What a wonderful World

Rating: 9/10 (1 July 2015)

Dinosaurs are timeless.
Ironic, perhaps, for creatures branded with the "65 million years ago" epitaph, but for centuries dinosaurs have functioned as immediate shorthand to a sense of childlike wonder and awe – sensations Steven Spielberg's 1993 classic capitalized on like few before. But these are not, as some might call them, "the good ol' days". In an era supersaturated with things obnoxiously clamouring for our attention, it's no wonder Jurassic World was greenlit based on a pitch predicated on the image of a teenager texting in front of a Tyrannosaurus Rex – it's a blockbuster desperately attempting to conjure up enough excitement to validate its own existence (or, shall I say, to forestall its own extinction). Fronted by Colin Trevorrow, fresh off the modest success of his feature debut, the equally earnest Safety Not Guaranteed, Jurassic World is that rare beast: an ambitious and passionate Hollywood blockbuster that wears its heart on its sleeve, practically imploring its audience to forgo cynicism and eye- rolling, and view the film with the wide-eyed joy of a child. It's a brave move in the recent realm of perennially 'DAAAAAARKNESS, NOOOO PARENTS' blockbusters. And gosh darn it, if it doesn't just pay off, soaring higher than a pterosaur bursting free of its feeble glass aviary.
Jurassic World feels like the first natural continuation of the original narrative, flashing- forward from the park being a disastrous pipe dream to the point where it has been open for business long enough for investors to stress about how to wow audiences enough to meet budget quotas. This, naturally, adds a dash of satirical meta-commentary meditating on the film's dual objectives of wowing millions but also generating millions, enough for audiences to briefly feel clever while chowing down on their popcorn. In 1993, you could practically hear Spielberg snickering as he used his own movie's merchandise in the movie itself; here, I dare you not to chuckle at the spot-on "Verizon presents: the Indominus Rex".
Trevorrow's unabashed reverence for Jurassic The First is clear: each dinosaur species is imbued with painstaking life by impressively naturalistic CGI, and the initial strains of Michael Giacchino's retooling of the iconic theme would be enough to make John Williams himself tear up. Yet, from the opening "OMG-DINOSAUR-wait-only-a-crow" jump onwards, it's clear that Trevorrow has mixed a healthy streak of weirdness into his romp in the park. Initially, the tone takes a bit of adjusting to, as the corporate criticism is juxtaposed with the sense of childish wonder permeating the film's script to the point of painting its subject matter, themes, critiques, and even character beats with a curious innocence that verges on the cartoonish at times. Yet, Trevorrow's film is so cheery, taking such broad swipes at it feels akin to kicking a sick triceratops. And by the time the film really kicks into gear with the all- too-familiar sight of a paddock breach, Trevorrow has yanked his audience too far down the rabbit hole of madcap dinosaur fun to fret issues such as plausibility.
With the Indominus Rex, Trevorrow has cooked up a movie monster for the ages. Chalk white, screeching, and replete with a laundry list of big-reveal abilities, the Indominus, like her entire movie, would feel too contrived to work if viewers weren't too busy trying to avoid soiling themselves at how genuinely terrifying and awe-inspiring she is. Her escape (a chilling Aliens-pastiche in itself) kicks the film into high gear, sparking some of the most inventively mad action setpieces of many a summer – if you thought the 'Chris Pratt motorcycling through the forest with his raptor buddies' from the trailer looked wacky, just wait to see where it goes from there. Chase follows gunfight follows swooping pterosaurs and leaping mosasaurs, to the point where the action starts to feel puppeteered by a sugar high six-year- old, but, miraculously, this 'so-crazy-it-might-be-awesome' ethos pays off enormously on the big screen. By the time we get to the all-out Deus-Rex-Machina climactic battle – which our theatre gave a standing ovation – the viewer is a child again, firmly revisiting that innocent time when a movie's fun factor could overwhelm the senses, and all was right in the world.
Despite the bevy of largely one-note characters, the cast is all game enough to make their presence consistently fun. Chris Pratt, channelling his best Indiana Jones, is less fun and more of a superhero here than in Guardians of the Galaxy, yet retains his peerless charisma, whereas Vincent D'Onofrio shrugs off his nuanced antagonism from this year's Daredevil, beer-gut-strutting and sneering to the point where you want to boo him in the theatre. Unexpectedly, the most compelling character arch goes to Bryce Dallas Howard's stuffy park manager, who fights through a deluge of clichés to emerge as the surprisingly feisty and affecting emotional heart of the film. Ty Simpkins & Nick Robinson balance on just the right side of annoying as the film's requisite kids stranded in the park, even selling a potentially tiresome parental divorce subplot, while Irrfan Khan and Jake Johnson steal laughs aplenty as the park's bombastically over-the-top CEO, and grumbling computer technician (who, sadly, never gets to utter "Hold onto your butts") respectively.
Jurassic World taps into the core of what a blockbuster should be: high concept, big heart, and with plenty of "oohs", "ahhs", and "AHHHHH!!!"s paving the way to what is easily the most fun film of the summer thus far. It seems almost unreasonable that a film juggling so many improbable odds and baggage should be anywhere near as enjoyable. Yet, somehow, life found a way.
-8.5/10