The funny thing is, I don’t even remember seeing Raiders of the Lost Ark when it first came out. That’s odd for me, because I can recall the circumstances and specific theaters where I saw every other major landmark film of my childhood: the Star Wars trilogy, the early Star Trek films, Superman, Tron, The Black Hole, hell, even Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers. But not Raiders.

I know I must have seen it in a theater — it was the biggest flick of 1981, and I simply wouldn’t have missed something like that, plus I’ve got several old items in the Bennion Archive that I wouldn’t have picked up if the movie hadn’t inspired me to do so — and yet somehow, it just failed to make a lasting impression on me that first time. The only Raiders-related anecdote I can recall from the summer of ’81 is the time when a friend told me the title of this new flick he just had to see, and I thought it must have something to do with Noah’s Ark, like an episode of the old In Search Of… TV series.

The Indy movie that really grabbed my attention and elevated the character into a personal icon and hero was the one that most people don’t like, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. Viewed objectively, there’s no question that it’s the weakest of the original three (we’ll see how Kingdom of the Crystal Skull measures up tonight!) and I don’t know that it was ever my favorite of the series, but I nevertheless continue to have a real soft spot for this one. I like that it’s so different from the other two, and that it contains scary, occult stuff, and I like the ore-car chase and the musical opening and the Gunga Din references, and hell, I even like Short Round and Willie Scott. No, I’m not putting you on. I’ve never understood why everyone bitches so much about those two, Willie especially. No, she wasn’t anything like Marion, but wasn’t that the point? If she had been more of a Marion-like character, everybody would’ve complained about a lack of originality, wouldn’t they? Maybe I just have a higher tolerance for obnoxious characters than most.

Anyhow, I have no idea why the comparatively lame Temple of Doom had an immediate impact on me while the far-superior Raiders did not. Maybe it was because Star Wars was over and done with by the time TOD came out (or so we believed at the time) and my youthful fanboy mind was casting around for a new obsession to latch onto. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that I’d now entered my teens, and the idea of traveling to exotic countries with a beautiful woman on my arm was becoming more appealing — not to mention more plausible — than flying around the galaxy with a Wookiee. Whatever the reason, TOD sank itself deeply into my imagination; I finally “got” the appeal of Indiana Jones, a very human, very fallible, tough but not overly tough hero who gets by on his perseverance, education, and imagination. He wins because he’s just a little better informed or a little more insightful than his rivals, not because he’s physically stronger, or because he has some mystical power backing him up, as Luke Skywalker does. I figured that out in Temple of Doom, and, as a bookwormy kid myself, I identified strongly with this conception of the character. To this day, my favorite Indiana Jones one-sheet is the design most associated with that film, the one where Indy stands wearily in the entryway of a vine-encrusted ruin, his shirt torn and chest bare, a machete in one hand and his whip in the other, and the tagline in the corner that reads, “If adventure has a name… it must be Indiana Jones.” I spent a good part of my middle and late teens imagining myself in that same pose, and dreaming of all the countries I’d one day visit.

Things were changing for me by the time Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade was released in 1989. I was nineteen, in college, in love with a girl who was beginning to hint around about marriage, and I honestly thought that I was preparing to put my childhood obsessions aside for good. When Indy and his dad rode off into the sunset, it felt to me like more than just the coda of a film trilogy; it seemed like it was also the end of my adolescence.

(Now, of course, with the benefit of hindsight I can see that I was being a pretentious dumbass. I was far less emotionally mature at that time than I imagined, things with that girl didn’t work out — they most spectacularly did not work out, in fact — and a lot of people would probably say that I still haven’t outgrown my adolescence, despite all the gray in my hair and beard. I certainly haven’t outgrown my fanboyish tendencies, although they wax and wane. Not that you’d know it from reading this blog.)

When I think of seeing Last Crusade for the first time in the summer of ’89, I can’t help but think of that damned girl. I was uncomfortable as hell because we were with her parents, who were very religious and had never pulled any punches about thinking I was all wrong for their daughter. By the film’s conclusion, however, I was lost in the movie, paying no attention to them, and as Indy was trying to figure out the traps leading into the Grail’s final resting place, I was unconsciously whispering advice to him… the penitent man is humble and bows his head (well, that was my version of it)… the Word of God is His name, Jehovah… go on and make a leap of faith, Indy, it’s not like you haven’t seen some pretty miraculous shit in your time… I didn’t realize it at the time, but the girl’s parents could hear me and were listening very closely indeed. I impressed them that night, got them to thinking that maybe I wasn’t quite the atheistic heathen they’d always taken me for.

As things started going sour between that girl and me, one of my biggest fears was that the Indy movies would be forever tainted, that I’d never again be able to watch one without thinking of her and hurting (funny, considering that only a few months earlier I’d imagined that I was finished with all the fanboy crap!). As it turned out, though, Indy had been a part of my life for much longer than that girl was, and I continued to enjoy his company long after she’d ceased crossing my mind on any kind of regular basis. (Full disclosure: I actually have been thinking of her a lot more than usual in recent weeks as Crystal Skull‘s release date has approached. Nothing significant or scandalous, just the usual wistful pondering that sentimental old fools like me sometimes entertain about the girls they’ve loved… wondering whatever became of her, if she’s going to see the new film, if it’ll make her think of me, and if so, what exactly she’ll think…)

Last Crusade witnessed the end of my first serious romantic relationship, but it also informed the beginning of one of my most valued and enduring friendships, specifically with the guy who posts here as Chenopup. He started working at the movie theater in the fall of ’89 and we immediately hit it off, in part because we were both Indy fans. He was far more of a fan than I, however; for him, the Indy trilogy was like the Star Wars trilogy had been for me, the most significant movies of his formative years. He had Raiders memorized, the same way I knew Star Wars by heart. He even had a bullwhip, which he taught me to use one rainy afternoon in the theater parking lot. (Some well-meaning busybody spotted us and informed our manager, who chewed us out later for “abusing his trees…”) I later acquired a whip of my own, and when I went to England in ’93, I was wearing a leather jacket and a fedora. Yeah, it was fannish and probably a bit lame, but I thought it was the right thing to do on my first trip abroad. Nearly ten years after the second Indy movie, I was still picturing myself in the Temple of Doom pose… and on my good days, the days when I’m not feeling old and creaky and hopelessly lame, sometimes I still do.

While the Star Wars trilogy is my all-time, sentimental favorite and still among the most transcendent cinematic experiences I’ve ever had, I’m willing to admit that it is an artifact of my childhood. It was finished just as I was becoming a teenager, and the revival and subsequent prequel films were years away and not even imagined by most fans. Certainly not by me. I really thought it was all over with by the mid-80s. The Indy movies, however, by dint of their infrequent releases, are not confined to any one period of my life. They’re more like milestones along the road. Indy and I have grown up together — I’ve seen him through the eyes of a child, a teenager, a young man, and now tonight I’ll be seeing him as a (relatively) grown-up man. His adventures have never been religious experiences for me, and I’m not frothing at the mouth like I was when Revenge of the Sith came out a few years ago… but I am excited, as you ought to be when you have plans to see someone you’ve known since childhood, but encounter only infrequently. I hope our reunion is a good one.