The Last Three Months (Part I)

Hey there fellow CinemAddicts! Allow me to start off these next few blog posts with an apology. In the last three months, a lot has happened that has kept me from writing on this blog. Between a hand cast, spring break, a law review comment, finals, and a trip to Atlanta, I wouldn't blame you if you thought this blog was dead. But with the end of finals, the start of summer movies, and a quick shot of adrenaline, the blog is back! The next string of posts are part of a three-part post that will include musings from some of the movies that I've seen since I last wrote this blog. I planned to write each of these posts after seeing the respective movies, but unfortunately life got in the way (thanks a lot, life).  But without further ado, here is Part I of The Last Three Months

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Part I
The Nostalgia Effect or: Why I Love Jurassic Park

"Nostalgia. It's delicate, but potent. In Greek, 'nostalgia' literally means, 'the pain from an old wound.' It's a twinge in your heart, far more powerful than memory alone. [Nostalgia] isn't a spaceship. It's a time machine. It takes us to a place where we ache to go again. It lets us travel the way a child travels. Around and around, and back home again...to a place where we know we are loved." -- Don Draper, Mad Men

Let me try to explain. When I was three years old, I loved dinosaurs. I loved their confusing names and their unending variety, their strange features and impossible size. This was an unconditional love, the way a puppy loves its owners from the moment it meets them. My reason for loving dinosaurs was because they existed, or at least because they had existed. I was a T-Rex for Halloween the first year I could walk, the first movie I owned was The Land Before Time, and my favorite book was We're Back! A Dinosaur Story. So try to imagine my excitement when my parents told me that a movie was coming out about a dinosaur theme park. 

Jurassic Park was released on June 11th, 1993, two weeks after my fourth birthday. I'm sure I'd seen movies in the theater, but I can't remember any before Jurassic Park. The week the movie came out, I remember going to a family gathering and sitting by my aunt and uncle's pool. My extended family knew of my love for dinosaurs and could tell that I was excited about the release of a dinosaur-related film. Some of my relatives had already seen the movie and I remember them telling my parents that it may not be suitable for a kid my age. After all, it had been rated PG-13 for "intense science fiction terror." My parents understood everyone's concerns, but also knew that they had been telling me about this movie for almost a year. In the end, they agreed that they would see the movie first and determine afterward whether it would be ok for me to see it.

The next night, my parents sat down on the end of my bed to tell me about the movie.  They explained that it was far more complex than they thought it would be, but more importantly, it was far scarier than any movie I had ever seen.  The dinosaurs were so lifelike, they warned, that I may be afraid of dinosaurs forever. I couldn't believe it. How could dinosaurs be scary? They were too magnificent and magical to cause fear. They could only cause wonder. It had to have been a tough choice for my parents: they didn't want me to lose my love for these prehistoric creatures, but deep down they knew that perhaps no movie showed them as realistically as the one they had just seen. I remember arguing as much as a four year old could argue, but my parents wouldn't budge. I would have to wait to see Jurassic Park.

A week later, my spirits crushed and my feelings toward dinosaurs quickly going extinct, my parents woke me with a surprise. My grandparents were in town, and grandpa wanted to go see a movie. But he didn't want to just see any old movie...he wanted to see that dinosaur movie he had heard so much about. I could hardly contain my excitement. That afternoon my dad, grandpa, and I drove to the nearest theater,  purchased three tickets for Jurassic Park, and the rest--as they say--is history. 

I don't remember much about that first showing of Jurassic Park, partially because I was only four and partially because I've seen it so many times since that I can't possibly remember everything from my first viewing. I do remember my dad covering my eyes when the goat's leg is spit out on the car and during the now-famous Velociraptor kitchen scene, and I remember cheering as the T-Rex saves the day in the movie's finale. And of course I'll never forget the first time that Dr. Grant sees the Brontosaurus, with the unnerving rise of John Williams' score dropping away into a soft, reverent violin, making every heart in the theater twinge with wonder.  

Fast forward 20 years later.  Now a second-year law student, I have a workload more unfathomable than the prospect of dinosaurs ever coming back to life. But for one week in April of this year, I devoted myself to the 20th anniversary rerelease of what I can now unquestionably call my favorite movie. I've considered my favorite movie list a lot since Jurassic Park 3D, and each time I keep coming back to the same thought: there's no other movie I've seen that would make me as eager to find prescreening tickets, to post Facebook statuses, pictures, piano covers, and now a blog post just to show my excitement. For years, I've simply called Jurassic Park the "most entertaining movie" I've ever seen.  It's pure fun, made to make you smile with happiness, jump with fear, and stare in stunned disbelief. But maybe my definition of "favorite" has been wrong all along. Maybe "favorite" doesn't mean "best." Maybe it should be reserved for that one movie that makes you remember, that makes you ache, and that makes you feel like a kid again. After all, Jurassic Park's target audience was always supposed to be kids.

I realize that it's almost unfair to open a blog with a Don Draper quote, but that Greek definition of "nostalgia" is just too perfect. Last month, for the first time in 20 years, I found myself transported back to my four-year old self. As I stared up at the 3D images projected above, I felt myself wanting to tear off my glasses like Dr. Grant, my mouth agape, my breath taken away. For what it's worth, Jurassic Park has stood up incredibly well to recent advances in CGI and digital moviemaking. The sick Triceratops scene is still incredibly bittersweet (who doesn't want to lean on the side of a breathing Triceratops and bob up and down with each inhale and exhale like Dr. Grant does?). The T-Rex scene in the rain--the only eight minutes of the movie absent any John Williams' score--remains a masterwork in editing and cinematography. And that first reveal of the Brontosaurus, regardless of some CGI aging, will be forever awe-inspiring.

Jurassic Park will never be the best movie ever made. It's far from it, and no offense will be taken by me if anyone feels that it's not even in Spielberg's best works. But for this lone blogger, it's my time machine to a simpler time. It's my carousel, my nostalgia creator, my childhood wrapped in 2 hours and 7 minutes. It lets me experience movies as I once did as a child, free of criticism or senility. And what more could I ask for in a favorite movie than to be one that is worth watching again and again and again?