hook” best balances the sentimental and sad sides of Spielberg’s style, saying so much in a short span of time. It’s a sequence full of longing, wonder, and resolution. 

Most of “Hook” is not that good. In its worst moments, the film recalls the manic excess of “1941.” For the final raid on Hook’s ship, the Lost Boys outfit themselves with home-made armor and weapons. They defeat the pirates, who have swords and flintlocks, with cannons that fire chicken eggs and marbles. The film takes a little too much cartoonish glee in these scenes of kids humiliating adults, that recall the kind of family comedies you'd think Spielberg would be above. A lot of the scenes with the Lost Boys has that same overbearing energy. One of the kids is a heavy-set young man named “Thud Butt” who curls himself up in a ball and rolls at opponents like the boulder in “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” a gag the movie likes so much it does it twice. Scenes of the boys playing basketball, skateboarding, or wind-surfing are the opposite of the timelessness of Berry's Neverland. Instead, such accessories seemed locked in 1991's idea of kid-friendly radness. Yet, as chaotic as the boys are, they are still adorable kids defined by goofy gimmicks most of the time, the film trying to have its conception of childhood both ways. Are these lawless boys out to raise Hell or adorable moppets who all miss their moms?

Criticizing “Hook” for being self-indulgent definitely seems fair. The film includes cameos from a cross-dressing Glenn Close and David Crosby, getting his balls smashed, for seemingly no reason other than it assumed Spielberg and his team. There are quasi-comedic digressions, in moments where Banning is rescued by ethereal mermaids or sniffed at by living flowers. Or a short gag devoted to baseball playing pirates. Through its various moods, the main thing holding “Hook” together is its production design, which is definitely excessive. The Lost Boys have a pool full of paint, creating a map of Neverland. Peter is flung into it from a massive slingshot. Every corner of their forest hideaway is crammed full of color and distraction, to the point where it gets eye-searing at time. Following this trend, the costumes are frequently over-the-top too. Rufio, the leader of the Lost Boys in Peter's absence, wears an outfit that seems positioned between eighties New Romantic fashion and Native American wardress. While others wear baggy pajamas or a forties street urchin get-up. 

As unrestrained as “Hook” can be at times, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't memorable. The exact same qualities that can be criticized can also be commended. The pirate's town is equally as overdone as the Lost Boys' village and it looks fucking cool. Hook's intricately decorated quarters are inside an enormous skull. The clock tower made from the crocodile's corpse is another eye-catching visual. “Hook” is packed full of touches like that. The abduction of the children are where cinematographer Dean Cundey's history in horror shows. The camera follows the claw marks up the hallway, to a window thrown open and casting purple lighting into the room. A similar effect is used when the titular hook is sharpened against a spinning stone and attached to his hand, while prismatic sparks fly. Smaller moments have been burned into my memory as well. Such as a shot from inside a megaphone of Smee speaking, his mouth in the center of the frame. Or the use of slow-motion when Peter slices a coconut, showing the swashbuckling Pan is still inside him. I guess it should be no surprise that even mid-tier Spielberg is phenomenally shot.

Robin Williams as Peter Pan, considering the unending anarchic energy the performer was capable of, seemed like ideal casting. Unfortunately, the script forces Williams to play the straight man for most of the film. The early scenes, of Peter Banning being a dick, or the moments devoted to him having heart-to-hearts with Tink or the Lost Boys do not play to Williams' strengths. It's not until a profane trade of insults with Rufio that the star starts to come to life. Even after that, “Hook” pulls Williams between the extremes of his sensibilities as an actor. At one point, he's chirping like a chicken, drooling like a pirate, or gurgling bubbles. A few minutes later he's tearfully bidding a friend good-bye. It doesn't help that the star transforming into Peter Pan again mostly happens off-screen, in-between scenes. (Or that Williams was obliviously not an action star, most of the sword fights also happening off-screen.) When tossed between sappy, manic, and stuck-up, it's amazing that Williams manages to still create a mostly compelling and likable protagonist. 

