Jeff Goldblum, Laura Dern, and Sam Neil returning for ‘Jurassic World 3’ because this franchise fucking sucks and it knows it
The first two Jurassic World movies were fucking dino diarrhea. I get the feeling the minds behind it know this, despite them raking in tons of money. Why? ‘Cause bringing back the original Juassic Park cast just smacks of flatout desperation. What do you do when you can’t make any memorable moments in your own uninspired slop? Go back to the classic and trollop around in the trough.
Thor: Ragnarok has added Sam Neill to its already stacked cast. You know, the dude who played Dr. Grant in Jurassic Park. Laid lovingly on dinosaurs. Removed his glasses dramatically.
How awesome is this? Spielberg and Ford are reuniting for Indiana Jones 5, and they’re bringing the writer from the classic Jurassic Park. (He was also co-writer on Crystal Skull, and Lost World, but shhh.)
Richard Attenborough will forever be That Dude in Jurassic Park to me, but I know that he had a wonderful, storied career. The Good Sir has passed away at the age of 90. Bummer deluxe.
Fuck you, Chris Pratt. And fuck your talent, humor, and now that you’ve put down the Klondike Bars, your irrepressible beauty. This picture from the set of Jurassic World with you rockin’ it on a motorcycle is a whole new level of unfair. Hit the jump to join me in my revelry.
Holy shit! Maine’s making beer now!
As a lifelong resident of Massachusetts, I’ve always been a bit weary of Maine. That’s not to say that the Pine Tree State doesn’t have anything to offer. It does. It’s the spot to go for quintessential New England seafood, the people are friendly, and it’s scenic as hell. I wouldn’t try to dissuade anyone from vacationing in Maine.
With that said, there’s something a bit discomfiting about Maine.
Maybe it’s the fact that the state is in a weird spot culturally. After all, Maine is wedged right next to the libertarian paradise that is New Hampshire, the hippie epicenter of Vermont, and the progressive-to-the-point-of-scrutiny Massachusetts. What does this leave Maine claiming? Rocky shores and some mountains.
Or maybe I find Maine distressing because it’s mostly uninhabited. Last year I drove to Nova Scotia by myself, and spent the better part of six hours weaving my way through the wilderness of Maine. And let me tell you, if I had hit a moose out there (as the signs so comfortingly warned that I might), I would’ve been dead meat. There’s no way that anyone with the abilities of resuscitating my mangled corpse would’ve found me in time.
So it was with a bit of trepidation that I picked up a sixer of Bar Harbor Blueberry Ale from the folks at the Atlantic Brewing Company. As I brought the beers to the register, grappling with a barrage of thoughts, some rational and most not. “Is this ale any good? How strong is the blueberry flavor going to be? Is it safe to drink? Is this nothing more than Maine-yokels fooling us by bottling their pee after eating blueberry pie? Should I call Sam Adams and tell him that there’re some wild Mainers tryin’ to cut in on his action?”
By the time I got home, I was driven to investigate this beer.
Check this shit out! Straight up Jurassic Park. I don’t know what we’re going to clone from this glorious preservation, but I am calling first dibs on riding it. Hell yeah! Buying my new riding crop. T-Rex. Giant spider. Don’t matter. I got firsties.
[WEEKEND OPEN BAR: The one-stop ramble-about-anything weekend post at OL. Comment on the topic at hand. Tell us how drunk you are. Describe a comic you bought. This is your chance to bring the party.]
Ain’t any narrative experience quite like watchin’ a movie in the theater.
Some’ll tell you that it’s the communal aspect, the fact that everyone has come together for the sharing of a story. From this perspective, the big-screen is the electrically-charged descendent of the fire that our cavemen ancestors gathered `round. Stories are means of sharing ideas with one another, and film accomplishes this unlike any other medium.
Others suggest that the infatuation with the movie-theater experience has actually been rekindled by the recent advancements in home video technology. Sure, it’s easy to stay home and watch a movie on Blu-ray or Hulu or YouTube or Netflix streaming. But at home, it’s just as easy to get distracted by text messages or emails or the baby that just won’t stop crying. But at the theater, there’s no pause button — time and attention are consciously dedicated to the narrative at hand.
And still others attribute the appreciation for the cinema to the fulfillment of a deeply-rooted psychological desire. These folks, who read Freud and Lacan and textbooks that I’ll never understand, draw parallels between wombs and movie theaters — dark, comfortable, and designed for the unilateral providing of sustenance (life-giving and consciousness-altering, respectively). According to psychoanalysis, theaters are uniquely affective.
I won’t try to figure out why, but I know for sure that goin’ to the movies has been the basis for some of the most memorable experiences of my life.
Feel free to twist it, rephrase it, or ignore it, but here’s the jumping-off point for our discussion: What is the first movie you remember seeing in the theater?
Steven Spielberg may lament changing E.T., but it appears he isn’t beyond throwing together some shitty 3D for a re-release of Jurassic Park. Hey, you win some, you lose some.
I’ll tell you the problem with the scientific power that you’re using here: it didn’t require any discipline to attain it. You read what others had done and you took the next step. You didn’t earn the knowledge for yourselves, so you don’t take any responsibility… for it. You stood on the shoulders of geniuses to accomplish something as fast as you could and before you even knew what you had you patented it and packaged it and slapped it on a plastic lunchbox, and now — you’re selling it — you want to sell it!