History of the Modern Blockbuster: The Last Quarter Century, Part III -- Back to Life

1993's Jurassic Park

What do they got in there: King Kong? 

~Ian Malcolm

In order to create the groundbreaking effects for Star Wars, George Lucas founded his own visual effects company, titled Industrial Light & Magic (ILM), in 1975. Aside from the original trilogy, ILM has since developed pioneering breakthroughs in the motion picture industry, bringing to life characters, worlds, and elements that weren't cinematically possible years before. From a stained-glass knight in 1987's Young Sherlock Holmes, to a water creature in 1989's The Abyss, and the liquid-metal T-1000 in 1991's Terminator 2: Judgment Day. But visual effects reached a new landmark by the summer of 1993, by way of genetically bringing dinosaurs back to life.

Everybody Walk the Dinosaur 
With a tagline that reads, "An adventure 65 million years in the making," director Steven Spielberg adapted Michael Crichton's bestselling novel, Jurassic Park, about a work-in-progress theme park on a Costa Rican island, run by an eccentric billionaire. Two paleontologists, a quick-witted mathematician, and the billionaire's own grandchildren, are brought in for "outside opinions" and initially marvel at the overwhelming sites, yet have their own questions and concerns.

Perhaps paleontologist Alan Grant says it best, "Man and dinosaurs. Two species separated by 65 million years of evolution have just been suddenly thrown back into the mix. How can we possibly have the slightest idea of what to expect?" And when safety precautions go haywire, things turn into a terrifying and dangerous fight for survival.

Jurassic Park deals with man's relationship with technology, with nature, and possibly with humanity. Specifically, the theme of abusing control and power (and even "playing God") is strongly implied, as genetic scientists use dinosaur DNA found in mosquitos stuck in amber millions of years ago. There are even a few subtle references to rival companies trying to gain control over said research and technology.

To reiterate, the film changed the way visual effects were incorporated into movies. Arguably, these onscreen herbivores and carnivores remain the most believable, while the iconic sequences of the eponymous T-rex on the paddock (and a smart choice not to include music) and raptors in the kitchen (with equally irreplaceable sound effects) remain the most heart-pounding moments, putting the audience right there with the characters, in the park. Plus, John Williams' incredible score hits all the right notes.

Some believed Jurassic Park lacked character development and investment compared with the attention-to-detail of the fully-realized dinosaurs. Even so, the characters are arguably realized and relatable here, from paleontologists Alan Grant (Sam Neill) and Ellie Satler (Laura Dern), to entrepreneur John Hammond (the late Richard Attenborough), scientist Ian Malcolm (the unforgettable Jeff Goldblum), and even a pre-Pulp Fiction Samuel L. Jackson as a chain-smoking employee. The film's screenplay (written by Crichton and David Koepp) has a noteworthy structure (a small cast, and a primary setting in the titular park, one of the most memorable places in cinema), and is a great example of how to effectively build tension. No matter how many times I see this and the aforementioned blockbusters, they can still catch me by surprise because they share that same quality.

Back to Reality, and a Familiar Universe
Spielberg began successfully transitioning to more adult dramas in the mid-1980s, beginning with '85's The Color Purple and continuing with 1987's less-successful Empire of the Sun and 1989's Always. The early 90s, however, proved this transition was not a fluke for Spielberg, as he hit two other landmarks in his career: 1993's harrowing Holocaust drama Schindler's List and 1998's equally harrowing war epic Saving Private Ryan, both of which won him the Oscar for best directing.

Meanwhile, many acclaimed films from old and new directors were making an impact in the mainstream and independent outlets, from Frank Darabont (1994's The Shawshank Redemption) to Mel Gibson (1995's Braveheart), Martin Scorsese (1990's Goodfellas), M. Night Shaymalan (1999's The Sixth Sense), and Quentin Tarantino (1994's Pulp Fiction).