On paper, Dustin Hoffman probably seems like a weird choice to play Captain Hook. The short, soft-spoken actor isn't immediately what comes to mind when you think of a legendary pirate captain. Rumored other choices like David Bowie or Donald Sutherland probably make more sense. And yet Hoffman gives an inspired performance as Hook. Unrecognizable under heavy make-up, he vamps fantastically, clearly having the time of his life hamming it up as such a theatrical villain. Hoffman has wonderful chemistry with a joyfully silly Bob Hoskin as Smee, who nearly matches Williams in terms of wild, comedic energy. That the actors played the duo as a dysfunctional gay couple makes their interactions even funnier, vitalizing quite a few scenes in the film's middle section. 

Julia Roberts was supposedly miserable while making the movie but it's never apparent on-screen. She's far more charming as Tinkerbell than in most of her lead roles, imbuing the pixie with a charmingly spunky but still feminine vulnerability. Her romantic scenes with Williams are quiet and sweet, in a way most of the movie isn't. Maggie Smith, also under a lot of old age make-up, plays the elderly Wendy with the grace and poise we expect of the veteran performer. Dante Basco would make Rufio an icon to millennial movie nerds, somehow coming as capably tough despite his ridiculous wardrobe and having some of the script's worst dialogue. I also like Arthur Malet as Tootles, who rides just the right line between genuinely crazy and a cuter, movie version of senility. 

“Hook's” origins as a musical are still present in the final film. Several songs are present in the film. Williams simplifies some of the score's melodies for a kiddie theater song-and-dance in an early scene. The Lost Boys chant a military-like march while training Peter and Maggie singing a mournful, if hopeful, lullaby to herself in another scene. In general, Williams' score is one of his most underrated. The music, both sweeping with airy strings and deep with bold brass, bring seafaring adventure, flight, and child-like wonder to mind. Rumbling bombast perfectly suits the mayhem of the Lost Boys scenes. Hook gets a powerful theme that also implies the storming seas, with some more eccentric elements introduced later on. The only element of the score that doesn't work for me are the piano-and-bass driven theme Williams cooks up for Peter Banning's day job, which just reminds me too much of the soft jazz endemic of the early nineties. 

“Hook” was a blockbuster in 1991, grossing over three hundred million dollars at the box office. (Which could only be considered disappointing when compared to Spielberg's previous record-breakers.) There was all the expected tie-ins, like action figures, Happy Meal toys, video games, and other pop culture debris. While largely dismissed by critics at the time, the film's art direction, costumes, visual effects, make-up, and one of Williams' songs were nominated for Oscars. In time, those kids who grew up watching it would turn the movie into an unlikely cult classic. Shout “RU-FI-O” or “Bangarang!” around the right people and you'll get shouts of recognition. Spielberg himself would eventually express dismay with the film, saying he didn't have confidence in the script and tried to compensate with production values. In my eyes, “Hook's” fans and critics are both right and wrong. It's parts are greater than its whole, certain elements and scenes remaining charming even if the overall film is an undeniable mess. [Grade: B-]

Director Report Card: Steven Spielberg (1989) - Part Two

15. Always

During the making of “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” the pyrotechnic intensity of the film had Spielberg longing for the spirituality of “Close Encounters of the Third Kind.” Out of this desire to return to a gentler, more contemplative atmosphere arose “E.T.” Thus a pattern was born throughout Spielberg’s career, of often following up his special-effects filled blockbusters with more sentimental, quieter stories. After unleashing "The Last Crusade" on audiences in May, Spielberg would have "Always" on theater screens by Christmas of the same year. The project had its origins during the filming of "Jaws," when Steven and Richard Dreyfus discovered they both loved the 1943 Spencer Tracy romance/fantasy "A Guy Named Joe,” that both desired to remake it. Though it took fifteen years, the idea would come to fruitarian by the end of the eighties. 

"A Guy Named Joe's" World War II-set story is updated to the modern day, switching out fighter pilots for an aerial firefighting crew. Pete is the best pilot in his team, though his risky behavior often causes his girlfriend, air traffic controller Dorinda, to panic. After Dorinda and Pete's best friend, Al, talk him into taking a teaching position in Arizona, he's called out on an emergency mission. He saves Al's life from a burning engine at the cost of his own. Pete awakens in the afterlife and is told by an angel named Hap that it's now his job to inspire the living to do their best. Pete's suggestions appear as thoughts, intuitions, and dreams to the living. He finds himself teaching an up-and-coming pilot named Ted his trade. Ted also begins to form a romance to the grieving Dorinda, who is still struggling to get over her loss. 

