#LIKE SERIOUSLY WORDS CANNOT CONVEY HOW JOYOUS I AM

[c00kietin]

BRO. LITERALLY GOBSMACKED. HAD TO ACTUALLY CLOSE MY LAPTOP TO TAKE IT IN GOODNESS-

I HAVE NO WORDS-

so have a comic instead :D

(Tenebris secretly orders somebody to photocopy these images and have them framed. This art boosts their huge ego.)

Brittany blast 💥

(might draw 🎾 later :D)

HDAHDAAHHGDSJFGDGSJSHAKAFHGGHHGGHGHHGHGG OMGGGGGG

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH OHMYGAH

I AM YELLING AT YOU RIGHT NOW AND GRIPPING YOU BY THE SHOULDERS/VPOS

DEAR FRIEND ILYSM/P

The hair!! The EVERYTHING asashhghjds I just love the way you draw bro ;v;

[shepgeek]

To Boldly Go

When the great film trilogies are listed, the back-to-back run of Wrath of Khan, The Search for Spock and The Voyage Home are rarely mentioned.  For starters any franchise from the 1980s, where roman numerals were thrown about merrily, will bear suspicion of artistic scepticism. Indeed, it wasn’t until JJ Abrams’ reboot that the idea would even be considered that any film from this franchise might be taken seriously as a piece of cinema rather than a routine trip for Paramount to milk their cash cow. Star Trek was considered niche entertainment for nerds with occasional nostalgic crossover appeal; something to be acknowledged as popular to a degree but rarely held up as anything like the best of what the medium has to offer. In these three films, however, there can be found huge creativity, bold authorial choices, and a keen sense of storytelling momentum based around a compelling and hugely resonant central theme. Within the genre, the films could hardly be more different from each other: Wrath of Khan is a peerless adventure, blending themes of obsession and revenge with adventure and duty, heavily inspired by the swashbuckling tales of 18th century naval adventures. The Voyage Home, on the other hand, is a prime example of the 1980s fish-out-of-water comedy subgenre. Bridging them is the film considered the least of the three but, whilst it is perhaps the most conservative in terms of scale, the propensity for The Search for Spock to be dismissed as “an odd numbered one” masks the moments where it comprehensively masters what the entire franchise was all about. With its operatic brio and earnest embrace of famous science fiction tropes, director Leonard Nimoy’s The Search for Spock is an underrated film in an underrated trilogy and, 35 years on, hiding within it is a 20-minute sequence which, for this writer, remains the defining moment within the entire franchise.

Within the film it is quickly established that the crew have a chance to do right by their fallen comrade, but have been ordered in no uncertain terms to keep away from his resting place. For Kirk, permission is not a luxury he has ever particularly sought and, from the moment he growls “The word is no: I am therefore going anyway”, the film releases the melancholy of its mournful opening act. Sporting a magnificently implausible leather collar, not enough is made of just how good Shatner is in these films. His impudent charisma led us to genuine heartbreak in the previous chapter and he sustains Kirk’s unimpeachable authority with effortless ease. We can see our hero struggling, failing, learning but never yielding, but to see his plan through he needs his crew, leading to why the scene that follows soars: it is the definitive instance of the Enterprise crew working as one. The dramatic stakes are unusually low in this film: there is no universe to save this time, just one man. The gentle inversion of Spock’s “needs of the many” axiom is honest and maybe a little unsubtle but certainly compelling, and a theme throughout the film of what we do for those who matter the most to us is precisely what elevates this franchise above its peers. Those who dismiss Star Trek as frivolous miss this central pull: each crew is always based around this core camaraderie, an ensemble of characters whose loyalty inspires. The Search for Spock is dramatically least compelling of the trilogy but emotionally the most resonant.

