‘Dinosaur’ Belongs in a Museum
The Scoop features personal essays on movie-centric topics.
By Elliott Cuff
There’s no dispute Walt Disney Animation Studios is an industry powerhouse. Most of us who grew up loving movies grew up with Disney, and the timeless appeal of their extensive catalog ensures they remain as influential now as they once were.
But given the sheer size of said catalog, it’s only natural the occasional movie might slip through the cracks. Not every film can get the same marketing push or be the next Toy Story.
In the early 2000s, Disney twice attempted to shake up their tried and tested formula, a cinematic style that had produced hit after hit during their Renaissance era the decade prior. Both Dinosaur (2000) and Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001) did away with musical numbers and fanciful comedy, instead focusing on more grounded storytelling.
Neither film debuted to financial success, and both were far from beloved by critics either. Atlantis: The Lost Empire has managed to garner somewhat of a cult following in recent years, whereas Dinosaur has not been able to break through and find new audiences in the same way.
Dinosaur certainly had a following of at least one in my household when I was a child. I owned the PlayStation video game tie-in and the detachable Carnotaurus action figure, and I abused that VHS tape. Part of me wonders if my love for Dinosaur led me to discover Jurassic Park, which would go on to become my lifelong favorite film.
But some childhood favorites should remain in the past. They should be preserved in amber as nostalgic memories that we dare not alter by viewing them through a more mature lens.
Dinosaur is not one of those films.
Small touches with a big impact
It’s easy to be swept up in the movie right from the opening sequence, with James Newton Howard’s beautiful score leading us in. The flute music is peaceful and serene, evoking a sense of wonderment that feels apt for the prehistoric world we’re about to visit. The opening piece is briefly punctuated by a short section of narration from Alfre Woodard before we’re introduced to a group of nameless and non-verbal dinosaurs.
We see an Iguanodon watch over her nest of eggs while a young Parasaurolophus chases birds through a body of water and then pursues an insect into the jungle. This unfortunately attracts the attention of an antagonistic Carnotaurus, who bursts out of the clearing and chaotically destroys all but a single Iguanodon egg as it doggedly pursues and kills a Pachyrhinosaurus. This gives an opportunity for a crafty Oviraptor to steal the remaining egg, which it then drops into a river.
Thus begins one of Disney’s single greatest animated sequences, which, in a groundbreaking move for the studio, magnificently blends an assortment of CGI dinosaurs into real backgrounds. Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988) had seen animated characters interact with a live-action world before, but Dinosaur took it to a new level. That the majority of the film was shot on location is astonishing enough, and even more so given how often the digital assets appear to blend into their environments seamlessly.
You can’t deny that the character models have aged somewhat, but the attention to detail in how they are animated makes them feel like living creatures. Small touches like having the muscles ripple when the dinosaurs move and roar (pretty sure dinosaurs didn’t roar, by the way) made them feel organic and alive.
We could have seen an entirely different style of animation though, with Phil Tippet and Paul Verhoeven having originally developed the film with stop-motion in mind. Creative differences led to them leaving the project, and Disney wisely hired Ralph Zondag as one of the film’s co-directors. Zondag had previous Dino credentials, having directed We’re Back! A Dinosaur’s Story (1993) and before that served as a directing animator for the wonderful The Land Before Time (1988).
A mystical storytelling alchemy
But Dinosaur couldn’t simply serve as a visual showcase; it also needed to have a compelling narrative. It needed characters we could latch onto to populate the stunning vistas and barren terrain, and thankfully it was able to bring both of those facets together.
Dinosaur essentially operates as a wilderness Western, as we follow a multi-species herd of nomadic dinosaurs who traverse a great distance in search of the communal Nesting Grounds. Our herd is a wagon train led by a Darwinistic cattle driver, Kron, who is determined to reach his destination with or without the stragglers. Our heroes, predictably, care more about the needs of every individual than the few, and are determined to support each other through the troubles presented to them by the harsh climate and the pursuing predators in the shape of two vicious (and unsurprisingly non-verbal) Carnotaurus.
“The movie works not despite its simplicity but because of it.”
You could argue Dinosaur has a simplistic plot in that sense, with a small number of more personal narrative strands like protagonist Aladar’s romance with Neera and the comedic throughline that sees lemur Zini consistently fail to impress a mate.
But none are as compelling as the main narrative journey. The movie works not despite its simplicity but because of it. And its emotional beats land in part because of Howard’s special score and partially because Disney doesn’t cheapen them by punctuating the breezy 75-minute (without credits) runtime with musical numbers.
Dinosaur endures because it effectively combines the elements you’d expect from a Disney animated film with all those you’d want from a dinosaur adventure film. It’s fun throughout, it's sometimes scary and intense, and it has some truly exciting sequences that, through some mystical alchemy, allow it to transcend its limitations.
Though long buried in the thick bedrock of Disney’s animation catalog, Dinosaur deserves to be excavated and admired for the unsung gem it is.
Elliott Cuff is a writer, journalist, and film enthusiast. Follow him on Instagram @elliottlovesmovies.