It was supposedly Samuel Taylor Coleridge, circa 1817, who first wrote that enjoying fictional entertainment required “a willing suspension of disbelief.” I was reminded of that yesterday when, in a rare day that didn’t require class, court, or conveyance, the Evil Princess and I took half an afternoon off to go into a movie theater (we vaguely remembered having done so in the past) and watching “Jurassic World.”
Now, I’ll try like hell not to say anything that might spoil it for you, but as Backwoods Home’s resident gun guy, I need to warn you that you’ll have to willingly suspend your disbelief as to how a lever action rifle such as the Marlin Guide Gun can be fired, not to mention the “less-lethal weapons” stuff. That aside, though, it’s a pretty cool movie.
Mainly, it flashed me back to a theater in Michigan in the early 1990s where some friends and I saw the first “Jurassic Park” movie. Then as with this new version, it was the super-hot new movie of the season, and Time and Newsweek and such were saying that it was so scary that parents should preview it before letting their kids see it. My daughters were eager to catch that flick, and the youngest was about eight, so I felt duty-bound to check it out beforehand.
Good Lord…what a validation for those of us who are responsibly armed!
In that first “Jurassic Park,” those people had a good idea what they were getting into before they got there, and still went unarmed…and paid the price. The time-proven FN FAL 7.62mm semiautomatic battle rifles and the SPAS-12 semiautomatic shotguns were kept in an armory, accessible only to the privileged elite (an allegory here, maybe?) when the dinosaurs started taking over. Soon, there were some human body parts laying next to a jammed SPAS-12; being familiar with that particular weapon, I thought “Hey – that’s real!”
Throughout the movie, this or that T-rex was chasing folks and I found myself thinking, “The .458 Magnum elephant rifle I took to Africa would drop one of those.” I know people who’d pay a king’s ransom to hunt a Tyrannosaurus Rex in Central America. As the packed theater audience cringed with “oohs” and “aahs” I thought, “What’s you people’s problem? Shoot the effing lizards!”
One character described the ominous characteristics of the Velociraptors: about six feet long with tough, leathery skin and sharp fangs and claws. I actually pulled my concealing garment back as I sat in the theater and looked down at the Colt .45 automatic in my holster, and saw the reassuring little green eyes of the Trijicon rear night-sight look back up at me. Six feet tall? Leather jacket? Multiple edged weapons? All over America, cops and law-abiding armed citizens deal with that every day with gear like what I’ve got on in this theater in 1993!
And, OMG, the ending of the original “Jurassic Park.” For what I later counted as nine minutes or so, two poor little kids struggle desperately to stay ahead of the Velociraptors before their deux ex machina rescue. I knew then and there that if those children were my kick-ass daughters, they would have long since found their way into their armory and availed themselves of a couple of FN FALs. When the Velociraptors kicked in the door on them, there would have been a short burst of well-directed, high-powered gunfire, and my kids would have spent the rest of those nine minutes asking each other, “How many purses and shoes and belts do you think we can make out of these suckers?”