It’s a heck of a story. Colin Trevorrow directs a movie costing $750,000, and all of a sudden Steven Spielberg’s giving him $150 million (or more) to reboot the Jurassic Park franchise – delivering the biggest box office opening in movie history. Like Gareth Edwards' jump from Monsters to Godzilla, Trevorrow has achieved exponential success and responsibility on a level that’s hard to fathom. Jurassic World is a case of simply phenomenal timing, providing exactly the right movie at precisely the right time.
More a remake than a sequel, Jurassic World springboards off of Jeff Goldblum’s line in the original, “If the Pirates of the Caribbean breaks down, the pirates don’t eat the tourists.” Now we get to see the functioning theme park, realized on a massive scale, monorailing in 20,000 tourists at a shot through attractions both tot-friendly and terrifying. That makes for one heck of a buffet.
Like his similarly themed Westworld (likewise rebooting soon on HBO), Michael Chrichton’s theme parks are symbols of societal hubris, organizations that conceive of powerful scientific achievments, then delude themselves into thinking they can keep those powers under control. Engineered to prove chaos, something inevitably always goes wrong. Evidently jaded Jurassic tourists are always hungry for the next big thing, and in order to maintain public interest, the park’s lab wizards have designed their own new species of uber carnivore – Indominus Rex. A combination platter that’s a hyrid of the most aggressive killers nature ever spawned. Hey, that’s a great idea! The theme park is an explosion of corporation product placement, which Trevorrow is happy to skewer. Bryce Dallas Howard is the fembot in charge of Operations, absurdly coiffed and high-heeled, phone perpetually grafted to her face. Her similarly type-A sister has sent her two children to the park, while she works on her divorce. Howard’s idea of being an attentive auntie is to give the kids VIP all-access passes and turn them loose. It’s a pretty embarrasing character, no argument here.
Jurassic World is painting by numbers on an epic scale, but two things save the day – Trevorrow’s stupendous orchestration of gripping, visceral effects sequences – and Chris Pratt. The characters in Jurassic World are about as thin as they come. Pratt’s a likeable ex-Navy guy who’s become the park’s “raptor-whisperer,” having let them imprint on him to the point they see him as their pack Alpha. It’s a pretty ridiculous conceit, but I guarantee you won’t care, because Pratt is a movie star here. He sells every moment with complete conviction, staying likable and engaging for every frame. Following Guardians of the Galaxy, Pratt’s now had the two biggest openings of any actor out there and it’s easy to see why. He brings high-wattage star power where it’s desperately needed and the rest of the movie somehow rises to the challenge in his wake, and damned if it doesn’t deliver like crazy.
You know those two nephews are headed straight for dire peril, and you know that everything’s going to go horribly, awesomely wrong. You know Vincent D’Onofrio is a venal weasel, intent on exploiting Pratt’s bond with the raptors in the hopes of weaponizing them. The playbook is as old as the hills, and I promise you – you just won’t care. Trevorrow does a terrific job of delivering exactly the kind of popcorn “check-your-head” thrills that define the summer tentpole. He’s clearly paid attention – and while the characters are pencil sketches, they’re attached to a ride that’s determined to be that theme park – a place of fantastical escape that wants you to be flabbergastingly entertained – and entertained you will be. Trevorrow (along with Rise/Dawn of the Planet of the Apes screenwriters Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver – with Derek Connolly) knows what the audience wants, and he serves it up big time. The Mosasaurus from the trailer? Oh, yeah. The screaming armada of flying Ptaranodons and Dimorphodons – the Indominus…we get a massive serving of reptilian carnage and thrills that should satisfy the dino fan in everyone, young and old alike. One sequence of “asset-containment” soldiers with body cameras and bio-monitors is straight out of Aliens, but for the most part, Trevorrow brings a fresh sense of immediacy to the chaos and rampage that has clearly touched a nerve with audiences hungry for summer escape and another dose of Pratt’s heroics. It’s the first bonafide box office phenomenon in quite a while, guaranteed to be propelled by repeat business.
Bring your inner thirteen-year-old and just enjoy. Pratt on a motorcycle with his raptor pack is just the ticket I was waiting for.
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