Indy's back. He may be in his sixties and not quite as supple as his whip. He might be wheezing a bit because his ticker's as battered as his old fedora. But he's back.
This time out - nineteen years after the Last Crusade and 27 after Raiders of the Lost Ark - he's facing his most relentless adversary yet.
Not ranks of crack Nazi stormtroopers or even unstoppable gangs of childnappers. No, this time he's battling the crippling weight of expectation. An army of armchair critics sharpening their pens.
Fortunately, this is Indiana Jones...and age shall not wither him. Or if it does. Just a bit.
It's the height of the Cold War and Soviet agents have kidnapped Indy and his old archaeological sparring partner Mac (Winstone) and taken them to a remote airfield in the American desert.
Led by clairvoyant commissar Irina Spalko (Blanchett) - Stalin's golden girl - they force Indy to reveal the whereabouts of a omnipotent treasure trove...but he's not taking it lying down.
Hooking up with Shia LaBoeuf's Harley-riding Mutt - half James Dean and half The Fonz - Saga's premier pin-up boy finds himself in a race to Peru with Mystic Megski to find the all-powerful Crystal Skull of Akbar.
Indy's comeback after almost two decades was never going to be a complete let-down with Steven Spielberg at the helm, even if the dead hand of George Lucas renders the story little more than a series of grand setpieces clunkily nailed together.
Yet, Ford's sardonically-pitched, world-weary performance overcomes narrative shortcomings and the action sequences are a gut-clenching flourish of immaculately-choreographed stunts coupled with witty ingenuity.
Jaw-dropping highlights includes a terrific motorcycle chase through an Ivy League college with LaBoeuf taking over adrenalin duties from Ford and a nail chewing four-wheel duel alongside a chasm in the Peruvian jungle.
Karen Allen makes a welcome return as Indy's old flame Marion Ravenwood (it's nice to see a mature actress as the romantic interest instead of some fluffy airheaded Jessica Alba-like).
Elsewhere, John Hurt does his deranged old codger routine (no change there) and Winstone delivers a nice comedy turn as Indy's less than trustworthy sidekick.
Blanchett's Spalko - imagine a youthful, catwalk version of Bond villainess Rosa Klebb in From Russia With Love - unfortunately never breaks free of panto mode: there's a lot of strutting about with hands firmly behind back.
Yet the whole show hangs together. Remember, since Indy last cracked the whip we've had to endure derivative dross like National Treasure and The Da Vinci Code.
Rarely straying from the earlier films' templates, this is a big budget B-movie, distinguished by a neatly-observed 1950s period setting and Ford's winningly self-mocking performance.
At one point our hero is told by tweedy professor Jim Broadbent that he's "reaching the stage in life when, instead of giving things, it's taking them away."
Well, on the strength of this, the old boy's still got plenty to offer.
Tim Evans
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