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As I discussed last week, part twos seems to have a knack for pushing farther into the dark heart of material and Temple of Doom is a template for that theory. The violence is more graphic; the humorous moments are a lot less light. However, it is the also odd film out among the four in a lot of ways. While the other three all feature a supernatural or quite fantastical payoff to the plot line, Temple of Doom ends with a showdown on a rope bridge and the villain falling into the jaws of eager crocodiles. After the breathless pace of the story and the presentation of numerous fates worse than death, this climax feels rather quaint, a notion reinforced with the arrival of the British cavalry to restore order and "save the day" at the end. While the other films are all about globetrotting and rushing from one locale to the next, Temple of Doom gets its scenery-swirling out of the way early and settles down in India for most of the running time. The character of Willie is also tough to take after the hard-drinking, tough-as-nails Marion Ravenwood. Capshaw has the brassiness down pat, but remains saddled with the thankless task of being dragged along at every turn.

Temple of Doom has a definite air of attempting to top its predecessor. By setting the film in the past, the film is free to make up new mythology for the character and series but also winkingly acknowledge the most beloved parts of Raiders, albeit indirectly. If you thought the snakes in the tomb were icky, how about traipsing through a hidden corridor lined with cockroaches and other creepy crawlies? Liked the horse/jeep/motorcycle chase sequence? Then what about a pursuit conducted in mine carts through the very bowels of a fiery underground lair? Faces melting off not gross enough for ya? We've got a dinner sequence filled with offbeat cuisine that just might cut through your cast-iron stomach. Spielberg, George Lucas and screenwriters Willard Hyuck and Gloria Katz (best known for penning American Graffiti and Howard the Duck) seem to anticipate a target audience of ADHD youngsters asking, "And now what? And now what? And now what?" They may have been a few decades ahead in that anticipation, but after inventing the modern box office bonanza with Jaws, Spielberg offered a glimpse of where box office behavior was headed with Temple of Doom. Opening on the Wednesday before Memorial Day weekend at a then ultra-wide 1,700+ theaters, the further adventures of Indy Jones took in $42 million in six days on the way to a final domestic gross of $180 million. As the number of theaters grew and screen count increased and the idea of an event picture replaced the practice of a slow and sustained run buoyed by word-of-mouth, the opening numbers posted by Temple of Doom (and the likes of Return of the Jedi the year before) would soon become the norm. Even a quarter of a century later, though, that figure still seems impressive.

Perhaps in praising it as the finest of the Indiana Jones sagas, I am professing that I appreciate a sequel that is willing to go the extra distance, that plays hard to get and doesn't care if I like it or not. Maybe I am willing to meet its masochism and weary world view half way. Perhaps. Or I may just be a sucker for chilled monkey brains.

Next week: Don't get them wet. Don't expose them to light. Don't feed them after midnight. But by all means, set them loose in New York City.

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