The 1993 blockbuster in which Stan Winston's animatronic dinosaurs and ILM's then-revolutionary computer graphics convinced the entire planet that a T. rex was chasing a Ford Explorer. Matt's verdict was a formality — Spielberg plus practical effects is his entire personality in one film. The historic event is the other thumb: Norm, keeper of the grudge, author of the chart, went UP on a Spielberg picture for the first time in recorded history. He has issued a formal statement clarifying that the exemption applies to the dinosaurs, not the director, and that the grudge continues at full strength. Management — whose Spielberg record upstairs is a public 2-for-2 — was not needed, and has been described by witnesses as insufferably pleased.
Let’s be honest about my objectivity here: this film is Spielberg directing practical effects about the danger of spectacle, which means my thumb was up somewhere in the parking lot. But the case is real. Stan Winston built the dinosaurs — a full-size animatronic T. rex that actually malfunctioned in the rain like its fictional counterpart — and ILM’s computer graphics were deployed for a grand total of maybe six minutes of screen time, which is exactly why they still hold up. Restraint. Weight. A brachiosaurus that made an entire generation cry at a special effect.
“The water glass ripple is the best establishing shot of a monster ever filmed, and it cost nothing. A guitar string under the dashboard. That’s the whole church of practical filmmaking in one image.”
Add the Williams score, Goldblum inventing a new kind of leading man out of nervous laughter, and a screenplay that keeps its body count honest, and you have the best blockbuster of its decade. And I want the record to reflect that I wrote every word above BEFORE learning what my colleague’s thumb did. Nothing could have prepared me. I have questions. The first one is “who are you.”
Before the second floor spirals, a formal statement of position. The grudge is intact. Spielberg remains overrated — the chart remains laminated, the monthly filing under Rule 09 will proceed on schedule, and nothing that follows should be construed as a settlement. What follows is an EXEMPTION, narrowly granted, and I will define its boundaries precisely: the exemption is for the dinosaurs. The dinosaurs are innocent.
“One hundred twenty-seven minutes, nineteen technically taxable, waived — because this is the rare Spielberg picture where the awe is EARNED instead of conducted. The T. rex doesn’t need the score to tell me what to feel. The T. rex is self-explanatory.”
Look at what the film actually is when the director isn’t leaning on my buttons: a monster thriller with an audit structure — what’s in the park, what went wrong, who staffed one IT guy for an entire island ecosystem. The kitchen scene is pure procedural dread. The animatronics have WEIGHT, and I rate weight. Even the sentiment is load-bearing: the brachiosaurus reveal works because the movie has done the engineering underneath it. Thumb up — for Winston, for the raptors, for a runtime that respects me. The director may consider this a data point for his rehabilitation. The director would be wrong. See the chart.