Cinemavenger

   The funniest, nastiest movie reviews anywhere.

Jurassic World

You know you done fucked up when in the middle of your $190M+ rampaging dinosaur flick I'm sitting there thinking, "I miss Jeff Goldblum."

It's not that I'm a Goldblum-in' idiot or that I want to give him a Goldblumkin or anything like that.  It's just that even with his bug eyes and all his "Um, ah . . . oh . . . yes." syncopated deliveries, he's still more fun to watch than anyone or anything in Jurassic World, the reboot/remake/reimiagining of 1993's Jurassic Park.

It may boast a bigger budget, hipper stars, uber-advanced CGI and a merchandising-ready, never-before-seen dinosaur, but Jurassic World isn't fit to lick the sweat off Jurassic Park's balls.

Even though loads of people died or were otherwise scarred for life when the dinos went all Attica before Jurassic Park could even open, it seems that InGen's investors and the rest of the world brushed that off and went right ahead with cutting the ribbon on Jurassic World.  Part Disneyland, part Sea World and thankfully not at all Branson, Jurassic World has been packing in 20,000 visitors a day for a decade.

Which means it's high time for some of Dr. Ian Malcolm's patented Chaos Theory chaos to rear its ugly head . . . in the form of the genetically engineered Indominus Rex rearing its ugly head.

When the stompin' and chompin' get going, it's Owen Grady (Chris "Once Fat" Pratt) to the rescue.  Owen is the world's (and the World's) first Velociraptor Whisperer.  Just one sentence about how this former Navy sailor used to train dolphins, or compete in the Iditarod or was a distant relative of Dr. Dolittle's would have been enough to suspend the ten-ton disbelief about some random dude with no particular skills, gifts or training turning a pack of vicious Jurassassins into obedient house pets.  That one, tiny crumb of explanation turns Owen into a real person and, maybe, a credible hero. 

But hey, why would anyone want that?  Especially when you can stick Bryce Dallas "Ron's Spawn" Howard into the mix as an uptight executive with just enough romantic history with Owen to completely fail to justify them stopping mid-carnage for a cheesy kiss.  Or when you can waste Vincent "Major Malfunction" D'Onofrio as a vaguely sinister, vaguely Southern InGen honcho.  Or when you can lazily rip off Hitchcock's The Birds and wink-wink at Jaws.

That's the mind-blowingest thing about Jurassic World.  With a gnat's dick more intelligence (Who doesn't check the implanted tracking device before assuming the 50-foot Albinofuckingkillingmachineosaurus has escaped and casually sauntering into its still-locked paddock?!) and a pre-cardiomegalic Grinch-sized bit o' heart (There's more product placement than in an issue of SkyMall magazine.), Jurassic World could have made Jurassic Park look like Jurassic Park III. 

Lucky for Hollywood, people are idiots.  You can bet Jurass that Jurassic World will ring the register like Dante and Randal on a Quick Stop crack binge.  Which means in two years there'll be an even shitasticer sequel. 

Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck.