Why is Raiders of the Lost Ark so damn good?

A couple weeks back, I finally saw Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny. Wanting to make a real occasion of it, I also rewatched all the previous Indiana Jones films, most of which I hadn’t seen in over a decade. And after seeing all five films in such short order, I wondered: why did I get so much more joy and excitement out of Raiders of the Lost Ark than from any of the others?

I know some folks will stump for Last Crusade as the best of the series, and a few even champion Temple of Doom. But, for me, while all the Indiana Jones sequels are solid adventure flicks (yes, even Dial of Destiny and Kingdom of the Crystal Skull), a huge gulf exists between Raiders of the Lost Ark and everything else.

Raiders of the Lost Ark isn’t simply a fun movie – it is a breathtakingly fun movie, the kind of movie that makes people fall in love with movies. After rewatching it, I had a dopey smile on my face the rest of the day, and was left in awe of how thoroughly I enjoyed each and every minute of the experience. That’s something few films have ever managed to do to me, and is a height that the sequels to Raiders have never achieved.

But why, though? What does Raiders have going for it that the rest of the series doesn’t? They all have Harrison Ford. They all have John Williams. All but the last have Steven Spielberg. They all have high production values, they all follow similar story beats, and they all provide the same sort of action spectacle. What is there to set one film so far above the rest?

The obvious answer would be that Raiders of the Lost Ark came first, setting the template that the other films follow. Seeing Indy escape death traps, punch Nazis, and witness divine miracles – it’s not going to have the same impact the second or third time you see it as it did the first. But while that could color initial viewings of the movies, it shouldn’t be such a factor on rewatches, where the first film is just as old hat for me as all the others.

Maybe the answer is tone, then? Raiders of the Lost Ark does an excellent job at crafting a story about unsavory characters in a harsh world, while never losing the spirit of fun and adventure. (I didn’t realize until this rewatch, but while Raiders is full of gruesome deaths, the only people who die are Nazis or cutthroat mercenaries; not a single good guy or innocent bystander is killed during the picture.)

By contrast, Last Crusade and Kingdom of the Crystal Skull go a bit too lighthearted and family-friendly, while Dial of Destiny keeps the mood a bit too somber, and Temple of Doom … that flick just oscillates wildly between screwball comedy and grand guignol.

I think that’s a point in Raiders’ favor, but not enough to explain the reaction it produced in me. I was seriously puzzled by this – I knew how I felt about these movies, but couldn’t put my finger on what made one a cut above the rest.

For a bit, I thought maybe the answer lay in the villains – Raiders of the Lost Ark has Belloq, a baddie brimming with personality and all these interesting touches to their character, against whom the sequels’ villains feel a bit flat. I dismissed that idea quickly (Belloq isn’t in Raiders enough to elevate the entire film so much), but it’s what led me to the real answer.

I said Belloq was brimming with personality, despite also saying they weren’t in the movie all that much. That the character leaves such a strong impression is because every bit of screentime they do have is used for optimum effect. Whenever Belloq’s in a scene, we’re finding out new things about them, adding new layers and flourishes to what could have been a one-note villain – and that information is conveyed so expertly, it never slows the story down, never distracts from building our tension and excitement.

And that’s when it hit me: every scene in the movie is like this.

Whether it’s an action set piece or a long stretch of exposition – whether it’s banter in a bar or a silent trek through the jungle – heck, even if it’s just Indiana Jones getting their luggage ready: every scene is densely packed, telling us so much about these characters and their world, and in ways that feel so natural, we don’t even realize how much we’re taking in.

For instance, let’s look at how the film introduces us to Indiana Jones:

After the opening credits show us several guys making their way through the jungle, we see one of them step forward and hold up two pieces of an ancient map, fitting them together to show the way. Behind them, one of the other guys sees an opportunity and silently pulls their revolver from its holster. But when they pull back the gun’s hammer, the lead guy’s head cocks a little at the sound, and suddenly they’re letting their bullwhip fly, knocking the revolver from the assassin’s hands. That’s when we get our first good look at Indiana Jones, giving a hard stare at the man who just tried to kill them. Said man runs away through the jungle, while Indy’s other companion just stands there awkwardly, before following Indy as they continue on in silence.

