Review: Harrison Ford, working deep and true, sees to it that Indy goes out in a blaze of glory

For me, there will never be a moment when watching Harrison Ford rock a fedora and crack a bullwhip on a giant screen will be anything less than a movie must. But "Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny," now in theaters, doesn't do many favors for the iconic star.

It's not just that Steven Spielberg ceded directing control to James Mangold. You'll recall that Spielberg himself messed up with 2008's "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull," a hot mess of atomic subplots in which everything looked raided from the lost ark of the three previous Indy hits, except the illogic of Indy getting captured by Russians in Nevada, circa 1957.

"What are you, like, 80?" asked Shia LaBeouf as a punk kid -- and maybe Indy's secret son -- who likes needling the old man until he gets schooled in what a real action hero is.

Now Ford is 80 for real, and he's still showing the kids how it's done. You may be thrown by the opening sequence, a flashback featuring Ford, uncannily and unnervingly de-aged, taking on the Nazis at the tail end of WW2. His mission, topped by a fight atop a speeding train, is to rescue his Brit scientist pal, Basil Shaw (Toby Jones), and a magic artifact.

Then, boom! -- a smash cut brings us into 1969 with Indy showing his age while teaching snoozing students at New York's Hunter College while privately drowning his sorrows of isolation in booze. Bummer.

The theme for "Dial of Destiny" is -- wait for it -- time travel, a trope recently trotted out in "The Flash" in a futile attempt to appear on trend.

It's no-go, even when "Fleabag" wiz Phoebe Waller-Bridge shows up as Indy's goddaughter Helena. Waller-Bridge seems less of her livewire self, perhaps burdened by the chore of explaining the plot about Helena's search for the lost dial of destiny created by Archimedes.

The action springs fitfully to life when Indy mixes it up with former Gestapo scientist Voller (Madds Mikkelsen), who hopes to undo the Nazis' WWII loss by traveling back in time. Indy can't have that, which sets him globe-trotting to Morocco and Sicily, and even tackling eels under the sea in Greece, courtesy of his fishing pal Renaldo (an in-and-out Antonio Banderas).

Despite the efforts of four screenwriters, "Indy 5" never works up the narrative steam to hold us in thrall. Mangold can be a solid director (see his sensitive handling of Wolverine's swan song in "Logan"), but he lacks Spielberg's genius for blending emotion with visuals built to wow.

The wow factor in "Dial of Destiny" comes totally from Ford, whose humor and humanity cuts through digital effects that look wincingly tacky for an epic with a budget of $295 million.

"Dial of Destiny" may not be the heartfelt valedictory of fan expectations. But Ford, working deep and true, sees to it that Indy goes out in a blaze of glory.

He's already signed off as Han Solo, Indy's equal to "Star Wars" buffs. Amazingly, Ford's only Oscar nomination came for playing a cop in Amish country in 1985's "Witness." Never count Ford out. His versatility shines through now in the gravitas he brings to the "Yellowstone" prequel "1923" and the comic subtlety that marks his role as a therapist in "Shrinking."

Still, Indiana Jones has given Ford something better than a gold statue -- that's movie immortality, an honor bestowed on very few. That's why watching him take a final bow to the thrilling thrum of the John Williams score -- a roguish gleam flashing in his eyes and inimitable crooked grin -- is an occasion for cheers and tears. One word: Respect.