As we near the release of Look Who’s Bond-ing Now, I thought I’d revisit a question I used to ask a lot but has shamefully slipped from my party repetoire, the answer to which will let you completely understand your fellow conversationalist’s being. That question is:
“Who would you rather be: James Bond or Indiana Jones?”
To me, this is not a tough question. Jones, the thinking man’s action hero, every time.
My favourite cut in movie history (as I’m sure you’ll have heard from me if you’ve been my friend for any length of time) is from young River Phoenix Indy receiving his fedora to twenty six years later to Harrison Ford Indy, rain-drenched, smiling in memory. He is promptly punched in the face. That’s the whole tone of the franchise in one moment. Nostalgia and passion, but never at the expense of action.
Jones isn’t trapped or motivated by some often mentioned but poorly defined sense of patriotism. The man has but one mantra: “It belongs in a museum.” I can get behind that.
(As a bonus: Raider‘s Marion Ravenwood is miles above any flimsy, interchangeable Bond girl. The one in Temple is admittedly a bit shit.)