MIDNIGHT REVIEWS Hey, I Recognise That Dinosaur!
Midnight Reviews features reviews and thought pieces written and edited by a parent, at night, after bedtime.
With the news that David Koepp is writing a script for Universal that will give us yet another Jurassic World, it got me thinking about sequels. What started out as an article on whether Hollywood is lazy and produces too many (an irony apparent in this dime-a-dozen type of article) had me looking at the concept of legacy sequels. What’s the meaning behind the name? Where do they succeed? Where do they fail? And what are the important rules you absolutely must follow?
Legacy itself is quite a loaded word. It can relate to an event or events that are important enough that they are burned into our collective minds. It links to what you will be remembered for when you are gone. There’s also the meaning that what comes is what is left to someone, in the way that a distant relative might leave you a watch.
There is a real juxtaposition here as we are told that the events of the original movie in a series are so incredibly significant, perhaps even weighed down with a vast seriousness (even if, like Ghostbusters, the original movie is a bunch of slapped together jokes). And yet a legacy is literally what is left over. More and more, an audience is sold the idea that what came before was fantastic, and here are the leftovers.
This itself is a biased statement. Perhaps ill-feeling towards one too many lazy sequels has coloured my own feelings towards the idea of legacy sequels. But does sticking a word on that suggests something worth keeping, actually differentiate a sequel made two decades after the original from, say, a sequel made only a few years after the original?
Now normal sequels seem like muck in comparison. A John Wick movie, made a few years after the previous? Disgusting, filth, dirt, no better than slime found in a ditch. But legacy sequels? That there’s a title made from pure gold, and if you bite the gold to check it you get a taste in your mouth like God just kissed you. By this logic, John Wick Redux starring an aging Keanu Reeves, revealed at the tail end of a trailer with white hair, a walking stick and a bent over back, before snippets of him kicking ass, would be better than what was offered up.
Where is the line that tells filmmakers and studios that the film they are making is not just a sequel, but that enough time has passed that it has become a legacy sequel? I doubt there is a line. My guess would be that this is simply a term created by marketers to make the idea of stars returning to roles that made them famous, palatable. That the bottle hasn’t been opened because we’ve simply been waiting for the wine inside to age properly.
Let’s look at the film series that spawned this article.
Jurassic Park comes out and changes cinema. It may not be the first to use CGI, but in the hands of Steven Spielberg it ushers in a new way of making movies. Spielberg takes lessons from Jaws and pushes himself to make a masterful film that will forever live in people’s minds. It’s hard to overstate for younger audiences how much of an impact Jurassic Park made not just on filmmaking but on audience expectations in general. 1993 seems like a long time ago now.
Four years later (just short enough not to count as a legacy sequel?) we get The Lost World. Pitched on the basis that there was another even more secretive island that has a bunch of dinosaur understudies, in case the Isla Nublar ones aren’t feeling it on the night, we see a returning Jeff Goldblum but not the other de facto main characters. It feels more like an action film as opposed to the survival antics of the previous instalment. Highlights include the sequence involving a truck going over a cliff, some grass that really ought to have been mowed, and an amazing cut from a shot of a screaming woman to a shot of Jeff Goldblum waiting for a train. I can’t decide if I like it or not, such is its mixed quality.
An indeterminate number of years pass. Video games, comic books and TV shows are released featuring dinosaurs. Ian Malcom could not have seen this maelstrom of chaos coming, because that wasn’t actually his job. Then, with much fanfare, comes Jurassic Park 3. We know it’s the third one because the Spinosaurus slashes the logo.
In a bold opening salvo, the mascot for Jurassic Park is beaten to a pulp and killed by a new big bad. Having Spinosaurus win feels like a new crime boss strolling into The Godfather Part III, slapping Michael Corleone in the face and taking his job. I still remember the moment the audience I shared a theatre with gasped. Apart from that, though, the film is directionless. Fumbling around with half-baked ideas and a nattering, irritating pair of parents whose divorce I do not care about. Perhaps more time spent with the kid they were all looking for would have been an improvement.
We have a gap of about fourteen years from when that Velociraptor says, “Alan.” and when Universal release a new movie, with a new cast, and a new dinosaur! No, not a dinosaur that actually existed, but one made in a lab, by some unnamed, overworked scientists. If there’s a more appropriate metaphor for the series going downhill, I can’t think of it.
These are not dinosaurs anymore, not really. Even if the original gave us rampaging creatures based mostly in fiction, it also showed us the beauty of these creatures whilst trying to somewhat stick to the realities of what these animals were. Jurassic World is a monster movie through-and-through. This is not a criticism but a description and actually shows Jurassic World didn’t move too far away from the original in some respects.