Spielberg also made time as a producer on several animated television shows (being a lifelong admirer of century-long medium), as well as films from his short-lived Amblimation company. This was, after all, another golden age of animation, as the Walt Disney Studios was experiencing a "Renaissance" that began with 1989's The Little Mermaid and continued with 1991's Best Picture-nominated Beauty and the Beast, 1992's rapid-fire comedy Aladdin, and 1994's record-breaking The Lion King. This was followed in 1995 by the world's first fully-computer-animated feature from an upstart company called Pixar, a buddy picture called Toy Story. A revolution in how characters and story drove the technology (and not vice versa), the late critic Roger Ebert wrote, "Watching the film, I felt I was in at the dawn of a new era of movie animation, which draws on the best of cartoons and reality, creating a world somewhere in between, where space not only bends but snaps, crackles and pops." This landmark was followed by the critically- and commercially-successful a bug's life (1995) and Toy Story 2 (1999).

Industrial Light & Magic Headquarters in San Francisco, CA

Lucas, who had been working behind the scenes as a producer for his companies Lucasfilm and Industrial Light & Magic, was inspired by the revolutionary visual effects rapidly growing in the industry in the early 90s, from the dinosaurs of Jurassic Park to Tom Hanks being seamlessly
incorporated into historical archival footage in Forrest Gump, alien spaceships blowing up skyscrapers in Independence Day, intense weather spiraling farm cows in Twister, and slow-motion "bullet time" in The Matrix.

Lucas saw an opportunity to go back to some of his initial ideas for Star Wars. In 1997, he reissued the original Star Wars trilogy as a "special edition," with enhanced visual effects and additional scenes, which many fans criticized for robbing them of their memories of seeing the films in the Seventies and Eighties). But that didn't compare with the first chapter of a prequel trilogy that soon followed.

With 1999's Star Wars: Episode I--The Phantom Menace, Lucas and ILM took the saga to new, imaginative visual heights, while telling the backstory of some of the main characters from the original trilogy. The finished film unfortunately left many fans disappointed (frankly, many still hate the character of Jar Jar Binks, ditto a kid version of Anakin Skywalker, an uber-political subplot, a few cardboard stereotypes, and the controversial concept of "midichlorians"), including the fact that it seemed more kid-friendly in comparison.

There are a few things that most critics and audiences can agree on: Ewan McGregor does a great young Obi-Wan Kenobi, Darth Maul is a menacing and intimidating villain, the pod racing sequence is an entertaining knockout, and John Williams' score (particularly "Duel of the Fates") leaves you breathless. Recent retrospect reviews from 2019 (commemorating the film's 20th anniversary) look back on The Phantom Menace with less criticism than its initial release (especially towards actor Ahmed Best). When considering the film's anticipation and polarizing reception, that seemed initially the opposite case with another feature two years prior, about a doomed ship and a melodramatic love story at the center.

"Take Her to Sea, Mr. Murdock"
James Cameron began the making of Titanic with the intention of encountering the real-life R.M.S. ship at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean himself. The making of the film became one of the most expensive and difficult productions in history, perhaps even more than Jaws and Star Wars put together. With massive sets, cold gallons of water, hundreds of extras, millions of dollars over budget, and a delayed release date, many industry insiders predicted Cameron's tale of "Romeo & Juliet on a ship" as a financial failure.

When it was released in December of 1997, the result (like it or not) was epic storytelling and filmmaking that was equal parts spectacular, romantic, thrilling, and harrowing. Sure, the story was predictable. (It practically lays out the overview of the ship's tragic 1912 sinking from the get-go.) But it's not the what that makes Cameron's screenplay unique, but how and why it happened. Opening in the present day, an elderly survivor (the late Gloria Stuart) tells her story to a group of ocean divers (led by the late Bill Paxton) in search of lost artifacts and "untold stories" (particular a blue heart necklace).

Titanic far exceeds just mere romanticism and teenage heartthrobs (considering 90s stars and leads Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet). The story involves social and class differences, as well as man-made technology that didn't hold up as perceived (similar to the tower of Babel in Genesis). Yes, there is a romantic subplot: Rose (Winslet) is a society girl who feels like she's seen where her life is going, and sees no way out of it (including her forced engagement to her haughty fiance). That is, until she meets Jack (DiCaprio), a penniless artist who makes life count at best. Rose's character (as corny as it may seem) has the most compelling development here.

