THERE was I, sitting at home feeling pleasantly liberated after an afternoon spent at an upbeat feminist event when all of a sudden my stomach started squirming like a pit full of cobras and a strange girly flush crept across my face.
Yup, tether
me to the spot with a ten-foot bullwhip – Indiana Jones had just swung back into my life with his pulse-quickening theme tune and it was as if he'd never been away.
It may have been more than quarter of a century since Indy, with his roguish fedora, sexy leather jacket and oh-so manly jaw, had first imprinted himself on my impressionable preschool mind as the archetype by which all future heroes should be measured, but the devilishly handsome Harrison Ford has still got it.
Well, the devilishly handsome Harrison Ford of 1981 has still got it. No amount of exposure to feminism, pacifism, and distinctly unheroic men in the years since could tarnish for me the ideal set by Indy and the Raiders of the Lost Ark, it seems. Even my moral and political objections to the appropriation of cultural relics by the museums of imperialistic nations was shamefully forgotten at the sight of the intrepid archaeologist manfully taking on spiders and sword-wielding "natives" to get his prize.
Whether Ford in 2008 has still got it, remains to be seen. The new movie, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (and no, as far as I know Damien Hirst was not behind its creation), will open on 22 May. So far, I've only seen the trailers, and admittedly Ford's jacket remains on throughout so I haven't had a chance to check his biceps – but I remain hopeful. Which is really all I can do. After all, since cinema has singularly failed in the intervening years to come up with even one hero fit to lick his brown leather boots, then Indy, even at 65, has remained resolutely in his manly place at the top of my action hero chart.
Anyway, Indy was never a twentysomething hero. In Raiders Marion Ravenwood alludes to that very fact when, on seeing his body, she remarks "You're not the man I knew ten years ago." To which our battle-scarred hero replies: "It's not the years, honey, it's the mileage."
And with Ford recently saying that he feels "as fit as I did 20 years ago," and enjoyed filming the more physical scenes in the "old-school" way – who am I to be ageist? (Even if I have to acknowledge that all those years digging under desert suns have added a few wrinkles.) But it's surely not too treacherous to ask why – in all this time – there's been no new contender for his throne?
Sure, there have been one-off action heroes over the last couple of decades, and a few recurring characters, such as Wesley Snipes in the Blade movies, who appeal to a certain kind of fantasy/sci-fi film fan. But when it comes to good old-fashioned family entertainment there's been no-one to match Indiana Jones for decades.
A poll out last week on the greatest ever action heroes saw Ford in top place, tying with Bruce Willis – another one proving old heroes don't retire with his reprisal last year of Die Hard's John McClane. The two 1980s icons each claimed 25 per cent of the vote in a survey that polled more than 3,000 people.
Excluding Daniel Craig, with 5 per cent, who may be a 21st-century boy, but plays a screen character dating back to the 1960s, only Matt Damon, in fourth place with a measly 7 per cent of the vote, dates from recent years. And lets face it, Jason Bourne ain't no Indy. For a start he has, supposedly, "boyish" looks – well perhaps, if the boy in question has a head carved by a six-year-old attempting to sculpt Leonardo di Caprio from a potato with a spoon. Heroes should be rugged, not squishy – and who wants to be rescued by a boy anyway?
Of course it's not all about physical appearance. One of the more worrying aspects of Bourne is that he doesn't know who he is. Now, there's a lot to be said for a man with an air of mystery, but one can take things too far. Mystery means not wanting to know every gory detail about his past lovers and never, ever finding out how he disposes of his toenail clippings. It does not mean being so screwed up that he has to rely on strange government organisations to tell him his real name. If a man's that unsure of himself, he's looking for rescue, not providing it! Bourne doesn't even have a mission – other than trying not to get himself killed, which is more than he manages to do for his love interest – a major blooper for any would-be action hero.
Indy may not exactly be self-aware in the new-age sense of the term, and he's got a bit of dual personality going on with this mild-mannered academic/tough-talking, hard-fighting global adventurer thing, but he knows who he is, what he's about and – if not exactly certain how he's going to achieve his goal – he has a steely self-belief that he's going to win.
He also knows how to play it cool. There's an exchange during Temple of Doom typical of how Indy and his leading ladies enjoy verbal sparring almost as much as the hands-on fights in which they inevitably end up.
In the scene Wilhelmina Scott has just seen Indy in his full adventurer get-up for the first time – including his whip.
Willie: So what are you supposed to be, a lion tamer?
Indiana Jones: I'm allowing you to tag along. So why don't you give your mouth a rest. Okay doll?
Willie: What do you mean "tag along"? Ever since you got into my club, you haven't been able to take your eyes off of me.
Indiana Jones: Oh, yeah? at which point he pointedly tugs his hat down over his eyes as if going to sleep.
Indeed, whether single-handedly taking on a lorry load of Nazis or flirting at inappropriately dangerous moments, the confidence that emanates from Ford's body has the same impact on swooning viewers as his sweaty pheromones clearly have on his leading lady.
And yes, while he doesn't always get it right, and sometimes his female companions need to stop squealing "Help! Indy! Indiana Jones! etc" and do their own bit of villain bashing, at the end of the day he is going to be there when you need a bit of support. Well, unless there are snakes involved. In which case you may very well be on your own girl – bless him and his ophidiophobia.
According to Steven Spielberg, Indy's popularity lies in this kind of lack of perfection: "(It) was the willingness to allow our leading man to get hurt and to express his pain and to get his mad out and to take pratfalls and sometimes be the butt of his own jokes. I mean, Indiana Jones is not a perfect hero, and his imperfections, I think, make the audience feel that, with a little more exercise and a little more courage, they could be just like him."
Ford recently agreed that Indy's appeal goes beyond his heroism: "It was fun. I was never so interested in the heroic part of it. This guy is an extraordinary character with an active imagination that's just involved in a chain of events where some elements twist into something else."
That element of fun is probably Indy's greatest single attribute. He may casually throw Marion Ravenwood out of his way with chauvinistic carelessness as he battles a rabble of robed villains in Raiders, but it's clear that Indy is the figure of fun, not her. It's all extremely tongue-in-cheek. Indy's dramatic posturing is done with a twinkle of those roguish blue eyes that shows he's well aware of his own foibles.
So yes, I'm well aware that holding out for a hero two decades down the line doesn't exactly meet my feminist ideals. But when it comes to sisters doing it for themselves, I reckon we're allowed to make an exception if required to negotiate spike-filled tunnels, poisonous chalices and murderous cults. Who wouldn't appreciate a helping hand at such moments – especially if that hand's being proffered by a person with an extremely cool hat and a heart-stopping smile?
Independent womanhood may be great, but being Indy's girl has definitely got some good things going for it – and now he's due for his pension, he might even be able to invest in some sunscreen.
The full article contains 1488 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
