Like most of the rest of the world (although apparently not enough of the world to suit Paramount Pictures' accounting department), I saw Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull on its opening weekend. I caught it at one of L.A.'s most famous theaters, the type of place where several dozen fans (geeks) showed up wearing brown fedoras and leather jackets. I would add that some of them had bullwhips, but that's any movie at any theater on any weekend in L.A., so that was no big deal.

The film was entertaining enough, directed with Steven Spielberg's usual enthusiasm and boasting enough familiar callbacks to the earlier films (not to mention John Williams' iconic score) to satisfy the nostalgia craving. There were some fun set pieces and action scenes, and the filmmakers earnestly tried to fill in the blanks in the archaeologist's life since last we saw him. And there was even Cate Blanchett in some sort of Soviet dominatrix costume, if you're into that. So the film really had everything. But still...

It was a bit of a letdown.

The fact is, there was probably nothing they could have done to prevent the film's single biggest flaw (well, except for the fact that the mysterious artifact this time looked like a warped version of the BCS championship trophy). No clever shooting by Spielberg or clever writing by David Koepp or clever empire-building by George Lucas could have altered this sad truth:

(SPOILER ALERT!)

Indiana Jones is old. Just like the rest of us.

That's no knock against Harrison Ford. He did his damnedest. But while Indy may have made mincemeat out of Toht and Belloq and that crazy Indian who tried to rip his heart out, he's no match for Mother Nature. He looks like he could be my grandpa now (and how cool would that be, by the way?). In the critical studies parlance of film theorists, that guy getting old really sucks.

Real life is hard enough without seeing our heroes become withered and frail. We've seen Muhammad Ali and Michael Jordan look overweight and slow and ground down by the passage of time, so the last thing we need is for one of our timeless fictional heroes to follow the same path. What's next, is Bruce Wayne gonna check into an assisted living center? He is pushing 70, you know. If those guys can't hang with old age, what chance do regular folks have?

So while the film had some good moments, I spent the weekend feeling mortal, which as you know is really unusual for me. The feeling got worse when I went boogie-boarding off Santa Monica, only to get smacked around by a rogue two-foot wave. On a family trip to Legoland the next day, I bought myself an Indy Jones Lego-man keychain for old times' sake... because sometimes, living in the 'burbs, that's as close to adventure as you're gonna get. But even the sight of an inch-high plastic Indy hanging with the keys to my unexciting sedan didn't stop my downward slide.

Look, I'm not one of those obsessed fanboys who detest even the slightest intrusion into my perfect remembrance of what the fairytale world should be. I did survive that nightclub number in Temple of Doom, after all. I just found myself thinking that we need Indiana Jones to stay youthful and dashing; we don't need to see him riding in a wheelchair instead of a runaway mine car. Scanning my living room, I gave a second look at the framed pictures and artifacts from real-life adventures that I can indirectly blame on the inspiration of Dr. Henry Jones, Jr., from Peru to China, from Cambodia to Swaziland. None of those adventures could slow the inescapable charge of time and old age, so what was the point?

I couldn't get enough of the story; it truly got my heart racing. These tribesmen were found in essentially the same neighborhood where Indy's latest adventure was set. And that's when it hit me: you don't need ridiculous third-act plot contrivances or CGI effects to reinvigorate the spirit of Indiana Jones. That spirit has always been out there, in those corners of the map that we haven't big box-retailed to death.

Even in this era of cell phones that pull up satellite maps of every square inch of the earth with the slightest touch, there is still a little wonder left. And that--more than massive box-office hits, merchandised lunch-boxes, or buying Harrison Ford another 10,000 acres in Montana--is what Indiana Jones is all about. The spirit of adventure never gets old... even if all the great adventurers do.

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