It was a beautiful Sunday when my gorgeous and exquisite Austrian visitor Isabella, my Louisiana writing partner Kayne and I decided to watch the film we didn’t dare hope would ever be made since we first saw T-Rex belt into the heavens while a banner floated to the ground gracefully.
My exquisite Austrian friend and I had had quite the eventful night at the (in)famous Viper Room with the US Air Guitar Championship and a square-jawed firefighter from Santa Barbara, when we got up on Sunday, still slightly intoxicated with booze and hormones from the previous night to hit the Angelino brunching crowd.
We went to a lesser known Peruvian living-room-sized corner on Vine Street called Los Balcones at about 11AM. We had something Peruvian that resembled Eggs Benedict and pancakes. And we tested whether the bottomless Mimosas (Sekt-Orange for my Austrian buddies) were indeed bottomless.
Well, they were.
And so were we, it would seem, when we stumbled out of Los Balcones at 3PM. Thank God, Los Balcones doesn’t actually feature balconies. You safely fall out at ground level.
I cannot quite recall what we did between 3 and 4.30PM when Kayne picked us up to bring us to Arclight cinema on Sunset. I know that we watched the beginning of the Lego Movie, sang loud to Everything is Awesome, sang loud to some other country hits, and apparently rented a car online.
We were a huge nuisance to Kayne and giggled a lot, I’m sure. I also continuously apologized, as us ladies do when we know we had 9 too many.
Kayne was virtuously patient, stuffed us into the car and chauffeured us to Arclight, where we purchased overpriced 3D tickets for Dinoworld formerly/formally known as Jurassic World.
Arclight, unbeknownst that Austrians were in the audience, screen the preview for Mission: Impossible – Rogue Nation. Although Austria is in no possible way a rogue nation, they shot bits of the impossible mission in Vienna.
We’re two bottomless Mimosas from Austria sitting in Arclight’s Dome in Los Angeles watching a blockbuster preview that features shots of Vienna. (No alcohol pun intended.)
Of course, every time Vienna appears on the screen we point at it and shout “Da! Wien!” (“Behold! It’s Vienna!”), because who wouldn’t? We’re super proud in that moment.
Bulky masculine Unfriend turns from the row in front of us and snorts: “Are you gonna talk during the entire film?”
We’re a wee bit dumbfounded, because clearly, this is only a preview and people are still rustling around to find their seats and wiggling their butts in place. Surely, our intoxicated cheerful enthusiasm cannot possibly annoy anyone.
At this point, we’re sulking. Our pride swiftly switches to grump.
Bulky masculine Unfriend continues, without looking at us: “Stop with that Polish.”
To which we cannot say anything.
In my many years abroad I have been called many nationalities from South African, to German, to Irish. But never before had anybody claimed my belonging to the Slavic branch of Indo-European. Is Polish the new go-to insult for white foreigners? Well, I wouldn’t know, would I?
Bulky masculine Unfriend is linguistically entirely unarmed, or relives some inexplicable WWII trauma, or suffers from what we nonchalantly call “assholism”.
He’s here with his GF (that’s an acronym), and perhaps he has to impress her with his witty remarks, or – even worse – it was her who told him to shut us up and call us Polish.
Although we’re feisty and ready for more verbal abuse, because Mimosas can, we can’t, because we came to see a film and it’s about to start.
Here’s a bit for those who actually wanted to read something about Jurassic World:
All in all, the flick is underwhelming despite bottomless Mimosas and 3D glasses. All three of us agree on this, and we know better than to blame the Mimosas for the disappointing movie experience.
In vain will you wait for moments when the pace of the action slows down a bit – those moments that made Jurassic Park so wonderful and iconic: the heavy breathing of the sick Triceratops, the whale sounds of the sneezing Brachiosaurus, the Pelicans in the end.
Jurassic World rids itself of the wonderment of the existence of Dinosaurs. And it is sad, because the camera never pauses and never allows the viewer to marvel at these beautiful animals. It constantly moves, cutting away before amazement can settle in.
Dinoworld does what many Hollywood films have done recently: get to the point ever so quickly. None of the characters (neither human nor dino) is introduced with care. You will miss scenes like Sam Neill’s intro with the chubby boy and the claw, Jeff Goldblum’s chaos theories, Richard Attenborough’s eloquence and fragile megalomania, and even the screaming kids and quivering Jell-o.
As hastily as the personnel in Dinoworld are introduced, not even those tiny set-ups have pay-offs. Chris Pratt, dino whisperer by trade, mentions Bryce Dallas Howard’s high heels – an unfortunate choice of footwear when attempting to run from Raptor-T-Rex-crossbreed Indominus Rex.
Still, the goddamn heels stay on. I don't know if this is supposed to be feminist or just dumb.
Those narrative cul-de-sacs and set-ups without pay-offs are what we call lazy storytelling. Just don’t do it.
You will miss the diverse prehistoric fauna from JP, the spitting collar dinos in particular. They were awesome. And remember how scary the velociraptors were in JP? You will long to see the tapping claw on the stainless kitchen counter. Little is left of the horror and excitement of the 1993 favorite.
More than once does Dinoworld evoke scenes from Jurassic Park which make Mimosas teary-eyed, but it’s not enough to lift World to Park heights. In 1993, Spielberg had a perfect script, assembled a perfect cast, and created a perfect story world. In 2015, I yawn in the face of Indominus Rex and wish all the characters would be eaten alive.
After an over two hour dull runfest, we all agree: “Well, that was kinda dumb.”
Best thing about Dinoworld: the bottomless Mimosas at Los Balcones.
And all this because we’re Polish.
|Me attempting a West Coast gesture that failed miserably.|
Links of the day: