MOVIE REVIEW: Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny

Title: Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny

Director: James Mangold

Writers: Jez Butterworth, John-Henry Butterworth, David Koepp, James Mangold

Starring: Harrison Ford, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Antonio Banderas, John Rhys-Davies, Mads Mikkelsen, Karen Allen

Release Date: June 30, 2023

If adventure has a name, it must be Indiana Jones is a perfect tagline—it promises action, thrills, a globetrotting journey, heroism in the face of certain death, and the shimmer of Hollywood adventure movies of old.

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny offers none of that. It’s the cinematic equivalent of going through the motions, offering up scenes you’ve watched before in the previous films and Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis, but with all of the character, adventure, and depth vacuumed-sealed away from this latest product. And I do mean product; despite Ford’s enthusiasm and performance, this is a corporate film-by-committee instead of a passionate work of art. Say what you will about George Lucas’ aliens in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, they were featured because a talented filmmaker zealously believed they were not only interesting, they were right for the movie (and trust me, there is a lot to say against featuring aliens in an Indiana Jones film).

You won’t feel that passion from the production team. The movie is desperate to convince you it belongs alongside the original Indiana Jones films. Beloved actors play favorite characters. Elaborate sets echo the ancient world. Wild brawls and violence break out as Indy fights the worst of humanity. A supposedly creepy animal is in an enclosed space. An artifact, at the end, impacts the plot in an SFX-laden sequence that claims the lives of the villain and his lackies.

But it goes beyond that, to ripping characters and ideas from the earlier films. Facsimiles of Marion Ravenwood and Short Round are Indy’s sidekicks. Sallah appears (all too briefly). The final moments of the film quote a scene from the Raiders of the Lost Ark in lieu of a meaningful close.

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny is a song performed in false notes. Your own nostalgia is looted, and replaced with a forgery.


The original Indiana Jones films, even at their worst, embody the oldest and now rarest kind of Hollywood magic: it’s mostly real. Whether it’s physical stunts or practical effects, almost everything you see is really there. The stunning matte paintings look right. It’s sad when the few early blue and greenscreen sequences look better than the heavy CGI sequences in Dial of Destiny.

Nothing feels real, even when it probably is. The action all but smears across the screen, screaming unfinished CGI from overworked artists. At moments, bodies literally ragdoll after explosions. As we’ll discuss later, the camera is uncomfortably close, cuts are uncomfortably fast. Everything is weightless, unfinished.

The pacing is nonexistent. The film is nearly three hours long, and after the prologue you feel every minute of it. Plotlines and MacGuffins disappear as soon as they are introduced. What happened to Indy being framed for murder? Where did the central artifact end up after the climax? Did the CIA lose interest in this case as soon as their agents were murdered? In a series that depends on interesting, joyously surprising set-up and pay-off (for example, Marion conning her way into drinking contest winnings, then using the trick again to escape—but oh no, they’re drinking Belloq’s family vintage), nothing goes anywhere, nothing meaningful is paid off. You will never feel the joy of a well-executed surprise.

The direction is poor. Initially I questioned why many people said this. James Mangold is not a poor director, though he does have a style at odds with Spielberg’s. Mangold favors static shots. Even when something within the shot moves, the camera doesn’t. He reflects the workman directors of Silver Age Hollywood, consciously asking us to consider his work in light of the films of George Stevens and Delmer Daves. He mirrors their ethos: the camera is nailed down, and all the life comes from the actors. Their performances are given all the space needed. With the right actors and the right script, this approach is magic. Like those directors, every piece of the whole depends on every other piece. If something gives way, the entire production collapses. With a career that’s spanned noir, romance, biopic, and more, it’s easy to imagine him taking on a variety of films as a working director on the studio lots of the 1950s.

Spielberg is fluid, his work presented in a series of pans, cuts, and movement that works with the actors and scripts to highlight emotion, and easily track complex action. Even simple shot-reverse-shot dialogue scenes are a series of small pans and zooms, effortlessly guiding the audience’s eye (rewatch the scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where Indy and Marcus speak to the federal agents, the camera rarely stops—yet unless you look for it, it’s invisible). Spielberg draws from the unerring focus and flow of artists like Jim Steranko (who designed Indiana Jones), Hergé, and Carl Barks.

