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The Lost World of Hollywood

Posted By Joseph Farah On 05/26/1997 @ 1:00 am In Commentary | Comments Disabled

“The Lost World” set all kinds of box office records this weekend, but I’ll bet the sequel to “Jurassic Park” doesn’t have the legs of the first movie.

Yeah, I admit I rushed out to see the new movie like everyone else on opening night. The trouble is, I walked away not very entertained and very bemused by the film’s incoherence and political correctness.

In addition, this is not a movie suitable for kids. The only thing this film does bigger and better than the original is in the gratuitous-gore department. Is it a coincidence that two 15-year-old kids chopped up a real estate agent in Central Park the night this movie opened? Yes, of course, it’s a coincidence. But a generation of innocent kids — like those I saw in the movie theater Friday night — reared on a constant diet of human bodies being eaten and torn apart cannot be a healthy thing for our culture.

There’s only one sane character in this film — the one played by Jeff Goldblum. Here’s a guy who doesn’t want to go to the island and get chased by dinosaurs, but does so only to rescue his girlfriend. His teen-age daughter, meanwhile, stows away on the ship, and, predictably, emerges as a heroine.

The main question you’ll have about Goldblum’s motivations, though, is why he would care so much about this girlfiriend — a selfish, arrogant, insensitive know-it-all who endangers herself and every other human being in “The Lost World.”

When she and an equally brainless photographer stumble across a baby T-rex with a broken leg, they do what any red-blooded nature-worshipper would do — they bring it back home to nurse it. Of course, mommy is not far away, and the result is a member of their team is an appetizer and all of the expedition’s equipment is destroyed.

Incredibly, she shows no remorse for her stupidity. Then the photographer, apparently a gun-control enthusiast, steals the rounds from the gun of another character leaving dozens of human beings defenseless when a T-rex attacks the camp.

The whole movie ends with a sermon right out of the Sierra Club manual. “If only we would allow nature to take its course with these beings everything would be wonderful. Yada yada yada. Live and let live. Blah blah blah.” Don’t they understand these creatures died out a long time ago without any help from mankind?

Again, predictably, the worst character of all in the film — and the one whose horrible death evokes cheers from audiences — is, of course, the capitalist, the guy who tries to make money off the beasts. If Steven Spielberg really feels this way about the free market, why doesn’t he give all of the money he makes from his movies to Mother Teresa?

Yet, the most disappointing scene for me had nothing to do with politics or gore. It had to do with poor filmmaking — what they call “continuity” in the world of showbiz. Goldblum, his girlfriend and daughter are walking toward a shelter after a dangerous trek through the jungle.

A screaming velociraptor jumps his girlfriend, not 10 feet away. Does he react? No, he keeps walking. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. An eternity of time elapses before he finally he turns around in horror and begins pondering what he’s going to do about this situation. Didn’t anyone notice this little problem in the daily rushes, folks?

Then there’s a bigger problem. A T-rex is brought to San Diego in a ship with a giant holding area. Somehow the monster gets out, kills the crew — and then gets back into the hold! This is never explained. It’s as difficult for me to understand as how Vince Foster drove to Fort Marcy Park and shot himself without any car keys and without leaving any fingerprints on the gun. Were the U.S. Park Police in charge of transporting the dinosaur to San Diego, too? Or were they just consultants to Spielberg on the film?

No, kids, you can’t go see this one — not just because it’s bloody and scary and loaded with hypocrisy and junk politics. I just don’t think we should put one more dollar in that capitalist pig Spielberg’s wallet.


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