Jurassic Park

A big ole tee-rex.
A big ole tee-rex.

When I told Travis that Jurassic Park was a poo-conflagration of a game, his reply was, “???.” So surprised was he to hear that such an illustrious franchise had flushed its videogaming marbles down the proverbial hole-in-the-ground that he couldn’t even produce a coherent question. Instead, he used his extensive knowledge of symbol to convey his train of thought.

His first “?” is for me. He uses it to indicate both his astonishment and his disgust that something like that could have occurred in such a wonderful world as this.

His second “?” questions the very questioning of my statement that this game is, in fact, a poo-conflagration. After all, a great many games that are based on blockbusters are made of evil; why should this game be an exception?

His third “?” questions the very questioning of the question. Here, he admits that, though he has travelled far in the land of videogames, and though his colours have run and his flag hangs tattered, he still demands a good game every now and then. And he bloody well loved the film Jurassic Park.

Such an internal divide is common when approaching a videogame based on a beloved film. You say to yourself, “Well, all those other games based on movies are right shit, but this one will be different.” And so you play. Of course, the game is shit. But you do not stop playing.

The first stage of the process is denial. Actually, every stage is denial.

Only after a significant amount of time has passed is it possible to look at games like this with some objectivity. Only then is it possible to say, “Goram game got bun buzzit… conflagration.”

Friends, that time is now. Welcome.

Jurassic Park wants you to be sad. It gives you a zappy-gun and says, “Go. Shoot dinosaurs. Have fun,” all while mechanically waving its hand and smiling a smile that is just a shade whiter than it should be. Turns out, all this little zappy-gun is good for is killing the little turnip-eaters that run away if you look at them. What. The. Fuck.

Push it. Push it good. Push it. Push it real good.
Push it. Push it good. Push it. Push it real good.

This is when you realize that what you had originally thought was a Pick Up Shit button is actually a Fuck Me In The Asscrack, Mister Dinosaur button. You get jumped by about seven velocity-raptors (that’s a speed-pun) as soon as you muster the courage to piddle down the garden path. Oh, now you’re back at the start.

Turns out there’s some sort of ball spinny thing place BEHIND you in the map. Lucky you, it makes the dinosaurs blow up. Literally. Blow up. It’s the best part of the game.

So ends a legend.
So ends a legend.

So you try to use that, but you die after you blow up a few dinos, cause you’re kinda bad at it. Back to the start. Guess what, Junior! It’s gone now! You can’t pick it up again, even if you have to continue! You’re actually totally fucked!

Back to the blowing up dinosaurs for a minute. Everything blows up dinosaurs in this game. Found a shotgun? Yeah, that blows ’em up. This becomes amusing when the game inexplicably changes to a sluggish first-person mode. The dinosaurs don’t appear to notice you until you’re standing inches from them, so you can just blow them up from across the room before they know what’s up.

The only way to kill dinosaurs, it seems, is to blow them up. When you throw gas at them they just pass out for about five seconds and then stand up to bite you in the bum.

This game, upon reflection, is awful.

Thank you for your time.

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