Him: ‘The TV set blew up?’
Me: ‘Yeah.’
Him: (already knowing the answer) ‘And you were watching at the time…?’
Me: (sinking feeling) ‘The Omen.’
(A quite brilliant choice of film for Christmas Day on Channel 4’s part, I have to say.)
Him: ‘Don’t you think that you’ve been sent a bit of a message?’
Me: ‘I think we’ve been sent a message that we should start renting better-quality TV sets.’
Obviously, that wasn’t what he was thinking of. As regular readers may recall, my brother-in-law is a man of strong religious beliefs. I am not (and even if I was I hope I would still think that the Creator of the Universe had better ways of passing the time on Christmas Day than randomly causing TV tubes to blow up). My brother-in-law refuses to have anything to do with films of the ilk of The Omen, while I rather enjoy them (which is why I didn’t tell him when I watched the complete trilogy while staying at his house last week).
On the face of it this is rather odd, surely – I’d have thought, given the materialistic desert in which so much modern entertainment takes place, that anything presenting spiritual reality as a concrete fact would present a welcome change. In this respect The Omen and its various progeny are deeply religious films, albeit in a rather lurid and dark way. (And anyway, you’re hardly cheering on the Antichrist – certainly not in the first film, at least.)
Even so, why do I derive such pleasure from movies which exist in a universe so at odds with the one which I believe I inhabit? Hmm. It can’t simply be because they’re just well-crafted pieces of escapist entertainment – there’s a distinct frisson, admittedly faint, of something I can only describe as awe, which isn’t there when watching a Bond movie or whatever.
It was there again the other night watching Raiders of the Lost Ark for what must be the umpteenth time. (Showing, incidentally, virtually uncut on BBC1 pre-watershed – something I thoroughly appreciated. Given that complaining to the networks about their savagely hacking films about – The Living Daylights was on the receiving end of the scissors last week – doesn’t seem to have any effect, maybe it would be worthwhile to send the Beeb a quick note of appreciation in this case. Hmm.)
When I was younger my estimation of the quality of this film was based solely on the quality of the action sequences, which are still unsurpassed. There is, obviously, no CGI in this movie (made in 1981), and relatively little model-work – and yet it out-thrills any number of modern action movies, simply by virtue of its verve and skill and inventiveness. But the performances are also perfectly-judged – this film operates by sticking characters you care about into a succession of increasingly outrageous situations in fairly quick succession, and Harrison Ford and Karen Allen are terrific.
While the plot has a gajillion holes and implausible coincidences in it, it’s also a model of economy and wit, with every bit supporting every other bit. John Williams’ famous soundtrack is also key to the success of the movie – it’s impossible to imagine certain sequences (the one in the map room, for instance) having any impact whatsoever without the score being there to accompany them.
All this is surely fairly obvious, but what I’d never really noticed before is the extent to which this is a film about belief, and particularly the beliefs of the central character. I’m not claiming this is a major theme of the movie – it’s presented quite discreetly – but it’s there, and it does place this film even more firmly in the same lineage as two other classic fantasies from the same makers, Star Wars and Close Encounters.
Both of these films are about faith to some extent – Star Wars concludes with the decision to put technology briefly to one side in favour of faith in one’s own instincts, while Close Encounters is essentially about people on a pilgrimage to encounter the objects of their belief – but in Raiders these things are rather more subtle and ambiguous, to begin with at least.
As befits a film this light-footed and arch, Indiana Jones himself is a rather shadier character here than he becomes in subsequent movies – he’s obliquely compared to a mercenary at one point, and it’s clear that some of his associates are happy to turn a blind eye to his methods. He is, famously, wholly willing to bring a gun to a sword fight. And he also seems to be a sceptic – both his boss and his sidekick express their unease about the quest for the Ark, and he laughingly dismisses both of them.
Yet as the film goes on – and this isn’t lingered upon at all amidst all the burning buildings, crashing trucks and exploding planes – Jones’s attitude seems to change, even as the narrative itself makes it increasingly explicit that the Ark is more than simply just another ancient relic. For whatever reason, he cannot bring himself to destroy it, as his great rival guesses – and by the climax he has become a believer, averting his eyes from the presence of God.
A little touch of that old-time religion...
I think it’s fairly obvious that it’s the element of fantasy that allows the Indiana Jones movies to transcend the action genre, comparatively minor though it is. But what makes Raiders a classic, as opposed to merely a great piece of entertainment like the others, is surely the way that element is presented. On paper the climax is almost literally an example of deus ex machina – the power of God is invoked, only to rebound savagely on the villains in their moment of triumph. To that extent, this film is as essentially religious as The Omen or The Ten Commandments. But it’s by no means a cosy or comforting view of the divine, in stark contrast to that given in The Last Crusade – the power of God as depicted in Raiders is something inscrutable and immense, inhuman and terrifying. In short, it’s a very Old Testament kind of God who puts in an appearance, which seems entirely appropriate in the cirumstances – and this may explain why the religious elements of this film are so seldom commented upon.
I would still say they are crucial to its success. The inclusion of Indian mysticism, Christian legend, and hackneyed UFOlogy in the sequels are all obvious attempts to recapture the sense of wonder present in the original film – but none of them quite succeed. Maybe this is something personal to me, and my own particular ideas about the nature of God – but the fact remains that a journey to the presence of the divine is at the heart of this famous, wonderful movie, and we ought to at least acknowledge as much.
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