Going into the film, I expected a traditional Mangold presentation. I was wrong.

The direction and cinematography are disastrous. The camera is always just a little too close to the action, just a little too zoomed in. It’s easy to miss beats, especially in action sequences, because you see so little in the frame. There are few sweeping shots of either special effects (consider the framing of the leap of faith in Last Crusade), or ordinary sets (consider the Well of Souls in Raiders of the Lost Ark). Even the rare times that the production team builds a beautiful physical set (as with several sequences in Archimedes’ tomb), the director or cinematographer decide not to show it to the audience. The camera rarely focuses on the set, never letting the audience get a good idea of the location.

The cinematography is exceptionally poor: flat, narrow, and ugly.

Spielberg makes it easy to follow the progress of a chase scene. We are never lost even when he, in the Last Crusade, takes us down a significant length of German road or through a significant part of the desert. We always have a good idea of where we are, and how the characters and set pieces relate to one another.

Every chase scene in Dial of Destiny, and the final battle, are mystifying. Even when characters share a static set it’s unclear how places relate to one another, how much distance characters have, or who is doing what.

All of the above is inexcusable, but it’s particularly inexcusable from a film that cost this much and is following in the footsteps of a director who made far more difficult events startlingly clear.

The Opening

The nearly half-hour long opening sequence deserves separate discussion. It’s nearly its own film, with its own writers, and resists or defies many of the failures of the rest of the film. It’s deeply flawed in its own ways, but mostly avoids the warmed-over toxic “nostalgia” of the rest of the film. It is its own Indiana Jones short film.

It is set in the final days of World War 2. Originally written by Steven Spielberg and David Koepp (co-writer or writer of Jurassic Park, Sam Raimi’s Spider Man, and one of the people who did heroic work to try and fix Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull)—the only part of the film bearing their direct handiwork—the sequence is the only part of the film with the right pacing, (mostly) the right dialogue, (partially) the right style. It’s the only part of the nearly three-hour film that feels like an Indiana Jones film.

Unfortunately, it is flawed. A number of smaller flaws and one glaring problem that almost spoils the whole: the digitally de-aged Harrison Ford.

The artificial younger Indiana Jones is a nightmare. You can see the source material worn on his face. The film grain, the true shadow captured by physical media fighting against the off-blue false shadows of digital recordings surrounding it. The images used to make the mask are recognizable, often culled from oft-used stills and promotional photos. It never looks right. It shambles like a nightmare. Sometimes he looks like Harrison Ford in Raiders of the Lost Ark, sometimes he looks like the Harrison Ford of a decade later in Last Crusade. Through it all, Ford still sounds like an eighty-year-old man.

It’s depressing because it’s unnecessary. What would be more meaningful for Indiana Jones’ farewell film? A digital nightmare recreation of Harrison Ford—or Sean Patrick Flannery, the truly excellent Indy from The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles, briefly appearing as an older Indy now that he’s the right age for the part?

The monstrous approximation of 1980s Harrison Ford, however, makes the best stretch of the film far worse. Even then, the chemistry between Ford and Toby Jones is so good that it’s tragic Jones is absent for most of the rest of the film.

The Characters

Indiana Jones

Indiana Jones’ character arc is complete after the original three films, as he goes from someone one push away from being like Belloq to being worthy of the Holy Grail. In Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, he is wisely allowed to keep his completed characterization—instead, the change comes from the outside, as he finds Marion and discovers his family.

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny presents a detour. He spends a significant portion of the movie depressed, a wreck of a human being, before he ultimately gets back to exactly where he was at the end of Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. In nearly three hours, we have arrived where we started minus one Mutt. It’s meaningless, and a waste of the audience’s time.

In the time between ends of the detour, we are forced to endure horribly out of character moments: he is a grumpy old man who hates new music, then stands there pitifully trying to talk his neighbors into turning it down (meanwhile, in The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles, the 90-odd year old Indy loves rock music, and only objects to his grandson playing it poorly; the real Indy would stride into their apartment and solve the problem himself—he was born out of noir characters, after all); he states he hates going to the moon because there’s no history there (an absurd line of dialogue in general, but worse when you remember Indy knows aliens are real); Indy is giving an excited, interested lecture to disinterested students (the joke in the previous films is that he’s a terrible lecturer—who can’t even spell Neolithic—who has become popular against his wishes).