To be fair, Jack does save her from ending her life, helps her see how freeing it can be, and inspires her to be strong and enduring no matter what adversities come their way. Part of that "liberation" here, however, involves modeling naked (a rather lengthy scene for a PG-13 film) and having a rendezvous in the back of an automobile. The film is agreeably sentimental at times, but weren't most early 20th century films? (Gone With the Wind, anybody?)

According to Cameron, during an interview for the film's 3D re-release in 2012, one of the reasons this film was such a success and has endured is that it bridged a generational gap. The film can be seen as a testament to those who survived and to the memory of those who lost their lives (an objective perspective that is effectively represented in various supporting--and compelling--characters in the film).

Sure, there are many iconic moments like DiCaprio's "king of the world" ad-lib (a la Roy Scheider's "bigger boat" line in Jaws) and the last sunset at the bow of the ship (one of the most magical movie moments, implying a sense of freedom). The cast is first-rate, including Billy Zane (as the egotistical Cal) and Kathy Bates (as the "unsinkable" Molly Brown). The late James Horner's score is ethereal and moving (and reportedly remains the most successful film score in history). And the film seamlessly blends real and artificial footage of the actual ship, haunting shots that appear as "ghosts" from the past (a theme Cameron would explore in his subsequent documentary Ghosts of the Abyss).

DiCaprio and Winslet have gone on to further acclaim and celebrated careers, even reuniting eleven years later for the devastating 2008 drama Revolutionary Road, and winning their own Oscar statues down the line (DiCaprio for 2015's The Revenant, and Winslet for 2008's The Reader). In addition, they each wouldn't star in another blockbuster hit until the 2010's, with Inception and the Divergent film series, respectfully.

Cameron, meanwhile, took a sabbatical from filmmaking for a few years, to continually explore the depths of the ocean. His next feature film would again revolutionize visual effects and moviemaking, and would not have been possible had it not been for a series of unprecedented films (which began development in the latter part of the Nineties) based on the works of J.R.R. Tolkien.

History of the Modern Blockbuster: The Last Quarter Century, Part II -- A Trip to the Moon

The 1980s was a period of radical, turbulent change. It was an era of teenage stories from John Hughes, machismo action from the likes of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone, time-traveling DeLoreons, music videos on MTV, dark fantasy adventures, inspirational sports movies, and a landmark DC superhero. This was, perhaps more than any other decade, a time of youth-oriented and/or thrill-seeking escapism at the movies.

Long before the Marvel Cinematic Universe, George Lucas initially conceived Star Wars as an ambitious and epic story. He eventually decided to focus on "the first act," in the hopes of telling the other "episodes" down the road. Sure enough, the first film (subsequently known as Star Wars: Episode IV--A New Hope) was a massive hit, and paved the way for the aforementioned installments. (It is curious, however, why Lucas began with episodes numbered IV, V, and VI, respectfully.)

Late film critics Gene Siskel & Roger Ebert believed that 1980's The Empire Strikes Back established and cemented Star Wars as a successful franchise. In retrospect, many declare this second entry as the best in the franchise's canon--and agreeably so. With strong character arcs and developments (Han and Leia's relationship dynamic, Luke's jedi training, Yoda's wisdom, Lando Calrissian's history with Han Solo), improved effects (Imperial walkers, anybody?), and a shocking anticlimax involving the backstory of Darth Vader, Empire set a tentpole for sequels (or middle chapters, in the case of trilogies), with more complex themes, intense action, and challenging emotional dilemmas.

Do, or do not. There is no try.

~Yoda

1983's Return of the Jedi concluded the original trilogy in 1983. Despite being declared the weakest entry (with a more kid-friendly, and possible consumer-driven, approach), it was nevertheless a satisfying roller-coaster, as well as a noble end to Luke Skywalker's "hero's journey". Audiences and critics assumed this was the end of the series, aside from a spinoff TV series ("Ewoks") and reissues of all three films in the late Nineties. It was also famously parodied (along with all things sci-fi) by funnyman Mel Brooks in the 1987 cult comedy Spaceballs, which Lucas permitted with the sole condition that no merchandise be developed from the movie.

