Eight minutes into Temple Of Doom, Indiana Jones kills someone by hurling a flaming kebab into his chest. As far as I’m aware, we hadn’t seen such a thing on screen before. Or in real life. It’s outrageous really, an insane thing to do, and to see. But all of Temple Of Doom is loopy. With Raiders Of The Lost Ark, Steven Spielberg and George Lucas had made a genuinely classic film, got heaps of acclaim, and now here they were with a follow-up for which they, well, went mad. To which I say: Thank you.

Temple Of Doom is pulpier, funnier, sillier, scarier than Raiders. Each Indy outing is tonally different from the last; this one actually becomes a whole other film halfway through, switching unapologetically from knockabout farce to traumatic nightmare. And for all its faults – which, for all the film’s greatness, are admittedly plentiful – it is,...