Romance had never been an especially compelling part of Spielberg's movies before. The romantic subplots in the "Indiana Jones" movies might've been cute but were clearly secondary to everything else. "Jaws" and "The Color Purple" downplayed the relationship entanglements in their source materials. With "Always," Spielberg leaped full-force into the lovey-dovey side of his soul. There's a couple of problems with this though. Pete and Dorinda's relationship is established over the course of only a few scenes before he dies. This doesn't give us much time for the romance to feel especially real and lived-in. Moreover, from the first moment, Pete's eventual death is heavily foreshadowed. The first dialogue they exchange is Dorinda chastising him for his dangerous stunts. His attempts to tell her how he feels are drowned out by the roar of the propellers, an overly ironic touch that seals his fate. It's difficult to care too much about these two when we know, right from the get-go, that one of them is going to die. 

Another, even more pressing issue facing "Always" is that its love story is more sappy than scintillating. The central relationship is defined more by cutesy gestures than any visible bond between the two. Paul buys her a sparkly, pink dress for her birthday — which he always remembers as being two days before it actually is — and they share a dance while their song plays. Meanwhile, the other guys look on in envy. That’s a teenager’s conception of what a romantic gesture is, which does little to dismiss the notion that Spielberg is just a big kid inside. A later moment, where Dorinda recited a shopping list in her sleep while Paul’s spirit communicates with her, is similarly too quirky and cute to be believable. The challenge and compromises of a real relationship are never apparent, nor the genuine endearment you’d expect these two to feel for each other. It’s the gift shop greeting card version of love. The chemistry between Richard Dreyfus and Holly Hunter is almost enough to salvage this element but “Always’” fatal flaw remains its syrupy approach. This becomes all the more obvious as the movie glides towards its maudlin conclusion.

“Always” works better when focusing on its depiction of the aftermath. The moment when Pete realizes he's dead is probably the film's best scene. He awakens in a burnt-out forest, the earth brown and the trees blackened. Yet there is a single oasis in the form of a blossoming tree and a ring of untouched grass. It's a fittingly dream-like setting, linked to the movie's reality but off-beat enough to suggest the otherworldly. The white gowns and heavenly harps associated with the cliched depictions of Heaven are suggested by Hap's spotless white pantsuit. The "life flashes before your eyes" premise is delved into when Hap takes Paul to the golden field of wheat where he first flew. (Further cementing Spielberg's linking between flight and a sense of wonder.) It's the only time "Always" really grasps the spiritual, magic feeling of awe Spielberg so captured in "Close Encounters" and "E.T." This might entirely be because Audrey Hepburn is here as Hap, in her final film role but as spritely and graceful as ever. 

The script's take on the afterlife, in general, produces some interesting moments. Once again, the wings and halos you'd expect from the guardian angel premise are discarded. Pete simply appears wherever Ted is. The other man picks up on the suggestions and things Pete says subconsciously, sometimes misconstruing the meaning in amusing ways. Those misunderstandings, when Pete guides Ted in unexpected ways, tend to get the biggest laughs. Such as when a meeting in a bar goes differently then expected. Or when Pete's words are seemingly picked up by a ranting homeless man. (Played by a perfectly deployed Roberts Blossom.) Scenes like this are cute in a good way, the rare times when the film's whimsy works in its favor. 

Ultimately though, I can't escape this feeling that "Always" is trying too hard to be funny, cute, and meaningful. This is most evident in the dialogue. Pete and Al trade Hawksian banter that is fast-paced and full of colorful turns-of-phrase. I'm normally all for memorable conversations like this but it feels mawkish in "Always," as if the film is working overtime to win the audience over. Look at the scene where Ted attempts to charm Dorinda with a mediocre John Wayne impression, while Pete looks on in bemused horror. It's too stylized to be grounded but too heavy-handed to be funny. A lot of "Always" feels that way, such as in the aforementioned dress scene or a sequence where Pete talks Ted into dropping extinguishing dust on Al. The tonal balance is off. 