(l-r) Steven Spielberg, R2-D2, and George Lucas in the 1980s

A Match Made at the Movies
Lucas, meanwhile, collaborated with Steven Spielberg on several blockbuster hits throughout the decade, particularly the Indiana Jones films (an original creation of Lucas, centered on an alternate James Bond-esque archeologist), beginning with 1981's Raiders of the Lost Ark, which further cemented Harrison Ford's career in the process. In fact, both Lucas and Spielberg became known for paying homage to the spirit of 1940s serials for both Star Wars and Indiana Jones, in terms of reviving old-fashioned adventures for contemporary (more sophisticated) audiences.

The same went for Spielberg's collaborations with directors Richard Donner (1985's The Goonies), Robert Zemeckis (1985's Back to the Future, 1988's Who Framed Roger Rabbit), and animator Don Bluth (1986's An American Tale, 1988's The Land Before Time). Lucas and Spielberg even received their fair share of criticisms, compared with the transitions in Hollywood and audience's evolving and ever-changing tastes in entertainment.

That being said, this may have also been the last decade where moviegoing bridged a generational gap between young and old, where themes and ideas were more sincere, compared to many of the (pardon me for being candid) hip-centered trends that pervaded the proceeding era. Not to say there weren't any significant revolutions in the Nineties, as I'll mention in my next post.

In a way, it seems fitting (and remarkable) that the most universally- and financially-successful film that attracted young and old in the 1980s was Steven Spielberg's story of a simple yet unexpected friendship between a young suburban boy and a lonely alien from another world.

To the Moon and Back
E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial follows a family affected and damaged by divorce (a personal theme for Spielberg), until a special visitor changes their lives (especially young Elliot), helping them rediscover a sense of "home" and what it means to feel for others.

Released in 1982, and during a time when family films weren't the box-office norm (least of all, Disney), E.T. bridged a gap in genre-defining cinema between generations of moviegoers, much the same way Star Wars did five years prior. As a science-fiction adventure, a coming-of-age fantasy, and a remembrance of childhood innocence, this is craft, artistry, and pathos rarely found in such films. Some would call it wonder and enchantment of a different sort, from a child's point of view.

As evidenced by unanimous acclaim from special screenings at the Cannes Film Festival and at the White House that year, E.T. transcended its contemporary America setting. For instance, the opening and closing sequences of the film are reminiscent of a silent picture, as John Williams' incredible score plays like a symphony. And that famous bike chase? Boy, they don't make 'em like they used to! (To me, this is the only film of that era to showcase effective and exciting bike sequences, next to 1979's Breaking Away).

It's interesting how this movie is less special-effects-driven and (like Jaws) more emotion- and character-focused. Although, its practical effects, particularly Carlo Rambaldi's irreplaceable designs for the lovable creature (especially when he's wearing a blue plaid shirt), still remarkably hold up. What children and audiences remember, most of all, is how E.T. made them feel, how it touched them. (The tagline, in fact, reads, "The story that touched the world.")

Thanks to Spielberg's direction, the late Melissa Mathison's script, the genuine performances of the child actors (including Henry Thomas and Drew Barrymore), and Williams' aforementioned music, E.T. is a cinematic experience that is mysterious and thrilling as it is emotional. By the early 1990s, audiences would be reminded why Universal Pictures was one of the greatest (if not the greatest) motion picture studio(s) in history. And it would partially be thanks to "an adventure 65 million years in the making."

History of the Modern Blockbuster: The Last Quarter Century, Part I -- Out of the Water and Into Hyperspace

Most people apparently forget (well, some wouldn't know anyway, because they weren't there) that the "summer blockbuster" was not a hot commodity prior to 1975. Sure, there have been many popular features that dominated ticket sales for decades, from Walt Disney's definitive animated fairy tale Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937) to Victor Fleming's historical epic romance Gone With the Wind (1939), Julie Andrews' melodic presence in The Sound of Music (1965), Francis Ford Coppola's mob drama The Godfather (1972), and William Friedkin's terrifying and controversial The Exorcist (1973).

For the last 45 years alone, only seven movies have each held the title of "most successful [financially] of all-time". Looking back, these films (along with the aforementioned) represent a fraction of the history of cinemagoing. From the depths of the ocean to the far reaches of space, bikes to the moon and back, resurrected dinosaurs and great ships, a world called Pandora, and iconic superheroes, the impact of the "blockbuster" feature has had a profound effect on the general public, popular culture, and filmmaking and storytelling in general.

