Dana wrote:

No amount of ducktail-combing or Harley-revving is going to make the doe-eyed Shia LaBeouf into Marlon Brando in The Wild One, and the close encounter that Indy and Co. experience when they finally reach that interdimensional portal is nowhere near as thrilling as Richard Dreyfuss' apotheosis in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. But expecting Brando-esque menace or Dreyfus-ian uplift from the Indiana Jones tetralogy is like going to the candy counter at the mall multiplex and asking for some goat cheese and a nice cabernet instead of malted milk balls and a Coke. Spielberg's movies are crude but efficient systems for the delivery of pleasure—this is both the gift and the curse of the man who invented the summer blockbuster.