BOOK VS. FILM: Jurassic Park (Spoilers)
JURASSIC PARK
Directed by Steven Spielberg
Screenplay by Michael Crichton & David Koepp
Starring Sam Neill, Laura Dern, Jeff Goldblum, Richard Attenborough
Yes, the movie is more than 20 years old, but there's no reason to avoid revisiting such a classic of motion picture history. Not only was Jurassic Park a landmark blockbuster upon its release, but it also has great personal relevance to this critic - it was the first live action film I ever watched. As such, it has remained a stalwart installation in my 'Greatest Films of All Time' mental list, and continues to inspire me to this day.
However, the medium divide between literature and film has never been clearer than in the rift twixt Michael Crichton's novel and Steven Spielberg's movie. Unlike adaptations of novels such as The Road, No Country for Old Men or Atonement, who remain largely loyal to their forebears, Jurassic Park is an unapologetic dinosaur-length stride away from its source material, and I can't help but feel that this is entirely to its benefit.
Michael Crichton (may he rest in peace) was a loved and respected science fiction writer, and a man enamoured with concept. He clings to the tenets of science fiction tenaciously, and never fails to drive home a point. His pacing, however, is highly unusual, and it seems that Crichton never had a knack for capturing the peculiarities of human speech. Much of the dialogue in Jurassic Park (the novel) reads like university debate: lengthy multiple page meditations on the philosophical connotations of each and every action in the story, as well as complex technological lectures displaying the wealth of Crichton's research. The author could never be confused with someone who leaps into a story not knowing where it leads.
In terms of developing a naturalistic world, it could be considered a criticism, but then again, this is a world in which a theme park is filled exclusively with cloned dinosaurs.
The interesting thing is seeing the magic that is created when a master screenwriter, David Koepp, imbues Crichton with the benefits of synthesis. The screenplay for the film allows little time for Malcolm's extended ramblings about chaos theory and the evils of science, instead abbreviating them into memorable taglines (most of which appeared in the book). Crichton's hidden gift for standout lines is given clarity by Koepp's editing. It is a true meeting of minds.
The film differs from the text in three key ways - action, lore, and intention.
In action, the movie is composed of distinct set pieces, much like the novel, but each set piece is remarkably different. Many of the novel's points of action appear later in the film trilogy, such as the pterodactyl attack (in the awful Jurassic Park 3) and the T-Rex sequence behind the waterfall (adapted in The Lost World). Crichton has a terrible habit of giving Dr Grant the famous last words "I'll be right back" on far too many occasions, and every time he leaves the kids alone, you know they're about to be faced with something horrible. He uses these hell out of those kids, all for the sake of scare. Spielberg took all of Crichton's parents'-worst-nightmare situations and stuffed them into two sequences: the electric fence climb, and one of cinema's most nail-biting scenes.
Considering the kill count in the novel, it would be easy to believe that Crichton intended it as a stand-alone title. Characters that barely appear in the film are given complex back stories and agendas, fleshed out simply to make a bigger meal. For your benefit, I have arranged this chart.
Apparently, Crichton never wanted to write a sequel, but decided to on Spielberg's request. His decision to revive the character of Ian Malcolm was based partly on his being an audience favourite, and as a cheeky reference to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (who resuscitated Sherlock Holmes). Crichton uses classic techno-thriller karma - those who play God are those who suffer, and wrongdoers must die. The author is, perhaps, a little too zealous in his pursuit, going so far as to have Henry Wu disembowelled alive as Sattler & Muldoon watch, and even for John Hammond to be nibbled to death after suffering a fall. Hammond is, however, a different creature on the page, lacking Richard Attenborough's remarkable sense of jois de vivre. Many of the characters feel a little wooden on the page - Dr Grant is a lumberjack stock character who loves kids; Muldoon is a drunk; Hammond is a spoilt rich child in an old man's body; and Arnold is just nowhere near as cool as the film made him. The children are opposite ages, and Lex's childish tantrums draw much reptilian attention. And then there's Gennaro - the film's wirey wet blanket, who is swiftly devoured, is on paper a muscular mustachioed businessman who don't take no crap off of nobody. They are all remarkably different to their celluloid counterparts.
As for intention, it is clear that both artists know their audience, and their audiences are rather different. Crichton's research-based, gore-soaked fiction would never suit the warm fuzzy family unit that Spielberg caters to, and yet somehow, using the language of the adventure genre, Spielberg has catered to the broadest market possible. The book is heavily didactic, whereas the film has a sadder tone, lamenting the inevitable failure of man creating something wondrous but exceeding his grasp. Certainly, Crichton wrote a book of consummate imagination, and one with profound relevance and impact - but what he lacked in execution, Spielberg had in spades. No other film has given me such a sense of wonder as this one - the act of creation, though flawed, is palpably awe-inspiring. And he manages to make you believe that dinosaurs exist before you even see them on the screen, using nothing but the expressions of three actors and a perfect music cue.
| Mexican worker (killed by velociraptor) | Infant (eaten in crib by compys) |
| Gennaro (eaten off the toilet by T-Rex) |
Nedry (disembowelled by Dilophosaurus) |
| Nedry (killed by Dilophosaurus) | Ed Regis (toyed with then eaten by infant T-Rex) |
| Arnold (killed by velociraptor) | Arnold (killed by velociraptor) |
| Muldoon (killed by velociraptor) | Henry Wu (disembowelled by velociraptor) |
| John Hammond (eaten by compys) | |
| Ian Malcolm (dies from blood loss & infection resulting from T-Rex bite) | |
| At least four other workers/guards, with six missing | |
Apparently, Crichton never wanted to write a sequel, but decided to on Spielberg's request. His decision to revive the character of Ian Malcolm was based partly on his being an audience favourite, and as a cheeky reference to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (who resuscitated Sherlock Holmes). Crichton uses classic techno-thriller karma - those who play God are those who suffer, and wrongdoers must die. The author is, perhaps, a little too zealous in his pursuit, going so far as to have Henry Wu disembowelled alive as Sattler & Muldoon watch, and even for John Hammond to be nibbled to death after suffering a fall. Hammond is, however, a different creature on the page, lacking Richard Attenborough's remarkable sense of jois de vivre. Many of the characters feel a little wooden on the page - Dr Grant is a lumberjack stock character who loves kids; Muldoon is a drunk; Hammond is a spoilt rich child in an old man's body; and Arnold is just nowhere near as cool as the film made him. The children are opposite ages, and Lex's childish tantrums draw much reptilian attention. And then there's Gennaro - the film's wirey wet blanket, who is swiftly devoured, is on paper a muscular mustachioed businessman who don't take no crap off of nobody. They are all remarkably different to their celluloid counterparts.
As for intention, it is clear that both artists know their audience, and their audiences are rather different. Crichton's research-based, gore-soaked fiction would never suit the warm fuzzy family unit that Spielberg caters to, and yet somehow, using the language of the adventure genre, Spielberg has catered to the broadest market possible. The book is heavily didactic, whereas the film has a sadder tone, lamenting the inevitable failure of man creating something wondrous but exceeding his grasp. Certainly, Crichton wrote a book of consummate imagination, and one with profound relevance and impact - but what he lacked in execution, Spielberg had in spades. No other film has given me such a sense of wonder as this one - the act of creation, though flawed, is palpably awe-inspiring. And he manages to make you believe that dinosaurs exist before you even see them on the screen, using nothing but the expressions of three actors and a perfect music cue.
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