There’s a meme making the rounds lately, and while variations exist, a common one features Russian paleoartist Vasily Vatagin’s depiction of familiar dinosaurs—brontosaurus, stegosaurus, and others—in their prehistoric habitat. The accompanying text, often with quirky punctuation, declares: “The dinosaurs didn’t ‘rule the Earth’, they were just alive. Stop giving them credit for administrative skills they almost certainly did not have.”
This meme, while aiming for a semantic chuckle, feels somewhat joyless. It strips away the wonder, the very enchantment that dinosaurs evoke. Encountering it online often prompts the same instinctive response: “Ask any eight-year-old if dinosaurs rule. You’ll have your answer.” This reaction sparks a deeper question: Why is this seemingly minor linguistic jest so irritating? And why does the immediate counterpoint revolve around the intense fascination children hold for dinosaurs?
Confession time: as a child, dinosaurs weren’t my primary obsession. They were present in the cultural landscape—museums, books, movies, View-Master reels. The 1964/1965 New York World’s Fair, embracing its theme of progress, prominently featured them. I acknowledged them, but they didn’t ignite my imagination like they did for some friends.
That sense of awe, however, arrived later. Looking back, it’s clear that Jurassic Park (1993) was the catalyst. My initial response to Steven Spielberg’s blockbuster was nuanced. While acknowledging its cinematic brilliance, reservations existed. The behind-the-scenes narrative of stop-motion animator Phil Tippett’s project being supplanted by Industrial Light and Magic’s CGI dinosaurs (detailed in the 2022 documentary Jurassic Punk) was one aspect. Another was Spielberg’s masterful, yet sometimes overwhelming, emotional manipulation, swinging from awe to terror with breathtaking speed. Watching a Spielberg action film felt like being caught in his “Mammoth Entertainment Machine,” where failing to keep pace meant getting crushed.
Part of this reservation stemmed from the emotional rollercoaster navigated by Lex and Tim Murphy (Ariana Richards and Joseph Mazzello), John Hammond’s grandchildren, who serve as conduits for paleontologist Alan Grant’s (Sam Neill) paternal awakening. They are perfect empathy generators. Yet, Spielberg’s approach borders on the excessive. How these children avoided lasting trauma is a wonder. One moment, they’re in a jeep, playing with tech; the next, a Tyrannosaurus rex nearly ends them. Escaping a vehicle plummeting from trees, they then encounter a gentle giant dino, with Lex receiving a less-than-pleasant baptism of dinosaur snot. Tim, witnessing a T-rex devour prey, marvels with “Oh, cool,” before becoming the hunted himself, and then getting electrocuted for good measure. Tim is, undeniably, resilient.
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It is indeed a lot, typical of Spielberg’s style. But his emotional manipulation is executed with masterful precision. Following Jaws, Close Encounters, Raiders, E.T., and more, he possesses an uncanny ability to manipulate audience emotions. While the experience can feel overwhelming, the artistry is undeniable.
Similarly, despite my preference for practical effects like models and stop-motion, the groundbreaking CGI in Jurassic Park—less prevalent than often remembered—was the correct choice. The initial tableau, showcasing dinosaurs roaming freely, delivers a profound sense of witnessing these colossal creatures returned to our world. This moment, underscored by John Williams’ iconic Jurassic Park theme, with Neill and Laura Dern mirroring our astonishment, is what resonated when encountering that dismissive meme. To suggest dinosaurs don’t “rule” is to disregard the powerful spectacle Spielberg conjured. This cinematic “Dance Of The Dinosaurs” on screen, full of wonder and terror, is a significant part of their enduring appeal.
Furthermore, while adults are ostensibly Jurassic Park‘s protagonists, the children are key to its narrative duality and, indirectly, illuminate the enduring childhood fascination with dinosaurs. Dinosaurs are inherently fantastical, immense, and potent, yet undeniably real. They inhabit a realm of scientific discovery intertwined with speculation; science reveals much, but mysteries persist, allowing a child’s imagination to flourish. For smaller beings, conscious of their own vulnerability, dinosaurs represent a dream of immense, almost boundless power. Even the less dangerous dinosaurs, “giant cows” as Grant reassures the children, and the truly fearsome ones, are safely distanced by 65 million years of time. A child, navigating the complexities of the real world, can safely explore themes of power and even violence through dinosaurs, knowing it’s contained within a prehistoric past. The world of dinosaurs becomes the ultimate action movie playing out in a young mind, a thrilling “dance of power” from a safe distance.
