A classic example of how genre, that trickiest of tools, can smother and extinguish a film. (And yet! that final shot! that final look!)
Before the excess of the Earth, of which all are intimately a part, we are made equal. There is a democracy of the terrestrial, and W.S. faces the catastrophic power that makes it so with great compassion and love. Pompeii is profoundly melancholic, but it defiantly refuses nihilistic despair. I was humbled by this film.
In spite of the grandiosity of its most iconic moments, Jurassic Park feels oddly small for a Spielberg adventure picture. There are plausibly many contributing factors to explain this, but first and foremost it most likely has to do with the constricting presence the two children have on the narrative. Of course, the 'lost' child and their relation to the absent or makeshift father is a consistent figure in Spielberg's films, to the point of being a well-worn cliché; but…