The following is the first in a new series on selective films since 1975, some of which (adjusted for inflation) still rank as some of the very best. And to think this exponential trend all started with a bestselling Peter Benchley novel about a shark.

You're gonna need a bigger boat. 

~Martin Brody

In the 1970s, a group of up-and-coming directors made pictures that transcended art and redefined cinema. Some of them centered on the "anti-hero" (i.e., Martin Scorsese's Taxi Driver) while others dealt with traumas from the Vietnam war (Coppola's Apocalypse Now). Only a few, meanwhile, focused on periods of innocence before the latter time (i.e., George Lucas's American Graffiti), while some were an inspiration for millions facing adversity (i.e., John G. Avildsen's Rocky). This may also have been the last decade where arthouse-related films from visionary filmmakers dominated theaters and attracted the general public. That may have all changed due to the unexpected success of a sleeper thriller from a young director--one Steven Spielberg--who had only made two feature films prior, and considered his third directorial outing as both a "courageous" and "horrendous" experience.

Watching Jaws, you wouldn't think that it suffered from several production issues. From an initial eight-week shoot turning into seven months to actor Robert Shaw (who plays shark hunter Quint)'s alcoholism and the constant malfunctioning of the animatronic shark (nicknamed "Bruce," or "the Great White Turd"), Spielberg considers this film the hardest he's ever made (above 1998's Saving Private Ryan and 2018's Ready Player One).

Like other revered films that have endured behind-the-scenes drama, they're now considered dramatic irony--maybe in the best way. Because the mechanical beast wasn't operating effectively, Spielberg utilized a Hitchcockian approach in not revealing the eponymous creature for the first half of the film, which wouldn't have had the same effect otherwise--and why the sequels and various subsequent rip-offs don't. Jaws is a prime example of a high-concept feature: in this case, a great white shark terrorizing a small resort town.

(l-r) Robert Shaw, Roy Scheider, and Richard Dreyfuss in 1975's Jaws

What really carries the film's screenplay (written by Benchley, Carl Gottlieb, and an uncredited Howard Sackler) are its non-cookie-cutter characters, all fully-dimensional and engrossing. There's police chief Marcus Brody (Roy Scheider) ,who is faced with guilt over the safety of the local Amity Island's residents and dismissive authorities (and a personal fear of the water). Fisherman Quint (Shaw) hides a personal grudge against sharks (just listen to his haunting speech about the Indianapolis) and an apparent disdain for others, while scientist Matt Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss) seems to be the only other voice of reason. All characters deal with believable and plausible dilemmas, including the fact (and truth) that such traumatizing events could happen anywhere, even in places that aren't typically known for such events.

While not an enjoyable film to have made, Jaws remains an incredible and effective (if tense and thrilling) one to watch. From a bold storytelling and directorial point of view, it could qualify as something of a perfect film; almost two for the price of one, in fact. First, we have a psychological horror-thriller. And second, we have an adventure story involving hunting and killing a supposedly unstoppable force. Plus, John Williams' unforgettable score always reminds audiences of impending terror, while the shark itself still holds up really well.

It's not for everybody: it still makes people afraid of water, and is quite bloody. (Not to mention an opening scene involving skinny-dipping.) Nevertheless, this is the kind of movie that demands to be seen on the big screen. (I had an opportunity to see it as such, two years ago.) It's one of the few primary examples of art and roller-coaster that exceeded box-office expectations.

That's no moon. It's a space station.
~Obi-Wan Kenobi

As a protege of Coppola, George Lucas's interests ranged from anthropology to science-fiction to automobiles (clearly expressed in his first two features, 1971's THX-1138 and 1973's American Graffiti, respectfully). Inspired by Flash Gordon serials of the 1940s and, more specifically the writings of American professor Joseph Campbell, Lucas was motivated to create a story for children of the current generation, who were apparently growing up without fairy tales and mythological stories.