The crew plot to steal back their battered starship in what becomes, atypically for the franchise, a set piece. This segment has the feel of a caper to it and eschews visual fireworks for a steady and patient escalation of the stakes and an intensifying focus on the faces of the actors to build the drama: we know what this crew is risking here and we become desperate for them to succeed. On paper what follows is simply some light levels of banter, a few sweaty brows and the Enterprise reversing out of a garage and yet it is imbued with such an epic scale for these characters that it swells the heart. The heist itself has a giddy sense of fun to it, of propulsive excitement: composer James Horner uses an eclectic percussive string instrument (a cimbalom) to set this feeling, but it builds slowly and steadily. The choice to gradually intensify the scope throughout a longer set piece was not out of character for the time and, one suspects, borne from budgetary restrictions, but certainly it would be unimaginable to find such patience in a modern blockbuster, and even the most recent and honest tribute Star Trek Beyond overflows with startling visuals during its own action beats.

The pace of the escape is determined in part by the choices made by previous directors Robert Wise and Nicholas Meyer, as Trek had already decided that, instead of the buzzing, kinetic spitfire battles of the Star Wars films, these ships of the line would be enormous stately galleons. Harder to manoeuvre, they add an epic scale to even the smallest of lines: “One quarter impulse power” is followed soon after by an “Aye Sir”: this is, after all, the finest crew in the fleet. There are other advantages as ILM’s gorgeous models have aged exceptionally well, bringing a physicality that later CGI struggles to recapture, whilst the elegant iconography of the famous ship is amplified by Nimoy’s of framing it from differing scales.

As the heist develops it allows the crew to quietly shine. Long reconciled to be left supporting the core leads from the side-lines, Nimoy recognised that the whole film would greatly benefit from using his castmates to add shading around the edges, and he spends snippets of time on the Enterprise crew, implying in his director commentary that he had to defend this choice, one assumes, to Shatner. Whilst Kirk remains his old gung-ho self (only a single punch of a security guard is needed) Nimoy gives Sulu, donning what appears to be a cape, a moment of nonchalant badassery, notably showing us Kirk’s reaction of impressed surprise. The message is simple- nobody messes with our heroes and McCoy repeats this to Uhura in a similarly authoritative beat moments later. The caper crackles with its own history and our heroes (and the script) are visibly enjoying themselves here: McCoy’s smile as his friends break him from his jail is magical, whilst the dialogue is peppered with jokes and callbacks to the Kobayashi Maru, or Spock’s revenge on McCoy “for all those arguments he lost”. The final flourish is the addition of an antagonist: the film sets up the USS Excelsior as a new and improved Federation prototype (an idea which is immediately offensive) and their priggish, pompous captain is instantly hissable. Nimoy knew better than anyone that TV sets were awash with talented actors who had more depth to be exploited, casting Taxi’s Christopher Lloyd as his villain and using Hillstreet Blues actor James Sikking here. Sikking does an incredible job with a small part, immediately making Captain Styles a startlingly slappable presence. After being bruisingly insensitive to Scotty (writer Harve Bennet’s lists Scotty’s reply as his favourite line in the film), when we see Styles aboard his titanic ship he is blithely filing his nails and taking a no-look grab of what appears to be a redundant space cane. Styles is not the only example of how the storytelling detail and colour in this section, with a janitor looking on agog as the Enterprise makes her exit, building a sense of scale, opportunistic adventure and disbelief that Kirk, the Federation’s greatest hero, was going rogue. Styles’ final decision, calling out Kirk (by name, not rank) gives the scene’s final punchline a pleasing rush of schadenfreude.

 The final ingredient to this section cannot be overestimated as James Horner’s score develops cues from his Wrath of Khan score (namely Battle in Mutara Nebula & Genesis Countdown- two of the finest cues in 20th century film composition) to lend colossal weight to the enormity of these actions for our heroes. A 91-piece orchestra escalates his two primary themes to a gloriously triumphant conclusion, as Horner deploys the French horns blasting at the limits of their range, a joyous trademark of that composer and an enormous final flourish as the Enterprise finally clears her docks.

Throughout this short set piece, we see Star Trek in a perfect microcosm. Everything that it remains most loved for is perfectly conveyed in this sequence by the script, the direction, the performances, the editing and the composition via an emotional core of considerable heft. When Kirk smiles to say “May the wind be at our backs” and Alexander Courage’s famous fanfare salutes them back, the loyalty and camaraderie of this family is cemented.

