Heroic characters are never quite as noble as they seem.  Consider this:

The young boy reappears in the village at night.  He’s emaciated, confused, obviously out of breath and exhausted.  He falls into the arms of Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) and whispers one word, “Sankara.”  An ancient pictograph, dyed onto a torn cloth, falls from the boy’s weakened grip and into Jones’ hand.  The boy’s family appears and, weeping with concern and joy, takes the boy home.  But Indy does not care.  For him, the whispered word and the pictograph mean far more than the boy’s well-being.

Perhaps that perspective seems harsh, nevertheless thus emerges the hero’s inciting force and motivation in the most honest and emotional of the Indiana Jones films, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984).  By its simplest definition, Indy is truly an anti-hero:  he does the right thing but not always for the right reason.  He kidnaps, not rescues, Willie Scott (Kate Capshaw) only because she happens to be carrying the antidote he needs to drink, not because she’s the kept woman of a vile gangster.  During the getaway in Shanghai, he becomes angry when Willie loses his gun, yet never worries that a child is driving the car, all while fleeing from tommy-gun toting villains.  Truly, I am not trying to apply logic to the fantasy world of Indiana Jones.  My point simply is that Indiana Jones is not a conventional hero.

It’s his unconventional nature, in fact, which drives my intense love of this film over the other Indiana Jones movies.  In particular, Indy’s character development fascinates me.  Though more concerned with fortune and glory at the film’s open, by the end he gives up the fortune and glory to eventually save the people of Mayapore, the young boy’s home village.  Indy learns something about the world, about archaeology, and about himself.  He matures as a heroic character.

Compare these two moments in the film, keeping in mind each takes place in the same location.  First, consider Indy’s descent into the Temple of Doom itself.   He cautiously swings down to the sacrificial altar and then carefully approaches the Sankara stones.  Looking both ecstatic and lustful, he handles them, compares them, and steals them.  Satisfied with his work, he turns away from the altar to leave.  He knows full well that children were kidnapped from Mayapore, but chooses instead to literally turn his back on them.  Of course he quickly changes his mind, but it’s worth noting that his instinct was to make a fast getaway.

The second moment, again in the same location, happens immediately after Indy and Short Round (Ke Huy Quan) rescue Willie.  Pay attention to the blocking here.  Once Indy and Shorty have freed Willie from the cage, Indy turns away from the altar again as he puts on his fedora.  Willie offers very practical advice, “Now, let’s get out of here,” mirroring Indy’s original instinct to escape.  However, this time he deliberately turns around, facing the exact opposite direction as before, and replies, “Right.  All of us.”  Yes we’re leaving but not without the children.  Indy literally does an about-face, emphasizing not only his choice to stay and help, but also an inner shift in character from Treasure Hunter to Guardian Rescuer (a character arc that Spielberg explored again in 1993 with Schindler’s List).

And boy howdy, once Indy makes up his mind to help the children, does he ever go to great lengths to save them.  What follows is thirty minutes of some of the greatest cinema ever filmed.  From freeing the children, to the rock crusher, then into the mines and out again we barely get time to catch our breath.  And we love it.

Then comes the rope bridge.  Out of options, trapped on that precarious bridge and surrounded by Thuggee swordsmen, Indy looks around, finds another option, and makes a dangerous choice.  Lesser movies would’ve created a Deus-Ex-Machina at this moment and robbed us of Indy’s resolved action.  He simply will not surrender and famously chooses to cut the bridge in half.  It’s a shocking and spectacular finish, only after which do we then get a well-timed and fairly-played rescue from the British Army.

The best character arcs are the ones we never notice.  Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom gives us a genuine, thoughtful maturation that works.  I applaud that effort, and I’m not the only one.  At the end of this film, the audience at my local theater in 1984 thunderously clapped and cheered.  They were on their feet.  I’d never seen anything like it at a movie and couldn’t help but join the celebration.  Reflecting, I now realize what we celebrated was not only the happy ending to a very dark movie, but also being equally entertained by the sequel (yeah, I know…prequel) to a universally loved film, Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981).

Sequels, and prequels, are a funny business.  They exist because of fortune and glory, but ever do they provide us with hope.  We want them to be good even though the vast majority of them never meet our expectations.  But every now and then a sequel decides to shed its greedy motives and gives us something inspiring.  And while it would be foolish, especially within this brief article, to try and argue why The Temple of Doom is a better film than Raiders of the Lost Ark, I’m not at all afraid to say I like The Temple of Doom above all other Indiana Jones films.  Raiders is the classic, and will always be the classic.  But The Temple of Doom impresses me because it’s brave enough to remind us that everyone has selfish intent, but those who can put aside their selfish motives are the truly heroic.