The film piles these absurdities one after another. To facilitate one of the most misguided action scenes, Indy is menaced by eels because they supposedly look like snakes; Indy is afraid of insects, despite entire sequences in Raiders of the Lost Ark, Temple of Doom, and Kingdom of the Crystal Skull showing otherwise.

Indiana Jones is a character who purposefully avoided becoming like his father, refusing to live in the past and miss out on the present. Any impulse Indy may have had in that direction is resolved by him giving up the Holy Grail and leaving with his friends and family. We are now expected to believe that a dying Indiana Jones would prefer to live out the rest of his life in ancient Greece, if he had things his way, rather than his constant embrace of what is new and exciting. He loves history, including the history that is made today. As he’s often presented in the films, and especially The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles, he’s a man ahead of his time. He’s a man whose love of history has enabled him to avoid the mistakes of the past.

The film’s conclusion feels like a bone thrown to every cursed soul who complained that Indy wasn’t important enough in the previous films. That Indy made things worse in Raiders of the Lost Ark, and that his roles in the other films were ultimately pointless. Now it turns out Indiana Jones is centrally important to world history, keeping all of time on track.

It misses the point. In Raiders of the Lost Ark, he saves Marion’s life—more importantly, the movie is about the state of his soul. The movie does not talk about him being one push away from being like Belloq for no reason. Before his encounter with the Ark and all it represents, he could take the last step at any time. He is a noir-inspired character who instead moves into the light. It’s no accident that in the following films he’s more outright heroic. Yes, the resurgent thugee cult would have been wiped out before long; but would anyone else have been in time to save most of the children? Yes, the Holy Grail would have disappeared no matter what; but his father would have died, their relationship would never have healed, and Elsa Schneider would never have had one last chance at redemption (and that she wasted it does not make the offer less valuable). Yes, the aliens would have returned to the stars in the fourth film no matter what; but if Indiana Jones did not venture into South America, Marion and his son would have died.

The numinous powers Indiana Jones encounters do not need his help defending themselves. Indy needs their protection to help others, and he is needed right where he is. Saving lives is valuable. What he does is necessary.

Making Indiana Jones one of the most important people in history is a failure of imagination, and, worse, a failure of understanding the series.

Dr. Voller

Wernher von Braun is a complicated historical figure. Was he a heroic man who held out against Nazi policies? Was he a weak man who gave in to the Nazis in ways that were pitiful but not criminal? Was he a useful villain, a wholehearted Nazi who took part in their crimes, but was willing to work with whoever footed the bill? We don’t know, and we can never truly know. Every biography walks away from him with a different composite picture. Any work of fiction approaching von Braun needs a careful touch, as the only certainties we can say about him are shades of grey.

The film’s easy, black-and-white portrayal of Wernher von Braun (in all but name) helps no-one. We do not understand von Braun any better, and a difficult, complicated part of history is treated without analysis or depth. Worse yet, this indiscriminate treatment of history—which imagines a secret cadre of uniformed, unrepentant Nazis infesting NASA—mirrors the genuinely harmful real-world conspiracy theory of the Secret Space Program. Going in this direction was foolish and destructive in a very real way, and will only enable the delusions of people who desperately need help. Those who believe in this conspiracy view Hollywood films as a major source of disclosure, a way that those “in the know” communicate what is going on with the wider public. This film is something that will do genuine harm to vulnerable people, and should never have been produced in this way.

Further, this treatment of von Braun in the guise of Dr. Voller means we are left with a flavorless, characterless husk of a villain in the film. He is evil because he is evil. This is exceptionally disappointing for a franchise that has turned out well-rounded antagonists (Belloq and Schneider), and villains who make interesting, dynamic decisions even in their base evil. Mola Ram is evil incarnate, cursed by the gods, but he carries himself with a flare that the banal Voller desperately lacks. Mikkelsen tries his best, but he has been handed a rote character with a rote script. He barely has dialogue, and most of what dialogue he has is perfunctory villain lines. He tells his men to shoot. He tells his men to bring him something. Mikkelsen has saved many thin parts, but here has been handed a part so empty even he cannot flesh it out.

