I saw Unknown Island when I was eight years old, packed into a Saturday matinee in a tiny theater in a little California town with a bunch of my buddies. The movie didn't drive us from the theater in fear, but it was scary enough, and fun enough, that its plot devices became themes for a summer of children's pretend games of dinosaur hunts and battles against giant sloths. The sexual undercurrents of the film were lost on us: bring on the prehistoric beasts!
I never expected to see it again, but a browse through the Netflix library turned it up, and I couldn't wait to be disappointed! Of course I was, but so what? It was worth the repeat viewing just to be reminded that there was a time when my imagination could overcome cheesy production values, silly dialogue, and incoherent plotting. Movies are magic, especially for the young. Unknown Island made me long again, if only briefly, for a bag of stale popcorn, a Big Hunk candy bar, and a Captain Marvel serial.
And for another summer of games in the woods, running after, or away from, those pesky dinosaurs.
I never expected to see it again, but a browse through the Netflix library turned it up, and I couldn't wait to be disappointed! Of course I was, but so what? It was worth the repeat viewing just to be reminded that there was a time when my imagination could overcome cheesy production values, silly dialogue, and incoherent plotting. Movies are magic, especially for the young. Unknown Island made me long again, if only briefly, for a bag of stale popcorn, a Big Hunk candy bar, and a Captain Marvel serial.
And for another summer of games in the woods, running after, or away from, those pesky dinosaurs.