Colin Trevorrow
Jurassic World

Ladies and Gentlemen, after fourteen years of "scorching" anticipation, "Jurassic World" is finally among us, "Jurassic Park 4" for friends. Considered lost for a good ten years, eternally in the so-called "development hell," meaning "we have no idea what to invent for this film," our team finally made it, and the new, essential chapter of a saga that should never have existed in the first place has arrived among us all.

The Lords of Universal had been rubbing their hands for months at the mere thought of bringing back to the big screen tyrannosaurs, velociraptors, and various thrill-seeking tourists, all ready to be thrown, at the first opportunity, into the arena of "every man for himself." Where were we? Well, going by memory, it was 2001 and "Jurassic Park III", directed by one Joe Johnston (who??), made you wonder why you had spent 9,000 lire on a kind of film-playstation that, fifteen years later, still makes you question what twisted logic tied the various scenes together. On the other hand, there was the Spinosaurus that ate almost everyone, and a poor Sam Neill visibly broke that couldn't help but evoke sympathy. Golden Raspberry Awards 2001 guaranteed.

Logic would therefore have dictated that this whole dinosaur thing remain a fond memory of the Nineties, from when you were in elementary school and the day after you ran to buy the tyrannosaurus puppet with JP written on its little paw, and yet no, bam!, now you even get the fourth installment.

This time the movie isn't even called "Jurassic Park" anymore, but "Jurassic World", because explaining to today's twelve-year-olds what the original film was twenty-plus years ago was apparently too much effort, so it's better to start with a completely new title/line, to which attach another endless series of sequels and various remakes. Dear Spielberg, as in the previous instance, "limits himself" to being the executive producer, which is a bit, in these cases, like being the lookout during a robbery. In other words: I was there, but I'm not to blame; for any rubbish you might see on screen, ask that fresh-faced Trevorrow! And if I was there, I was asleep! (we too, sometimes, Steve...)

What happens in a good 123 minutes of film? Guess what: there are the usual unfortunate tourists, grandchildren of some pseudo-scientist who still hasn't realized that with the raptors it’s best to let it go, the current hottie, and some villain who wants to illegitimately profit from these poor creatures. And since, like in Gardaland, every once in a while the audience wants a new ride, this time they've also invented a completely new dinosaur, the high-sounding Indominus Rex, a kind of giant GMO that goes around eating Mexican workers (as always...) and some overweight white people. A thing, frankly, ugly to behold and that more than a ruthless predator of the non-past looks like a villain from the Power Rangers, but that's it. To tell the truth, there's even a nice ending, eh, stuff from old-time Hollywood movies with (WATCH OUT FOR SPOILER) a mega wrestling showdown that seems like revisiting some C-grade sequels of the Japanese "Godzilla" from the Sixties, with massive beatings bringing down entire buildings, so to say they didn't make an effort this time would be mean, but we, true debaserian users, must maintain a polite distance from these 'American blockbusters'.

The direction, entrusted to the "wise" Colin Trevorrow, is diaphanous and if it weren't for some prehistoric behemoth appearing, it seems like watching yet another rap video on MTV.

All already seen and reviewed, but it must be acknowledged that inserting the soundtrack from the first movie ten minutes after the beginning has its effect (for those thirty seconds), and at that moment, you, almost thirty-year-old, will immediately go into Nostalgia Mode: ON. Damn, you'll pay for this.

A "monumental mess" in Fantozzi's style, then? Absolutely yes, and thus thoroughly entertaining. A two-hour toy stuffed with nostalgia flavor in addition to special effects, a non-existent plot, and actors as expressionless as needed, stuff that makes the second "Star Wars" trilogy (ARGHHH!!) in comparison seem like a masterpiece of silent cinema from the Twenties. An ugly and stupid film, with more than one moment of boredom, which, however, will delight those who, for one night, will want to pretend to be eight years old again and be in 1993 and not thirty and be in 2015: nostalgics of all countries, unite, this movie is for you!

The aforementioned toy, for two consecutive hours, even has its raison d'être, provided that, as the unfortunate souls who have willingly gone to see it, you aren't expecting philosophical twists of the "Proustian reflection on the triadic relationship between Man/God/Dinosaurs" sort, but twenty minutes after leaving the theater, you will seriously wonder what you went to see. Big snack movie and "a peek on Facebook between one joke and another," if you catch my drift. To each their own, in its own way, it has a reason to exist and is better than many other drags circulating, at least the velociraptor eating the villain always provides satisfaction. Regulars of film forums abstain and tomorrow, everyone go buy the tyrannosaurus puppet!

PS: and if you haven't had enough of improbable and unwelcome sequels, we'll meet again shortly on these screens with "Star Wars 7"! (sigh...)