Director: Colin Trevorrow
Jurassic World sees Hollywood at its hypocritical zenith, a film not so much devoid of ideas as it is one filled with contradictions. In one scene, the suggestion that corporations are sponsoring dinosaurs plays like a lampooning of American capitalism, and in the next the film’s visuals are entirely determined by the momentary foregrounding of the Mercedes Benz symbol. So too is the demonstration of the gender politics, which in some scenes plays as blatantly regressive, and in others women do extraordinary things. It’s a depressing vision of the future of homogenized spectacles–the end result is movies with no ideas. The saving grace is our cultural moment of entertainment nostalgia, with Hollywood’s incessant desire to look back. Jurassic World is redeemed by the pleasure it takes in satisfying the audiences whom Steven Spielberg thrilled twenty years ago. If the thrill of seeing a dinosaur is gone, the film at least has the sense to withhold the iconic Tyrannosaurus Rex until the final act. It plays like not just another dinosaur, but as a reunion with an old friend. Similarly, as with the first installment, Jurassic World is framed as a family drama, with adults and children alike learning their place in the world due to their shared experiences on the island. The moments of bonding feel genuine (even those between human and dinosaur). If blockbusters are at their worst in their mindless determination to appeal to all demographics, at least the good ones haven’t lost their sentimentality.
Director: Colin Trevorrow
Former Saturday Night Live interns Colin Trevorrow and Derek Connolly took inspiration from an infamous classified ad in which a man sought a partner to travel back in time with in the screenplay for Safety Not Guranteed, a shaggy-dog comedy starring Parks & Recreation star Aubrey Plaza in her first leading role. While she carries over the snark that audiences have become accustomed to, she gradually (in a welcome turn) becomes emotionally accessible as the lovable loser played by Mark Duplass breaks down her defenses. Writing a fairly straight-forward love story out of the material is perhaps misguided – Duplass’ character, no matter his intentions or presumed brilliance, reads as particularly unstable, and as such it becomes a disappointment that his psychological issues ultimately play out as little more than personality quirks. Duplass, who has been busy this year both behind and on camera, is perhaps too handsome and naturally personable to pull off such an outcast. He isn’t entirely convincing in the early-goings, in which he is wrought to be an over-confident buffoon in the vein of Napoleon Dynamite or Dwight Schrute. Trevvorow and Connolly, however, are on to something with their theme of characters desperate to relive their pasts and, in the process, finding little happiness in the future. Jake M. Johnson, of TV’s The New Girl, is a surprising delight as crude journalist who hasn’t emotionally developed since graduating high school.
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