 It ends as Kirk takes his Captain’s chair; unwavering, resolute and with his crew at his back as the bridge lighting shifts, purposefully.

“Aye Sir.

Warp Speed.”

[jurassicparkpodcast]

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom | Review

Traumatized. Jaw-Dropping. Unsure. Emotional. Concerned. Words can barely describe the feelings I felt leaving the theater after seeing Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom for the first time. It was an odd experience. What is usually a joyous celebration once the credits roll, left me feeling void of a response to everything I witnessed. Sounds bad, right? My answer to that question is not so simple. 

There was a special feeling seeing the first footage revealed from Universal's marketing campaign, when Chris Pratt's character, Owen Grady, pet a baby raptor named "Blue". It was the first time we - as an audience - saw a dinosaur in this film's cycle. Things were simpler then. Months later we found ourselves in the midst of one of the biggest marketing campaigns ever created for a film, touting Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom as a film with potentially the most dinosaurs in a "Jurassic" film. I had my assumptions, but after seeing Fallen Kingdom - it was confirmed. We had seen most of the film via trailers, tv spots and other promo material. I was surely bummed at that notion. 

Sitting in the theater, waiting to see a film for the first time is always an interesting experience. It's been three years of conjecture, theories and debunking on the podcast, but none of that really matched up to the direction this film headed. I kept saying - "we'll be in a new place", but I didn't expect how new it would be. "Jurassic"��films have a "feel". Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom felt the least "Jurassic" to me. THAT IS NOT A BAD THING. It's different. It's new. After seeing this film, no one can really say that it's The Lost World: Jurassic Park or that it's re-hashing the past. Writers Colin Trevorrow and Derek Connolly, along with Director J.A. Bayona seriously took this franchise in a BOLD new direction. This movie is more of an action film than ever before. It's more dramatic than any previous film. The horror is amped to new levels. None of that even includes the new plot element that is the catalyst for an entirely different discussion. This series is forever changed. 

J.A. Bayona and Cinematographer Oscar Faura are the reason why this film feels the most stark in comparison to the previous four films. Of course we all know that Director Steven Spielberg is a master of light, but what was a casual observance in previous films, really comes to the forefront in Fallen Kingdom. There is so much visual mastery happening in this film, that it's hard to single out my favorite aspects. Whether it's a silhouette against the moon or a brief glimpse of a skulking monster, Bayona and Faura deserve immense accolades for making this unabashedly the most breathtaking film in the franchise. 

Today, films are dictated by the incredibly wild set pieces on display, and Fallen Kingdom is no different. We can argue all day about today's films being all action and no substance, but within that genre, I think Fallen Kingdom blends action and substance really well. We have the visually impressive volcano escape, the moments of reflection from the characters in motion and of course the Gothic horror elements inside Lockwood's Estate. The set pieces certainly take front and center, but I wouldn't say they define the film. It really does feel like a great character piece, building off what we knew about these people and dinosaurs from Jurassic World and giving them more layers. When you look back on Jurassic World and even Jurassic Park, you will see things through a different lens. I think that is the mark of a good film - changing your perception to make you think differently about the past. It's not just an island on fire and jump scares, there is substance. 

I've had to remind myself many times after seeing the film - I laughed a lot... this film brought me to tears... my jaw hung open, completely enthralled - but I still felt unsure. I couldn't put a finger on it, because I had seemingly enjoyed everything on the screen. Yes, there are a few cringe-worthy moments, i.e. one of which involving Owen Grady and the impending lava - but what was it that truly haunted me? Maybe it was the destruction of all we've know and loved for the past 25 years or maybe it was my expectations being denied - I don't know. So much of this film was technically better than Jurassic World, back in 2015, but I left the theater after that film feeling much more fulfilled.  

