| Monday, February 25, 2002 |
 | Yesterday, while recovering from Luke's birthday party, I found myself eerily dragged into "Young Indiana Jones". First by its almost impossibly glacial pacing and astonishingly leaden dialogue, and subsequently by perhaps the best piece of hysterical historical placement ever.
Well, to be exact the second best. For an ex-partner once related to me the experience of having seen a film which established its 19th-Century context by having two people pass in the street and say to each other:
Evening, Dickens.
Evening, Thackeray.
before the camera pans to where the action is. This is probably matchless, but the bit where Indy is asked by two hilariously camp Brits to critique the poetry of Sassoon, only to find that he is in the company both of that worthy and of Robert Graves, fresh from his nervous breakdown, is a damn close second. It turns out that this celebrity of the hour approach is a feature of the series - later in 1916 he busts out of a German PoW camp disconcertingly located in World War 2 in the company of Charles de Gaulle. Niiice.
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