However, in other ways it moved miles away. Jurassic Park had dinosaurs that could change sex; Jurassic World has a dinosaur that can change colour. Thus difference is significant. One is focused on nature finding a way, as the saying goes, creating life where it was once thought impossible. Enticing, a yearning from nature, yet complicated by the presence of our human protagonists. The other enables a tactical monster to hide from rifle-toting mercenaries.
When one of the most-loved moments of a movie is a cameo of Jimmy Buffett bravely protecting his margheritas, it doesn’t say much about the rest. Instead of inspiring a generation of youngsters to be palaeontologists or movie makers, the audience for Jurassic World are inspired to buy products. It is hard to pick out whether the film has more VFX shots or product placement shots, but eventually a tie is declared between ILM and Mercedes-Benz. Only in a few other films have I been reminded so harshly that show-business is a business, but because priorities are skewed we are given a movie that was made squarely in the business-show mould.
Things start looking up with Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom. Trailers and marketing promise a genuine horror movie with a monster that has more personality than the (looks up name) Indominus Rex. It also has a wonderful premise for a side plot: billionaires buying dinosaurs. But what could’ve been a satire, a revenge-thriller and a horror instead ends up being nothing more than the same that came before.
Here the recap ends, because at this point I simply couldn’t bring myself to watch Jurassic World: New World Order. Because at this point I couldn’t do it anymore. I’d fought my instincts and paid for a ticket, hoping Jurassic World and Fallen Kingdom would be something more than what we got. And was let down.
At this point, I had to question whether I was the only sane person in the room, or if I had indeed lost my mind. Why do we keep giving these film series, these franchises, a word I spit out because its mere flavour gives me indigestion, another chance? By all accounts, Jurassic World: Dino Road Trip was again just more of the same.
Maybe it’s me. But it seems there’s a pattern emerging.
Jurassic Park had a barnstormer of an opening number, followed up with a solid sequel and then languished in mediocrity for four more instalments. And yet another is being made.
Spider-Man, a series of films, reboots and shared universes I wrote about here, starts off with a solid opener then without missing a beat has a sequel that’s still one of the best comic book movies ever made. And then proceeds to trip over itself for six more instalments. And yet there are calls, from somewhere, for more.
Don’t even get me started on the Transformers series. Why did the director who made Pain & Gain make a million of these? It’s because, I’d wager, the real people in charge, the ones with the power to greenlight a movie or destroy it with a clench of their well-manicured hand, have been reading a particular rulebook, and seem intent on sticking to it no matter what.
Here, right here, right now, I have this rulebook, that movie executives everywhere have ordered their assistants to photocopy and summarise for them. Maybe that’s where things have gone wrong. Maybe we should blame the assistants. Proles. Use this rulebook and you too can make your own legacy sequel.
Rule 1. Ensure the return of well-loved characters.
What’s the best way to ensure a strong opening weekend? Why, a poster and trailer featuring the faces of some well-loved franchise stalwarts. If the concept for the movie isn’t working anymore, even if it’s something exciting and flexible like ‘dinosaurs take over the world’ or ‘ghosts invade New York’, simply parachute in some now-grey haired characters of old. Preferably have them stand there staring at a tennis ball you can replace in post. Worried about this new instalment tarnishing what came before for these characters? Don’t be! It doesn’t matter!
Rule 2. Continue the story.
Have the characters come back and do some more of the same, even if their story ended organically decades before! This way you can really boil down the idea of what a movie can be, doing away with things like ‘character growth’ or ‘interesting scenes’ and delivering a pure high concept. That should be enough for the audience, right? Just the concept?
Rule 3. Feel stuck? Twist!
This can actually be a good thing, but don’t waste time wondering if the twist makes sense. Is the future what we make of it, or is it destiny decided? It doesn’t matter; what matters is that Arnie’s face is plastered onto a younger man’s body for the climactic action scene.
Rule 4. Answer all the questions.
What happened to those two characters that got together at the end of part 1? Did it end terribly for them? You bet, because that gives the illusion of complexity and thought. Was there a scene from part 1 that was made into a meme? Find it, and reveal everything behind the story of that scene. Make sure to do this slowly so that dumb audiences don’t get confused. Top tip: also works for prequels!
Rule 5: References.
Make references. All the references you can think of. Do they have to make sense? Nope. If it’s where a joke would ordinarily go, does the reference have to be funny? No way. The more you include things people will recognise, the more people will smile and think ‘Ah yeah, I remember that.’ And the warm glow of their remembering basic details from something they actually loved will seep in to your new piece of crap and ensure you won’t have to put any actual effort in.
Matthew D. Smith likes to overshare his views on movies whenever and wherever he can. Indulge him, and follow him on Twitter: https://twitter.com/Smith_M_D