It is particularly disappointing to compare Voller to the series’ other antagonists. Indiana Jones will verbally spar with them, debating their incorrect views of history and artifacts. This particularly enriches Belloq and Schneider, elevating them from matinee serial heavies to true antagonists. Voller has far grander designs than them, aiming to become a god via math (a silly idea the movie does nothing to expand on, and seemingly forgets about). A film that took more inspiration from the real von Braun, reflecting the likely truth he was only using the Nazis much like Belloq and Schneider, would have given Mikkelsen room to act and made him a worthy antagonist for Indiana Jones. It would also avoid the harmful elements that echo the Secret Space Program conspiracy.

Helena Shaw

Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Helena Shaw partially exists to remind the audience how much they love Karen Allen’s Marion. Her theme song shares motifs with Marion’s. She, too, is a hard-living borderline con woman. She, too, makes a show of pursuing money above all else. She, too, had an archaeologist father who was very close to Indy. But that’s all she is.

Marion, like Indy as portrayed in Raiders of the Lost Ark, has a mercenary veneer. That veneer covers their vulnerabilities and pain, which are slowly unraveled as the movie goes on. Both are mired in pretense which is sheared away by their adventure and their brush with the holy.

Meanwhile, Helena Shaw only needs to learn not to be selfish; a low bar that the film does not cross.

Karen Allen played one of the great screen femme fatales, with such a sharp vulnerability the tropes disappear behind her performance. Phoebe Walker-Bridge, thanks in part to a facile script and indifferent direction, plays only the distant echo of a better character.

But what really separates Marion and Helena Shaw?

Marion’s mercenary impulse lasts only for a moment, and is only used against two groups: Indiana Jones (who she hates, and wants to revel in having power over) and the Nazis (a group she hates more, and wants to give the runaround). As discussed, Marion also has an arc that carries her away from this moment.

Helena Shaw is a looter who sells artifacts to the highest bidder. Through the entire film, she wants to steal everything Indy’s uncovered and sell it off. She is the kind of person who is genuinely destructive to cultures around the world and our understanding of history.

Even minutes before the climax, she tells her sidekick she’s really in control and it doesn’t matter that Indy doesn’t want to sell the artifacts, they’ll get their money. At one point, the writers have Indy lamely suggest that since Helena Shaw memorized her dad’s journals she has purer motives—but not only do we never see this borne out, this conversation is immediately after she tried to sell the artifact her father was obsessed with on the black market.

This would be fine if she started the film as the worst kind of looter and con artist, but her relationship with Indy makes her reconsider her choices, something the film tries to do but doesn’t accomplish, as we’ll discuss.

Helena Shaw has neither contrast nor an arc. She is a flat, static character. And unfortunately, the production team gave her the most frustrating static characterization. As presented, she is an unrepentant looter: something Indiana Jones has stood against.

But the problems run deeper than that. She’s not only Marion. She’s also given the arc Indiana Jones (somewhat) had in Temple of Doom. She talks about fortune and glory, with those exact words, and is fixated on money from selling artifacts as well as her fame from these great finds. Her arc would now also have to account for a resolution to both the Temple of Doom Indy arc and Marion’s arc. (This combination poses a problem because any flavor of Indy is a foil to Marion, and Marion is a foil to Indiana Jones.)

But the problem runs even deeper than that. She is also juggling Indiana Jones’ arc from Last Crusade. She was, at least in theory, abandoned by Indy the same way he was by his dad. 

Keeping this many arcs in the air and consistent would be difficult, if not impossible. All of her interactions with Indy try to keep at least one in the air and progressing, but several problems quickly arise. 

She says Indy was never there for her, mirroring the way Indy’s dad was never there for him. Yet we also see a flashback where Indy flies to her home in Britain, just because she was worried about her dad, and helps. He tells her to call him. There’s no indication he ever ignored her. They try to slot Indy into his dad’s role, mirroring the conversation at the crossroad between Indy and his dad with Indy and Shaw’s conversation on the boat: like his dad, Indy has retreated into the past, abandoning those who need him most. This is supposed to be resolved by her literally bringing Indy back to the present later. They’re there for each other now. Isn’t that a completed arc? 