The story, as simple as it was, followed a ragtag team of intergalactic misfits on a quest to destroy a powerful machine before it destroys other planets. The characters included droid robots, farm boys, princesses, rebel fighters, Jedi masters, an evil empire, and furry creatures called Wookies. What made Lucas's creation unique was its pastiche of various genres and archetypes. Instead of western gunslingers or samurai warriors, there were Jedi knights wielding lightsabers. Instead of cars, they drive spaceships and X-wings.

Interestingly, many critics and historians have found similarities between this film and The Wizard of Oz . Both consist of a hero's journey (compare farm girl Dorothy and farm boy Luke Skywalker), with assistance from some companions (Scarecrow, Tin Man and Cowardly Lion, compared to the humanoid C-3PO, trash can-like R2-D2, Wookie Chewbacca, lone pilot Han Solo, Leia) and an age-old master (the Wizard and Obi-Wan Kenobi) against a powerful adversary (the Wicked Witch and her castle of flying monkeys; and Darth Vader, the Empire and the Death Star). These were fantasy worlds and original characters that had never been seen before. Hence the now-iconic opening tagline, "A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away . . ."

Released in 1977, the same year as Spielberg's Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Lucas didn't believed Star Wars would be more--if not as--successful as Spielberg's. John Williams scored both films, with the latter undoubtedly becoming the most influential. (Seriously, anybody can recognize the opening theme just by hearing the very first note.) More than that, Star Wars forever changed the way movies are marketed, how they incorporate special effects (particularly in service to story), the way they sound, and the way they appeal to general audiences. And since that time, Lucas's intent in maintaining fairy tales and mythology paid off with millions of current-generation children and adults being impacted by way of science-fiction, technology, and imagination. And hundreds of thousands of giant movie theater screens.

You've taken your first step into a larger world.
~Obi-Wan Kenobi

THE CLASSICS: "Raiders of the Lost Ark" or, Spielberg and Lucas--A Match Made in the Movies

When one looks back at the most popular films of the last quarter of the 20th century, the growing trend of box-office hits from that period on is arguably thanks to two men in particular: Steven Spielberg and George Lucas. 

Having both studied film in the 1960s before making it big with such revered "blockbusters" as Jaws and Star Wars, respectfully, it was only a matter of time before both filmmakers collaborated on an exciting project. 

Lucas and Spielberg were reportedly on vacation simultaneously in the late-Seventies. Lucas's "space opera" exceeded even his wildest expectations, while Spielberg experienced his first financial disaster (1979's war comedy 1941). The latter had always wanted to make a James Bond film, but Lucas had a better suggestion: a story about an archeologist who searches the globe for artifacts long lost for thousands of years. The character was named Indiana Jones (after Lucas's own dog, no joke), the artifact was the Ark of the Covenant (as described in the Book of Genesis), and, as Star Wars was an homage to sci-fi matinee serials of the 1940s, Raiders of the Lost Ark (released in 1981) would echo the adventure serials of that same period, but with more sophisticated. 

Considered one of the best Hollywood scripts ever produced (courtesy Lawrence Kasdan, Lucas, and Philip Kaufman), Raiders has easily identifiable villains (common in serials), dangerous and unpredictable situations, some intense pre-PG-13-level violence, and one of the most unforgettable opening sequences of any film (Jones running from a giant boulder never ceases to excite). The same goes for the film's many iconic lines ("Why'd it have to be snakes?"), stunts (i.e., dangling under a speeding truck), and scary special effects (melting faces, anybody?)

Karen Allen (and Harrison Ford's silhouette) in Raiders of the Lost Ark

And the best part? Harrison Ford is at his charismatic best as the daring explorer, who never seems to catch a break but always carries such swag (and we love him for it), while Karen Allen's Marion Ravenwood is far from a damsel in distress--to be fair, she does mildly fit the bill, but only just--and can clearly stand up for herself. (Now there's a strong and sassy heroine, if ever there was one.)

What followed were three sequels ('84's overly-dark Temple of Doom, '89's redemptive father-son-focused Last Crusade, 2008's long-awaited-if-disappointing-and-CGI-loaded Kingdom of the Crystal Skull), a spinoff TV series centered on a teenage Jones, and a fifth adventure currently in the works. 

If anything, Raiders is proof that you can make a great film for popcorn thrills, especially if there's genuine quality and investment along for the ride. It remains one of the best in cinema history.