This sequence is only about forty seconds long, but it tells us so much:

The two halves of a map calls to mind dozens of old stories about treasure maps and the hunt for buried gold, telling us both what these guys are doing in the jungle and what sort of story Raiders of the Lost Ark is going to be. That Indy reacts to the sound of the gun so quickly tells us Indy is sharp and knows how to handle danger – that they use their whip so expertly tells us how skilled Indy is with their signature weapon – and the fact that there’s no fear or surprise on Indy’s face, barely even any anger, tells us Indy is a hard man accustomed to this sort of thing. And that Indy and the remaining companion don’t say a word about this incident, that tells us that for treasure hunters like these, such backstabbing is an expected part of life.

We’re given all this important information about our lead character, their world, and what to expect from the story going forward. And not only is it all done in forty seconds, but it’s done in the form of a tense action beat, without a word of dialogue being spoken.

That same economy of storytelling is at work through the entire movie. Like when Indy and Sallah get the inscriptions on the headpiece translated: we’re never told anything about the man who does the translation, we never see Indy and Sallah seek them out, we just cut to a scene with the guy already doing the deciphering. But when we see this old, long-bearded man, kneeling with a magnifying glass over the headpiece – and when we see their home, built inside what appear to be ancient ruins, with a telescope sitting alongside urns and scrolls – it gives us a clear image of a wise man, someone steeped in Egypt’s ancient past while still connected to the modern world. We don’t need to spend screentime saying who this man is, because everything we need to know was communicated at a glance.

(And, of course, the whole time that man’s doing translations, we the audience know that the villains poisoned the bowl of dates that Indy keeps almost eating. So what could have just been an exposition scene doubles as a suspense scene, letting viewer’s absorb necessary plot information even as they enjoy Indy narrowly evading death yet again.)

Even characters who are in no way important are given personality through the smallest of touches. The one Nazi officer who looks annoyed at how enthusiastically their local collaborator does the Sieg Heil (and at having to return the salute even when a monkey does it). The student who wrote “Love” and “You” on their eyelids, and blinks very slowly at Professor Jones in class. The German mechanic who spots Indy on the airfield, and (rather than grabbing a gun or calling for help), smiles, throws off their coat, and goes in for some good ol’ fisticuffs. The pilot who spent the opening sequence sitting on the plane’s pontoons, fishing, and gets a good bite just as Indy runs up in danger – and takes a second to weigh their options before abandoning their catch.

I could go on and on like this, through every scene of the movie. The ancient map room being defaced by German writing, showing their lack of regard for what they’re unearthing. Indy being in their dressing gown when they get the commission to go after the Ark, serving as a transition between their “Professor” and “Adventurer” outfits. The truck chase beginning in the populated areas around the dig site, moving into forested greenery, then into barren desert plains, giving a clear sense of their progression …

Raiders of the Lost Ark runs just an hour and fifty-five minutes – pretty standard for an action movie, and the shortest of any film in the series. But when it’s over, you feel like you’ve just watched an epic. The story, the characters, the settings: they all feel so rich, so fully realized, even as we move rapidly from one bit of derring-do to the next. It’s an experience you can only get from a film that pours expert craft into every one of its scenes, choosing each shot, each plot beat, each set, each costume, and each prop to add to the fullness of the story.

That’s something Raiders achieved that none of the sequels could match – because it’s something few films have ever been able to match. As I rewatch Raiders of the Lost Ark yet again to write this review, as I see the sheer level of craft put into telling its story, I’m more convinced than ever that this is one of the few films worthy of being called a masterpiece.