This fascination extends to adults, amplified by another dimension, perhaps instinctive to children but more consciously grasped by adults: extinction. Dinosaurs once reigned supreme, yet vanished. The U.S. Geological Survey estimates their dominance spanned roughly 165 million years, labeling them “…unqualified successes in the history of life on Earth.” Yet, it all ended. Theories abound—asteroids, volcanoes, earthquakes (a personal, though debunked, favorite involves dinosaur diarrhea, a remnant of my inner eight-year-old). Regardless of cause, they were obliterated by forces indifferent to their dominance. Now, we stand as the new “alphas,” observing what came before, and perhaps nervously glancing for the asteroid bearing our name. (Spielberg’s DreamWorks also produced Deep Impact, one of the two asteroid-themed films of 1998, adding another layer to this thematic connection).
Interestingly, many dinosaur narratives fixate on the extinction event itself. Walt Disney’s Rite of Spring sequence in Fantasia (1940) vividly depicts life’s genesis from microbes to dinosaur demise via drought, starvation, and earthquake. It’s a remarkable animation sequence, almost impressionistic in its depiction of a primordial Earth shaped by volcanoes and floods, portraying the age of dinosaurs as both majestic and monstrous. Did Spielberg glean insights from Disney about employing mise en scène to manipulate audience emotions? Indeed, meteorological conditions in Disney’s prehistory shift abruptly from serene to raging storm precisely when a ravenous T-rex appears.
(Anecdote: In high school, my science teacher announced, “I’m showing you a cartoon about dinosaurs. It’s scientifically inaccurate, but we’ll watch it anyway.” As the Stravinsky soundtrack began, I exclaimed, “It’s Fantasia! Forget science, this is GREAT!” I can only imagine the teacher’s delight at having his cigarette break interrupted by the nerdy kid in the back.)
Sixty years later, Disney’s CG Dinosaur (2000) envisioned a meteor-induced quasi-extinction. Prior to lending its name to a Disney Animal Kingdom attraction, the ride was named Countdown to Extinction. Even The Simpsons’ “Treehouse of Horror V” (1994) humorously depicts Homer inadvertently causing dinosaur extinction with a sneeze. Jim Henson Productions’ Dinosaurs (1991-1995) explicitly paralleled dinosaur doom with humanity’s self-destructive tendencies, culminating in a finale where climate change brings about their extinction. These examples showcase a cultural preoccupation with the “dance of extinction” that dinosaurs embody.
More relevantly, Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom (2018), the second installment of the less acclaimed sequel franchise—directed by J.A. Bayona of A Monster Calls—features a mini-extinction event with Isla Nublar’s dinosaurs perishing in a volcanic eruption, before the narrative shifts to other, less compelling plotlines. Spielberg, in Jurassic Park, opted for subtler, more nuanced intimations of mortality. The paleontologists, encountering Hammond’s cloned dinosaurs, face the potential obsolescence of their profession—why seek bones when the living creatures exist? (Michael Crichton’s novel, co-written for the screenplay with David Koepp, explores this further). More powerfully, the film culminates in a shot—my favorite—where the Tyrannosaurus rex, victorious over the velociraptors, stands in the ruins of the park’s welcome center, roaring triumphantly as a banner proclaiming “When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth” falls at her feet. This image encapsulates the “dance of dominance” and its ultimate ephemerality.
Beyond Spielberg’s ingenious move of transforming the antagonist into the film’s ultimate hero (albeit one still wisely avoided), this shot conveys profound messages: a critique of human hubris in underestimating natural forces, an acknowledgement of the limits of human order in a chaotic universe (echoing Dr. Malcolm!), and most poignantly, a reminder that dominion, even for 200 million years, is finite. The dinosaurs rose, and fell, and we may follow. Our advantage lies in our capacity to understand our world, foresee threats, and act against those we can overcome. Whether this guarantees longevity exceeding the dinosaur age remains uncertain. The USGS notes that if a calendar represented life from dinosaurs to now, dinosaurs would occupy until September, while humanity appears only on New Year’s Eve. A daunting prospect, but we possess evolutionary advantages—at least we aren’t burdened with comically small arms like the T-rex. Sixty-five million years after dinosaurs danced across the Earth, we can, at least, offer a good, non-CG animated fight.
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Admittedly, Spielberg’s mastery of audience manipulation can feel excessive at times. However, it’s a minor flaw in an otherwise exceptional filmmaker, and Jurassic Park remains a highlight in his illustrious career. But what are your thoughts? Is Jurassic Park a meditation on humanity’s precarious trajectory, mirroring the dinosaurs’ fate, or simply thrilling entertainment? Share your perspectives in the comments below. (Ian Malcolm enthusiasts, your input is particularly anticipated.) Be kind, have fun, and perhaps we can all convene for ice cream afterwards.
Dan Persons has been a fixture in genre media for many years. He is currently house critic for Hour of the Wolf radio show on WBAI 99.5FM in New York and previously edited Cinefantastique and Animefantastique, and produced news for The Monster Channel. He also founded Anime Philadelphia, promoting theatrical Japanese animation screenings. And his One Alarm Chili is legendary! Wow!