And let's talk about this Ted guy. While the romance between Pete and Dorinda is never fully believable, they are at least played by likable performers. Richard Dreyfus and Holly Hunter are so down-to-Earth and lovable that it's almost impossible not to like them a little bit, no matter the quality of the film around them. The role of Ted was, supposedly, intended for Tom Cruise but ultimately played by former Marlboro Man Brad Johnson. And there's just nothing charming about this guy. Everything about the twinkle in his smile and his lantern-jawed good looks feels calculated and insincere. This is especially troublesome as Ted is the guy who will ultimately take Pete's place as Dorinda's lover. In order for this subplot to work, we have to see Ted as a worthy successor, not a usurper. Because the script sticks Johnson with its most cloying dialogue, and because there's something innately phony about the performer, it just doesn't happen. 

Johnson is the exception in an otherwise excellent cast. By this point, we already knew that Dreyfus could bring a delightfully smarmy edge to everyman roles, without loosing an innate charm. He might not be the first choice you'd expect for a tough guy profession like a firefighting pilot but Dreyfus mostly makes it work. Meanwhile, Holly Hunter and John Goodman's established personas as actors are already so perfectly attuned to Spielberg's style that I can't believe they didn't already work with him before this. Hunter's incredible ability to mix a down-to-Earth toughness with a girl-next-door vulnerability is reflective of so many past Spielberg heroines. You can really see her starring in “The Sugarland Express.” She's adorable here. Goodman's own ability to combine a blue collar affability with an incredible warmth – not to mention the ability to bend any phrase into pure poetry – is similarly suited to this world of everyday guys with big personalities and even bigger hearts.

That “Always” is let down by its own overbearing sentimentality is all the more frustrating because, in the times when it pulls back a little, it proves rather effective. Pete's death is bluntly depicted, his plane exploding with little warning, the characters all unprepared for it. The following scene, where Al tells Dorinda what happened, is depicted in silence, the camera watching through a window as they talk. Scenes like this emphasizes the suddenness of deaths like this and the shocking effect they have on those who survive. Another small, stand-out scene occurs when a bus driver has a heart attack in the middle of the road. Ted manages to successfully revive him but, for a moment, he's dead and standing next to Pete. The two exchange a look and then the man awakens. “Always” needed more subtle, observant filmmaking like that.

Even though “Always” fits in comfortably as one of Spielberg's spiritual films, the director still includes some special effects filled bombast. The flying sequences include a lot of green screen and miniature technology, that is about as seamless as they could have been at the time. The forest fires insure there's plenty of pyrotechnics. This is especially true in the last act, when the cameras get down in the pits of a forest as it goes up in flames. There's blazing logs rolling past the characters and fire right in everyone's faces. The whole sequence makes you come to the obvious, inevitable conclusion that Spielberg would direct the hell out of a disaster movie. “Always'” weakness are evident in that none of the main characters are down in this fire, making it less dynamic then it could've been. But it's still a hell of a set piece.

This is, of course, largely because Steven Spielberg never half-asses anything. “Always” may have been destined to go down in film history as minor Spielberg but it sure looks pretty. Collaborating with cinematographer Mikael Salomon, who shot “The Abyss” the same year, the director packs “Always” with memorable, lovely images. Pete's scene in the bar with Ted is beautifully filtered through shadow and smoke, with its share of purple and blue-ish tones that create an unforgettable atmosphere. Those precise lighting and coloration choices reappear all throughout “Always,” right down to its moonlit, weepy climax. And it looks fantastic, if nothing else.

The tendency for the film to both be too sentimental and strangely forgettable is also apparent in John Williams' score, which can be described with the same words. The most memorable touch of the score is the way Williams pipes “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” Pete and Dorinda's song, throughout. (Unsurprisingly, the central melody was supposed to be the Irving Berlin song that shares the film's title but the rights couldn't be secured.) “Always” did okay at the box office in 1989, though it fell far short of the director's biggest hits. The reviews were largely mixed, with even Spielberg's biggest fans agreeing that this one was a bit too much on the sappy side. The director's sugary side definitely took the lead on this one, a film that certainly isn't without its moments but proves compromised in many ways. [Grade: C+]

Director Report Card: Steven Spielberg (1989) - Part One

14. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade

George Lucas is fond of trilogies, isn’t he? Indiana Jones was born in Hawaii, when Lucas and Spielberg where kicking around ideas for a new adventure hero. At the time, George told Steve that this new character would be the focus of a trilogy. Spielberg was skeptical, not wanting to commit himself to three films. Lucas assured him that he had already written the next two parts. That was a lie. Nevertheless, "Raiders of the Lost Ark" did spawn an enormously successful sequel. In 1989, Harrison Ford would don the fedora, leather jacket, and whip for a third time. It was also assumed to be the last time, at least for a while. This is why the third Indy adventure was clarified as the last crusade. Dr. Jones' retirement from adventuring ended up not sticking forever but Spielberg and team tried to create a crowd-pleasing climatic adventure nevertheless.

