Indiana Jones isn’t quite as old as Yoda, but he’s getting there. While there is hardly any doubt that the actor who plays him, Harrison Ford, is a more spry octogenarian than Joe Biden, it is worth remembering that when Mr. Ford starred as the swashbuckling archaeologist in “Raiders of the Lost Ark” in 1981, he was in his 30s. The actor says “Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny,” which will have its world premiere at Cannes on Thursday, will be his final performance as the iconic character. 

One can certainly bring some of that original swagger to the silver screen when silver-haired, but not all of it. This is despite a trailer that shows Mr. Ford, as Mr. Jones, variously riding a galloping horse along the 59th Street subway tracks and, in a cheeky nod to a famous scene in “Raiders,” fending off a rogue’s gallery of meanies with a whip to comically mixed results. When Lucasfilm and Walt Disney Pictures pour nearly $300 million into making a movie, at least some of its 154 minutes are bound to be memorable.

Yet even if they are, it raises the question: Is this the best that Cannes — or Hollywood — can do? There is no question the pandemic years dimmed some of the archetypal film festival’s shine, but to bounce back with a reprise of a film that had its heyday in the 1980s falls far short of  spectacular. There can simply be no duplicating the thrill of seeing a young Indy’s first daring escape from the jungle or watching the faces of treasure-looting Nazis’ faces melt and explode while audiences gasped in pre-digital age awe.

“Dial of Destiny” is said to be action-packed and has no shortage of exotic locales — but in the age of TikTok and Instagram, how does one define exotic, anyway? Some might argue that more compelling fare is another, less geographically adventurous film making its debut at Cannes, “Jeanne du Barry.” Starring Johnny Depp and the French actress and director Maïwenn, that film portrays the life of that 18th-century Brigitte Bardot figure also known as Madame du Barry. 

There is precedent for mining the past for future publicity and profit. After all, while Cannes is outwardly a cultural phenomenon, it is ultimately less about the red carpet and more about deal making and finding markets for new films.

Consider the success of last year’s “Top Gun Maverick.” Its star, Tom Cruise, is still a relatively young 60, but the accolades that attended his oeuvre still had the patina of huzzahs for a highly anticipated revival — not for something new. A slick cinematic package is simply no substitute for originality or brilliance: What does it say about the state of our culture that the most buzz we can generate is for something that despite some sparkle and snappy one-liners is fundamentally formulaic?

Steven Spielberg, the mad, bad and dangerous-to-know director who should not only get an award but royalties for authoring so much of America’s popular culture in the 1980s, wisely sat out this Indiana Jones adventure. Its director, James Mangold, is doubtless talented, but character constraints and overfamiliarity with the franchise foretell a kind of bedazzlement with fixed expiration date. 

Like Mr. Cruise, Harrison Ford is nevertheless a star for good reason and will be receiving an honorary Palme d’Or at Cannes, which is both a real award and something he deserves. Contrast that with the oddly named “Women of Vision” award that a former actress and present duchess, Megan Markle, received this week at a venue on West 54th Street. Most women have eyes and do tend to see with them, so moving forward the Ms. Foundation might want to give that award title a more focused description. 

Yet to do so would risk a character like the humorless Ms. Markle not actually winning it, because the vaguer the qualifications, the easier for someone with no specific experience or achievement to scoop it up. London’s Spectator magazine criticized Ms Markle’s acceptance speech for being what it was: “vapid.”

What resonated more on social media was not so much her platitudinous riffs like “you can be the visionary in your own life” and “you can charter a path” in daily acts of “service” and “grace,” but rather the pictures of her standing in a gold-colored gown in front of a Hertz Car Rental store on West 55th Street. 

The irony of Ms. Markle’s ersatz accomplishments, at least to date, is that she owes her platform almost entirely to her husband, Prince Harry — a fact either lost on or glossed over by Gloria Steinem, who presented the award. And as the Spectator noted dryly, the duchess’s “acts of service” have chiefly included “making a fortune from Netflix and Spotify and railing against her husband’s family.” 

So, how about a blockbuster featuring an American who is not as old as the president and co-starring Meghan Markle — if she ever tires of nibbling sushi at Santa Barbara and takes up acting again — in the role of anybody who is not a real-life phony? Or something like that?  

American culture is still tops in many respects, but too much repetition can spoil a reputation. In this century, we don’t want to be known for just aging movie stars and middling substitute royalty, do we? Pass the popcorn, please.