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Better with age

There’s a scene in “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull,” the rollicking fourth chapter in this venerable franchise, in which director Steven Spielberg and producer and co-writer George Lucas launch a frontal assault on the 800-pound gorilla in the theater.

“For an old man, you ain’t bad in a fight,” young Mutt Williams (Shia LaBeouf) tells Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) after they battle their way out of one of the film’s many scrapes.

“Thanks,” the graying but still nimble Indy grins.

“So what are you, like, 80?” Mutt cracks.

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Yes, insert your own Metamucil joke here — after all, Spielberg is 61, Lucas is 64 and Ford is Medicare-eligible at 65.

Hey, none of us is as young as we used to be. But some of us act a lot younger than we are, and these guys are Exhibits A, B and C. It may be 27 years since Indy first appeared in “Raiders of the Lost Ark” and 19 years since the third film in the franchise, “The Last Crusade,” but none of them has lost a step, least of all Ford.

He’s in fine form from the get-go, when we see Indy dragged from the trunk of a car — actually, we see that famous fedora first — by a bunch of very grumpy Soviet troops led by cool, lissome beauty Dr. Irina Spalko (Cate Blanchett, ice-blue eyes flashing above cheekbones so sharp they could fillet a cod).

It’s 1957, and America’s Red Scare is still going strong — for good reason. Spalko and her goons, with help from Indy’s old war buddy-turned-traitor “Mac” McHale (Ray Winstone), have kidnapped and dragged him to a remote Nevada military facility where the U.S. stores its deepest, darkest secrets.

They want him to help them find one particular treasure, an artifact that the Soviets believe would give them access to mind-control powers vast enough to mentally enslave all of humanity.

The plot is wrapped up with the “crystal skull” of the title, which propels the story on a wild chase (surely to yield a couple of theme park rides) deep into the Amazon, where our heroes find signs not just of extraterrestrials, but extradimensionals.

Along the way, all Indy’s quirks are showcased — the bullwhip, the fear of snakes, the fascinating historical details.

Spielberg and Lucas also tuck in a few Easter eggs; in the scene in the military warehouse, for example, we get a brief glimpse of another treasure at the heart of an earlier Indy film (don’t blink).

The most important element, however, remains Ford’s ability to pull off the title character’s mix of brains (in his spare time, Indy is a university archaeology professor) and brawn.

Of course, having Spielberg behind the camera helps. Some of Ford’s more strenuous scenes may have been handled by stunt doubles, but you’d never know it; the transitions are flawless.

Say what you want about Spielberg — the guy knows how to do action. An early chase scene involving Indy, Mutt and a quartet of KGB goons is as fine a chase as you’ll ever see on screen — the camera seems to scrape the pavement behind Mutt’s motorcycle, then swooping and swirling up, around and into the action like a manic bird.

And that’s not even the best chase scene. And I haven’t even mentioned all the other cool stuff, like the thug who gets devoured by a swarm of angry fire ants. Or the A-bomb explosion that sends Indy careening down a hill inside a refrigerator. Or the ...

LaBeouf — who Lucas has hinted may be tapped to carry on the franchise when Ford hangs up his whip for good — is on hand to lock in the younger crowd, and he boldly holds his own.

The ducktailed Mutt is the son of Indy’s old “Raiders of the Lost Ark” flame Marion Ravenwood (Karen Allen, as sassy as ever), who is also unwillingly sucked into the adventure by the Soviets — which eventually leads to a familial revelation that has been the worst-kept secret in the movie blogosphere recently.

“Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” is an adventure that feels at once familiar and fresh — the best kind of nostalgia kick.

As satisfying as any film in this series, it will surely fire up a new wave of fans to seek out the other three, while also sending all of us 40-, 50- and 60-somethings out of the octoplex with just a little more spring in our step. Ë

Rated PG-13 for gripping but nonbloody action.

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