Looking at the players involved, Bryce Dallas Howard and Chris Pratt held the reins, with Daniella Pineda, Justice Smith, Rafe Spall, Isabella Sermon and James Cromwell to a name a few, becoming stellar additions to the "Jurassic" franchise. Bryce Dallas Howard put on a clinic in this film, using facial expressions to convey so much emotion - she was incredibly believable. Daniella Pineda ignited a spark in this franchise with secondary players that hasn't been lit since The Lost World. Newcomer Isabella Sermon continued the through-line of child actors being a major part of "Jurassic" films, and potentially elevated that role beyond that of Jurassic Park. Rafe Spall's character Eli Mills is certainly modeled after many of the traits found in the previous film's characters, but he performs it effortlessly better than his predecessors. This cast as a whole, even the ones unmentioned, combine for an extremely memorable ensemble performance. Of course Mr. Jeff Goldblum, the one and only, shines in his time on screen. 

Tying us to the elements of the past is a MAJOR theme in Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom. Jurassic World certainly had it's call-backs, but Fallen Kingdom takes it few steps farther and uses that nostalgic feeling wisely. I had my complaints about the use of the Visitors Center in Jurassic World, but this film widens the universe with nostalgia in some of the best ways possible. There are layers of connections to the past that will leave you contemplating how it all fits together. The film weaves in stories you never knew existed and builds the past in ways you didn't expect, but I'm trilled to have these details to sift through. I'm still emotional thinking about all the ways this film shook us. They used nostalgia as a blade and stabbed me through the heart in several different ways. This film also attempts to copy the ideals of The Last Jedi by killing the past. From here on out, the franchise will be different. We see death, we see destruction and we see the birth of new threads that could potentially take us into complex new territory. I'm both excited and scared to contemplate those paths on the podcast. 

Time and time again, the one aspect that has been somewhat steadfast is the scores of the Jurassic Park franchise. This film is no different, but I find myself wondering how this score will compare after hundreds of spins. "Jurassic" music has become iconic to even those less obsessed than myself. It's timeless, it's epic and it's filled with wonder - but what about now? All the talk about how things will change from here on out and how visually this is a different film, what does that mean for the music? It's dark - maybe even darker than the film displays, but that wind of change has captured the score as well. As usual, the score contains hints of old, but mostly new and composer Michael Giacchino finds ways to blend three films worth of scores together perfectly. The masterful track "Volcano to Death" breaks my heart each and every time. I audibly gasp when I realized Giacchino pulled the rug out from under me on that track. It still hurts. 

The score does have some pitfalls in my opinion. I absolutely love all the new motifs - they are epic, bombastic and brutally subtle at times, but I feel it is lacking in diversity. One new theme that I've been calling the "dinosaur theme" is pretty constant throughout the score. It shows up in the film from beginning to end and seems to be only directly tied to dinosaurs. That's fine, but it comes off as a bit repetitious while listening to the score. The only theme we've ever associated with dinosaurs before would just be the main Jurassic Park theme from John Williams. I also cannot find a hint of a theme for the main dinosaur villain of this film, the Indoraptor. The Indominus Rex theme from Jurassic World was peppered throughout that score and remains one of the most notable themes from that film. I was hoping for something similar with the Indoraptor, but unless I missed something, it doesn't seem to be here. As a musical work, the score as a whole is phenomenal - but as a thematic work in a film, I think it slightly misses the mark. Maybe I'll eat my words there, but that's how it comes off after the initial twenty listens or so. 

In some ways, the third act of this film mirrors what we see in Jurassic World. A few select moments felt like on-the-nose recreations or at least contained similar outcomes. I find myself asking much of the same questions that I had at the end of Jurassic World. Throughout the film, we are littered with the consequences of saving the dinosaurs, but I cannot help but wonder if these consequences are THAT dire. Certain threats lend themselves to greater consequences, but I feel like most of those were left on the back burner in the film's culmination. I look forward to debating the secondary consequences the most. The funny thing about this film is that at the end of the day, it's a magic trick. You think you "Set A" of consequences are the more concerning, but the whole time it was actually "Set B" that you didn't expect.  

Where do we go from here? - That is the main question this film poses. It makes us continue to question our relationship to dinosaurs, to humanity and our morals as a society. The film leaves us hanging on a cliff, wondering how things will be resolved on June 11th 2021, when the third installment of Jurassic World arrives. I am traumatized. This film is a big departure from what we are used to - but in the end, I think we will be better off for it.

Article written by: Brad Jost