And yet she’s also embarked on Indy’s Temple of Doom arc, being fixated on Fortune and Glory, willing to abandon Indy for her loot. This is also supposed to be resolved by the ending, where she rescues Indy and forces him to live in the present. She did something different than she did at the start of the film. Isn’t that growth? 

In both cases, no. Maybe one of these borrowed arcs could work, but each prevents the other from tying up. 

She never resolves her fixation on Fortune and Glory in her Temple of Doom Indy arc at the end because she’s previously risked her riches saving Indy throughout the film while she was embarked on her Last Crusade Indy arc. Doing it one more time at the end of the film doesn’t make her less static. The plot fails for the same reason it did for Indy himself: there is no sharp divide, and she has always, at least to a degree, put people over her loot. Though paradoxically, her loot never becomes less important to her. She is caught mid-arc.

She never resolves her Last Crusade Indy arc because she and Indy never inhabit their roles. Indy has always been there for her. She relies on him from the start. We don’t see them come to understand and rely on each other as they grow closer like Jones Sr. and Jr. After her initial betrayal, the two work together fine. Their relationship remains static. 

Each of her arcs goes through a ghost of motion that ultimately leaves her and her relationship with Indy exactly where it started. 

Other Cast Notes

John Rhys-Davies, Toby Jones, and Shaunette Renée Wilson, turn in excellent performances. Unfortunately, they are all wasted, each of them only having minutes of screentime. Antonio Banderas turns in one of the better performances, as one of the few other memorable characters, but nearly loses his fight against a dull script that only gives him standard issue dialogue for the moments he is on-screen.

Voller’s henchmen, Klaber and Hauke, cannot be taken seriously. They are given broad parts and under the film’s baffling direction play them all the more broad—we are supposed to feel the contrast between them and the CIA agents, and feel that something is wrong. But instead it feels like incompetent criminals from a Coen Brothers film have stumbled into a spy film and everyone is forced to roll with it. The tone is so deeply broken that none of their actions land, and the CIA’s reactions feel silly.

Respecting Ancient and Foreign Cultures

The Indiana Jones films are built on a foundation of respect. It is sometimes imperfect, but the intent is always there. Indiana Jones plots are at their best when written with reverence, and written to be grounded in the real legends and faiths that inspired them. 

Raiders of the Lost Ark is a mostly accurate look at the Ark of the Covenant, mostly staying true to biblical accounts. The Ark of the Covenant is used to discuss the Nazis’ attempt to steal Jewish heritage. It is a thorough, angry repudiation that makes it clear the Ark belongs to the Jewish people.

Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade embodies the Grail Quest legends. Heavily script-doctored by Tom Stoppard, an actual medievalist, the slight and unconvincing earlier drafts of the script become one of the best interpretations of the Grail Quest Hollywood, or anyone really, has given us.

Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis, the game so good most fans count it as the “real” fourth film, mostly sticks to Plato’s account of the sunken city. Most elements beyond his dialogue are either the word of a (somewhat possessed) conwoman or set-dressing.

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom falters because, while the lingams (somewhat inexplicably called the Sankara Stones in the film) are real and presented somewhat accurately, almost all of the context is cut from the film.

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny fails because it’s founded on pure hokum, and demands that audiences forget everything they know about the Antikythera Mechanism to swallow the plot. Even scam artists and the hosts of Ancient Aliens haven’t thought to say that the Antikythera Mechanism is part of a time rift detector invented by Archimedes.

But it’s worse than that. The Ark of the Covenant works as the central MacGuffin in an Indiana Jones film because while there was definitely a real Ark of the Covenant, it’s lost; the entire plot can be built out of discovering what happened after it disappeared. The Holy Grail works as the central MacGuffin in an Indiana Jones film because there was definitely a real cup the historical Jesus drank from; the entire plot can be built out of what the Quest means, as it took on life beyond what it historically was. Lingams work as a central MacGuffin in an Indiana Jones film because they were and are real; and a plot exploring the unities of the universe has rich potential for an adventure film (something Temple of Doom only lightly touches upon). Atlantis works as the central MacGuffin of an Indiana Jones story because there was almost certainly a real Atlantis, even if Plato exaggerated to make his point; the entire plot can be built out of discovering what happened after it disappeared. Even the crystal skulls could work as the plot of an Indiana Jones plot, as Indy uncovers the truth behind the scam (which would have been the approach taken when the skulls were originally conceived as a plot for The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles).