Two years after protecting the Ark of the Covenant from the Nazis, Indiana Jones finds himself in war torn Europe once again. A man named Walter Donovan informs Indy that his estranged father has gone missing. Indy’s dad was obsessed with locating the Holy Grail. It would appear that he was close to finding it. Jones’ adventure reunites him with his estranged father before he quickly discovers that Donovan is in cahoots with the Nazis. Now, a race is on to see who can discover the cup of Christ first. Another epic adventure ensues, taking the archeologist and his dad across Europe and into the heart of the holy land. 

Fans, audiences, and critics weren’t the only ones who complained that “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom” was too dark. Spielberg and Lucas both feared they went too far last time. Both filmmakers sought to make up for that tonal shift. Considering I like “Temple of Doom” quite a lot, I always found this course correction too hasty. In fact, I've always felt “The Last Crusade” goes too far in the other direction. The third adventure tosses in more jokes than either previous film. “The Last Crusade” also revisits concepts better explored in prior parts of the trilogy. Indy revisits the Middle East, explores a booby trap-filled temple, battles Nazis, and clings to the outside of a military vehicle. Perhaps Spielberg was too eager to please audiences.

A climate that is focused on humor and pointing out things the audiences already knows is apparent from the first scene. “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade” begins with a flashback to Indiana’s first adventure, when he was a teenager. The sequence painfully introduces many of the hero’s defining characteristics. He proclaims an item belongs in a museum. He picks up a bull whip for the first time. He stumbles into a barrel full of snakes, birthing his phobia of the slithery reptiles. He receives his iconic brown fedora. I’m not a big fan of these blatant references. However, that opening is a lot of fun, featuring an exciting run through a circus train that takes full advantage of the different animals aboard. It also shows that Indy’s quick thinking has been saving his life since he was a teenager. River Phoenix makes for a decent approximation of a young Harrison Ford.

I have my problems with “The Last Crusade” but few of them are with the first act. A fight on a boat in the rain works well and finishes with a big explosions. I’m not a fan of the “X marks the spot” line or the gag with the librarian. Yet the sequence devoted to Indy and Elsa exploring the Venice library is quite good. It’s the kind of sleuthing and spooky exploration you expect from the series. The boat chase that follows escalates nicely, with Indy barely navigating his way through a ship yard. Afterwards, the pursuers get crushed between two of those same boats. The final image of the chase, the speedboat slowly being clipped away by a large propeller as Indy dangles aboard, is another solid moment.

Truthfully, “The Last Crusade” is a good Indiana Jones movie… Until Sean Connery shows up. Casting Connery as Jones’ dad is itself something of an in-joke. Indiana is both a pop culture descendent of James Bond and was originally conceived as a potential successor to the character. Connery’s performance is fine, as he’s seems genuinely engaged with the material. My problem with Henry Jones Sr. is how the script handles him. In their first scene together, Connery whacks Ford on the head with a vase. From that point on, the movie rarely misses an opportunity to have Indy’s dad make him look like a fool. Indiana Jones is who we’re here to see. He’s the character we love. Why is the movie devoting so much energy to making fun of him? If the gags were cleverer, it might be different.

There’s a thematic through-line in these first three Indiana Jones movies. “Raiders of the Lost Ark” dealt with an artifact from Jewish theology. “The Temple of Doom” concerned itself with Hindu beliefs. “The Last Crusade” has the archeologist seeking a relic rooted in Christianity. Since the Holy Grail has been sought by many adventurers, it makes sense that Indiana Jones would try and find it. While the previous two movies chose their religion for a reason, “The Last Crusade” seems cagier about the chosen faith. There’s no contrast between Christianity and the Nazi bad guys, beyond a general idea of good against evil. Instead, the Holy Grail is wrapped up in the father/son story. Dr. Jones Sr.’s mania for the Grail is what drove father and son apart. Considering the Grail is representative of a relationship between another father and son, choosing that particular object takes on a new meaning.

