There’s an irony to the fact that Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), a film about Nazis trying to control and master unimaginable supernatural forces to their own ends, somehow feels much lighter in tone than its darker, nastier first sequel. There was a sense of fun to the first film that feels at best forced, at worst entirely missing from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. There are set pieces aplenty but few linger quite as long or with as much affection as the outrageous silliness of the original.

The story is positioned as a prequel (though in truth that makes little difference to the story), set in 1935. Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) survives an attempt on his life by Chinese gang lord Lao Che (Roy Chiao), fleeing with his young sidekick Short Round (Jonathan Ke Quan) and nightclub singer Willie Scott (Kate Capshaw). They end up stranded in northern India when the aircraft they leave in is abandoned by its pilots (they’re in the pay of Lao Che) and are take in by the people of a small village morning the loss of their children who have been kidnapped by a Thugee cult and put to work in nearby mines. The cult, led by Mola Ram (Amrish Puri), has also stolen the village’s sacred stone (shivalinga) and are searching for similar stones in the mine, believing them to be the Sankara stones given to humanity by the gods. Indy, Short Round and Willie make their way into the underground lair of the cult where Indy is briefly turned into a subservient slave of Mola Ram, Short Round is sent to the mines and Willie is prepared for sacrifice. A restored Indy has to find a way to rescue his friends, free the slaves and stop Mola Ran from finding the last of the powerful stones.

There’s a lot of humour in Temple of Doom, just as there was in Raiders, but while there the jokes grew organically from the plot the first time around (or in the case of the much-loved shooting of the show-off swordsman, as result of lucky happenstance), here it feels too contrived. 1941 (1979) had proved that a straight-ahead comedy wasn’t Spielberg’s strong suit and there’s the same feeling here of the jokes being driven too hard, the humour being forced as in his wartime comedy, one of the very few flops in his career.

Temple of Doom feels like a much smaller scale story than the one told in Raiders of the Lost Ark. For all its globe-trotting, there are no Nazis to defeat, no sense of a any large-scale jeopardy and no sense of purpose to Indy’s adventure this time. He just happens to be the right man in the right place at the right time, a lucky accident rather than a mission that he has to undertake. And while Raiders had a threat to the whole world (if the Nazis had got the Ark to do what they’d wanted, Hitler planned to use it to raise an indestructible army), here it’s just localised to a small and remote village.

The script feels a bit shapeless this time. The film is at its best in the first twenty minutes of so – once we arrive in India it becomes less focussed and less engrossing. Indy spends a long time mooching about in the sweaty underground lair of Mola Ram and his acolytes, a dank and dismal chamber that becomes less interesting as the film trundles along. There’s not as much variation in location or tone as there was in the first film. During the underground scenes the film runs the terrible risk of becoming – dare one say it – a bit dull.

Spielberg’s has said that Temple of Doom is his least favourite of the Indiana Jones films – “I wasn’t happy with Temple of Doom at all,” he later said. “It was too dark, too subterranean, and much too horrific. I thought it out-poltered Poltergeist. There’s not an ounce of my own personal feeling in Temple of Doom.” Hearts are plucked out, Indy and Short Round are flogged, Indy is briefly possessed by the forces of darkness, people are cast into fiery pits, children are enslaved and tortured… It’s all a far cry from the breezier and more fun Raiders.

The levels of violence in the film led directly to the creation of the PG-13 by the Motion Picture Association of America. Temple of Doom itself was released with a PG, as was the Spielberg-produced, Joe Dante-directed Gremlins (1984) but such was the furore over the violence in both films that Spielberg himself suggested that a new classification might be in order. It was introduced on 1 July 1984, the first film to awarded it being John Milius’ Red Dawn (1984).

There were other controversies that dogged the film – it was felt by some, justifiably so, that the representation of India and its people left something to be desired. The dinner party scene, in which the “cultured” westerners are treated to a revolting banquet of disgusting animals parts was particularly offensive to some as these sorts of food exist nowhere in Indian culture or cuisine, they’re purely in invention of western filmmakers for comic effect. There’s also the issue of Jones being a “white saviour”, the locals being unable to sort out their own problems and leaving them to a brave white man who comes riding to the rescue, something that has caused the film’s stock to lower rather in these more politically and socially sensitive times.

In the pro column – and it’s not that Temple of Doom is a terrible film at all, just disappointing compared to the films either side of it – Ford is fantastic again and it’s often his natural charm and effortless comic timing that saves the day. Although Mola Ram’s ambitions are somewhat low key, he’s a wonderfully monstrous creation, a terrific and properly unnerving performance from Amrish Puri.

But where Karen Allen had played a take-no-nonsense and resourceful heroine in Marion Ravenwood in Raiders, Kate Capshaw is reduced to playing the archetypal screamer, an annoying presence – even Capshaw was unhappy with the character, quoted in Steven Spielberg: A Biography by Joseph McBride as saying that Willie was “not much more than a dumb screaming blonde.” Capshaw’s ear-piercing shrieks during the campfire scene very quickly become intolerable. Short Round is an annoying addition too, Spielberg falling into that “absent/surrogate father” routine that would come to be one of his more aggravating trademarks – you have to wonder why the ever-resourceful Indy needed a sidekick at all, let alone one so young and vulnerable. It feels like he’s often more of a hinderance than a help.

The set pieces are fun – the opening nightclub scene, complete with Busby Berkeley-inspired stage show, was originally intended for Raiders of the Lost Ark but was rejected, as was the ridiculous dinghy-as-parachute scene. After the dreary mid-section, things get back on track – literally – when Indy leads the slave insurrection and he, Willie and Short Round make their mad dash for freedom aboard runaway rail carts. It may play like a blueprint for a computer game but it’s still exhilarating stuff. Add to the pros another exciting and memorable score from John Williams and more ravishing photography from Douglas Slocombe.

A second tier Indiana Jones film is still a lot of fun. Temple of Doom may have more than its share of problems but its good points – Ford, the set-pieces, the score – still excite all these years later. And it’s still head and shoulders above the belated fourth instalment, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skulls (2008).