After its recovery in 1901, the Antikythera Mechanism was never lost again. While broken into pieces by the wreck, the damage doesn’t resemble the multiple MacGuffins the movie needs. Archimedes was almost certainly not involved in the device’s construction (and the theory that he was is now outdated).

Worst of all, we know what the device was for: a type of analogue computer that tracked the stars and eclipses.

The series thrives on reality, on using just enough of the real to make the audience ask, “What if?”

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny makes the audience ask, “So what?” 

The other films may be wild, but they could (and have) been used in education. This one flies in the face of the truth, not even to entertaining effect but simply to dull bafflement.

There is one other problem. At the end of the movie, the filmmakers forget their artifact. As soon as it no longer matters to the plot, it’s never seen or mentioned again. This is damning in a series that’s very careful about the ultimate fates of the artifacts. They are either returned to the people and culture it belongs to (the Sankara stones), used to criticize the practice of burying artifacts in deep archives where they’re never seen again (the Ark of the Covenant), or fulfill the artifact’s original narrative closure (the Holy Grail, which always departs when it has been achieved).

Worse yet, the ancient Romans and Greeks are written as fools. Despite the film literally revolving around a device that shows not only the intelligence but the mechanical knowledge of the ancient world, no-one but Archimedes can recognize that the time-traveling planes are not dragons (worse yet, European dragons aren’t really a part of the folklore of the period). It’s an insulting depiction. The production team had every reason to know better.  

The Score

John Williams is a man who can never quite bring himself to retire. Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny is currently his final score. If this is the note he chooses to go out on, it’s the perfect capstone to his career and some of his strongest work. Outside of “The Raiders March” and “Helena’s Theme,” he doesn’t directly reference his earlier music (and “Helena’s Theme” seems to have been by director’s order). There is a stunning moment in the opening where you hear Williams rework the Nazi motif from Last Crusade into a new form, refining the idea without working from the same music.

The score for this film is the work of an artist at the height of his powers, bringing a lifetime of experience together into one cohesive work of art. It is tight, complex, and a delight.

Final Score: (1/2 Star)

Rating: 0.5 out of 5.

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny is a mummified corpse of a film. It is a recreation of the flashier parts of the first three films without anyone in charge thinking deeper than that. 

It is not only a waste of a terrifying amount of money (counting only the announced production budget, it’s the 35th most expensive film ever made, when adjusted for inflation), but a waste of nearly three hours of your life. The only saving graces are John Williams’ score and the few actors who go above and beyond to deliver a meaningful performance (Ford, Rhys-Davies, Banderas, Wilson, and Jones—the tragedy being all but Ford appear in glorified cameos). 

If the film weren’t incompetent in so many ways, but was largely otherwise unchanged, it would only be below average. If the film wasn’t abysmally shot, if the cast were able to meaningfully interact with one another and received adequate direction, and if the worst mistakes were cleaned up…it would be just on the disappointing side of fine. The film’s saddest flaw is its haphazard execution.

What should you watch instead?

The fans agree Fate of Atlantis is the “real” fourth installment. I nominate Mystery of the Blues as the real conclusion of the series: a caper that still takes us across time, with a light nostalgic touch, but we only travel alongside the memories of a still-capable man. We depart alongside an Indiana Jones who hasn’t forgotten his character arc, and is, for the first time when we meet him at the start of an adventure, genuinely happy. And we meet a young Indiana Jones who isn’t a digital monstrosity, but is played with depth by an actor who is really there.

By accident, Mystery of the Blues is the only conclusion that fits Indiana Jones. By design, The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles as a whole is the only ending to his character that makes sense. Yet, by happenstance, we’ve ended up with Dial of Destiny as the (hopefully) final installment of the franchise.

But don’t let it fool you. Indiana Jones’ final adventure was in Wyoming, 1950, and broadcast in 1993.  

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