Before the screening of National Treasure: Book of Secrets had even started, a dude a few seats away from me announced to no one in particular: āThis is like The Da Vinci Code meets Indiana Jones!ā Great point, dude! Heās sort of right, thoughāit is like The Da Vinci Code in that Nicolas Cage is wearing Tom Hanksās exact terrible hairpiece. And itās like Indiana Jones in that itās a shitty rip-off of Indiana Jones. But if it were up to me to construct a pointless, mega-clichĆ©d analogy to sum up this movie, Iād say itās more like doodoo meets feces meets Goonies meets old people. Meets the Library of Congress. Also, itās the best movie Iāve ever seen, or Iām not Calvin āFuckingā Coolidge. (Wait, Iām not.)
It all starts in 1865, aka the Year the Racism Died (seriously, we nipped that one in the bud, right?). Nicolas Cageās mutton-choppy great-great-great grandfather is just kickinā back with some grog or whatever, when a shadowy Confederate comes in and says, āI hear youāre quite good with puzzles and riddles!ā Now, if Mutton Chops had seen National Treasure ONE (I havenāt), heād know that you should never just decipher a cipher that a random racist throws at you. But he does. Then he gets shot.
Cut to modernity times! Nicolas Cage is a treasure hunter who runs around being awesome with Ben Franklinās magic spectacles. Heās pretty sure that old-timey cipher of Mutton Chops āwill probably lead us to the greatest Native American treasure EVER!ā (which we totally deserve, BTW). But first, he has to find the presidentās book of secrets: āIām going to kidnap him. Iām going to kidnap the President of the United States!ā After the old Nicolas-Cage-in-the-dumbwaiter trick, they find a bunch of gold in a hole. The end. This movie needs a sequel like I need the McNary-Haugen Farm Relief Bill of 1926. Am I right, Calvin Coolidge!?
lindy@thestranger.com