On a Saturday afternoon in mid June, 1981, I went to see a movie I'd been hearing about. It was supposed to be an updated version of 50s' adventure flicks, a salute to when Hollywood was more interested in providing good entertainment than making a social statement.

About five minutes after the movie began, I eased to the edge of my seat and remained that way until the final credits began to roll. As I stood with the rest of the people in the theatre and applauded, I noticed I was stiff from remaining motionless for two hours.

Leaving the theatre that day, I felt similar to when Rick and I saw a movie every Saturday afternoon as kids. We usually hit the sidewalk so excited we thought flight was possible. Randolph and Gordon Scott could do that to a ten year old. Indiana Jones gave me hope that day in 1981. He was such a hero, and his movie was so entertaining, I thought Hollywood might remember how to make good movies again. Few memorable ones have been made since then.

On the first day of June 2008, I went to see the latest Indiana Jones movie. Two tickets cost more than a tank of gasoline did in 1981. My right hip began to ache before the endless parade of computer generated coming attractions and the lecture on how to behave in the theatre ended.

I really wanted to give the movie a fair shot but when Kate Blanchett, who I don't care for anyway, opened her mouth, I was doomed. Her scary Russian accent sounded just like

Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle. To her credit she refrained from mentioning Moose and Squirrel, but I was unable to take her or her numerous henchmen, seriously.

I didn't expect the same magic from Indy and company, but I didn't think it would feel so different. Has the world changed so much in a quarter century? Do we no longer accept a swashbuckling, wise- cracking part time hero with human frailties? Has cynicism and instant celebrity, coupled with a dumbed down society turned an old style role model into a quaint relic? Or is it me?

When I first saw Harrison Ford crack a bullwhip, I was 31, with three young sons. I hadn't been scratched and calloused by losing friends, dealing with my limitations, and the steady onslaught of time.

Now my youngest is older than I was then. The world is immensely different, and little is how I thought it would be. The disappointment of reality has rendered the idea of last minute heroics idiotic or at least old fashioned.

I expected so much more out of myself back then and truly believed in magic. If Indiana Jones could hang by a bullwhip under a speeding deuce and a half, then I could do anything I wanted.

Now I realize things don't happen in the nick of time and changes come in tiny increments. Magic and wonder fade with age, like muscle tone and eyesight. Sadly, even pushing the right buttons doesn't work anymore.

Or maybe it was just a crappy movie.