Aside from dad, “The Last Crusade” brings in allies both new and old. Elsa Schenider, played by the hilariously named Alison Doody, is the new love interest this time around. She lacks the tough personality of Marion Ravenwood and the humorous reactions of Willie Scott. However, she’s not without her charms, as Doody nicely inhabits the part of a femme fatale with ambiguous loyalties. Assuming this crusade very well might have been the last, the third adventure makes sure to bring back Sallah and Marcus Brody. John Rhys-Davis continues to be good as Sallah, sneakily telling someone to run and making comments about his brother-in-law. For some reason, the third movie makes Denholm Elliot’s Brody comic relief. Suddenly, the curator becomes a clown, getting lost in his own museum and missing obvious cues before him. I don’t know why the writers made this decision, though Elliot’s performance is still fine.

After taking a break from those wacky Nazis last time, Indy is back to attacking the Third Reich. Without the deliberate contrast of Hebrew history, the Nazis are reduced to action movie bad guys. Not that there’s too much wrong with that. The introduction of the Swastika is handled dramatically, with it slowly sliding on-screen inside a castle. A sequence set at a Nazi book burning has a raw power. Spielberg sets a brief sequence on a zeppelin, seemingly so he can get that iconic image in the movie. Aside from a mildly amusing and brief appearance from the Fuhrer, the main villain of “The Last Crusade” is Walter Donovan. Not as creepy as Toht and not as interesting as Mola Ram, Donovan is still an okay adversary. Julian Glover excels in conceited, evil snob parts. Col. Vogel, with his bright red Nazi armband, provides a solid physical threat to the heroes.

Humor has always been a part of the “Indiana Jones” formula. I believe that “The Last Crusade” piles it on a little thick. The potential intensity of action sequences are undermined by goofy sight gags. While the Joneses are tied to a chair in a burning room, they stumble through a secret passageway into a room, seemingly unaffected by the fire. A mildly ridiculous moment has a crate crashing open perfectly so Indy and his dad can escape on a motorcycle. The most ridiculous moments appeared during the airplane chase. After a Nazi plane smashes through a tunnel, the pilot pauses to share a glance with the Jones boys. Later, Indy’s dad defeats a airplane with a flock of birds. Even a solid fight scene on a tank concludes with a goofy moment, in the form of a screaming officer’s face as the tank sails off a cliff.

The humor is divisive but “The Last Crusade” still tosses in some impressive action sequences. There are chases of all kinds. Aside from the boat chase, there’s a motorcycle chase. With Henry Jones Sr. tucked in a sidecar, the two fight off advancing Nazi officers. A flagpole is utilized in an especially memorable gag, concluding with a bike bounding up into the air. The fight atop the tank has Indy rolling around on the moving tread, which is a neat image. A bullet ricochets around the interior of the tank, a visual gag that doesn’t go too far. The fist fights and shoot outs are up to snuff with the previous films. 

Even with the problems I have with “The Last Crusade,” a lot is forgiven once that awesome last act rolls around. After successfully reaching the temple of the Grail, Indy has to pass three test. Each one features some dynamic images and action. Such as the dust and spider webs of the ancient temple being disturbed by a sudden spinning saw blade. Indy diving out of the way just in time is an exciting sight. The leap across the letters begins with Indy nearly falling to his death, re-emphasizing his humanity and ability to make mistakes. The last test, a walk across a nearly invisible bridge, provides another unforgettable image. The proper climax is another great moment. The Grail’s protector being immortal but feeble is properly ironic, as is the reveal concerning the appearance of the Grail. “The Last Crusade” also honors the tradition of the main villain receiving a visceral send-off. Donovan ages fifty years in seconds, dissolving into a corpse before the audience’s eyes. It’s cool.

As Indiana and his dad ride off into the sunset, the film gets one more jab at his expense. In the movie, as in real life, Indiana was named for a dog. For years, “The Last Crusade” was my least favorite of the series, back when it was still a trilogy. Yet even a subpar Indiana Jones movie is pretty good. Connery’s character may be awkwardly handled but it’s a decent performance. The sequels’ tone might be too light but it still delivers some impressive action set pieces. I have problems with the movie but I can’t hate it. [Grade: B]