Or: Indian Jones and the Question of How the Fuck Indy Can Jump onto a Submarine in the Middle of the Mediterranean and Arrive on a Greek Island Days Later Without the Sub Having Submerged. As a technical accomplishment, Raiders of the Lost Ark is flawless. The film is little more than a series of set-pieces and stunts pieced together by the flimsiest, most nonsensical of plots, and it’s a plot rife with colonialist undercurrents so barely disguised that Indiana Jones would casually hop over them whilst laughing were they booby traps. Bad swarthy Arabs! Drunken Nepalese oafs! Untrustworthy South Americans! In this instance I can overlook this, because the film’s set-pieces are constructed and pieced together so expertly that one can quite easily ignore its many character flaws. Like so many of Spielberg’s films, it again proves he’s a natural filmmaker, but a poor, shoddy thinker.