Dinotopia Exists
“During the last twenty years, however, dinosaurs have vaulted to a steady level of culturally pervasive popularity — from gentle Barney, who teaches proper values to young children on a PBS television series, to ferocious monsters who can promote films from G to R ratings. The dinosaurian flooding of popular consciousness guarantees that no paleontologist can ever face a journalist and avoid what seems to be the most pressing question of the Nineties: Why are children so fascinated with dinosaurs?”
— Stephen Jay Gould
“Anything one can imagine, other men can make real.”
James Gurney could well be the Jules Verne of our time. Verne, alongside such figures as Marcel Proust, was one of the great French writers of the modern era. In particular, Verne is considered science-fiction’s father, well, modern science-fiction at least. (You could trace the genre back to Lucian of Samosata of the 2nd century) Among Verne’s most famous works are 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, 80 Days Around The World, A Trip To The Moon, and Journey To The Center Of The Earth. His stories predicted luxurious submarines that explored the depths of our oceans and bullet shaped rockets that pierced the moon’s surface. Verne’s novels were more about the awe of scientific possibility, than the popular Manichean route that pits good against evil. This is what separates Verne from many of the more conventional science-fiction narratives we’ve been getting these days, from The Force Awakens to The Avengers. This isn’t to say that stories of this sort are bad (many are quite good), but that it can be easy to forget the other side of science-fiction: the great expedition. These narratives have often served the as the vertebrae of the genre: The Last American, The Time Machine, Star Trek, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Wings of the Honneamise, Contact, and now, Dinotopia.
Like most kids in the third or fourth grade, I had a love affair with dinosaurs. These scaly beasts were everywhere during the 1990’s, an obsession that spilled over into the early 2000’s. You’d almost have thought that they came back from extinction. In the essay “Dinomania”, the paleontologist Stephen Jay Gould said that, “Public fascination has always followed these prehistoric beasts.” You could say it all began with the unearthing of “Sue” in 1990. Named after her discoverer, Susan Hendrickson, “Sue” was the most complete Tyrannosaurus fossil ever found, and to this day remains among the most coveted fossils by American museums (I saw a replica of her in Ohio when I was a kid). Then came Spielberg’s adaptation of Jurassic Park in 1993, which was the first time that photorealistic dinosaurs were depicted on film. The thriller became one of the highest grossing and popular films of all time, and even today, many of its computer effects still hold up. It is largely thanks to Jurassic Park that dinosauria became profitable. In 1992, PBS chronicled the history of paleontology in The Dinosaurs! miniseries. In 1997, Jurassic Park got a sequel, The Lost World. In Roland Emmerich’s infamous 1998 Godzilla remake, while not about dinosaurs, rode the dinofever wave with its shameless aping of Jurassic Park imagery. In 1999, the BBC released the ground-breaking documentary series Walking With Dinosaurs, which utilized computer effects to accurately depict dinosaurs in their natural habitat. Disney inevitably got a piece of the pie in 2000 with their CGI film Dinosaur, which had promise until the dinosaurs starting speaking. With the release of Jurassic Park III in 2001, it seems as if dinofever had met its end. It’s hard to think of a more appropriate closing chapter, with the once triumphant Tyrannosaurus unceremoniously murdered within the first half hour. However, Hallmark Entertainment made a last grasp at exploiting the remains of America’s dinofever with their impressive three day premiere of Dinotopia on ABC.
The highest praise I can bestow onto Hallmark’s Dinotopia is that it got more people interested in the books. Hallmark Entertainment (now Sonar), is notorious for its trashy TV films. The LJN of television. Who can forget how they butchered A Wizard Of Earthsea, possibly the only fantasy novel to surpass The Lord Of The Rings, with its whitewashed cast and tacky visual effects? Le Guin herself took to Slate to publicly air her disgust with Hallmark’s garbage, writing, “All they intended was to use the name Earthsea, and some of the scenes from the books, in a generic McMagic movie with a meaningless plot based on sex and violence.”
Dinotopia, fortunately, doesn’t come off quite as bad, but that’s only due to cosmetics. Quite a lot of effort was put into mimicking the Gurney’s impressive illustrations. The color saturation, however, lacks the richness and vivacity of books, a pale imitation. Even the original Star Trek, with its budgetary limits, understood the importance of color better than this foggy mirror. Beyond that, Hallmark’s Dinotopia fails to challenge or educate children on the same level as the books. In fact, Dinotopia is, at times, presented more as a sterile, fascistic cult than a warm partnership between humans and dinosaurs. Certainly, that romantic element exists, but the filmmakers also want to sneer at it through the character of Karl. This simply won’t do. The filmmakers, apparently, weren’t courageous enough to believe in Dinotopia as Jackson believed in Middle-Earth. No, they had to compromise with the Lee Crabbes of the world who couldn’t conceive of such an enterprise without dogma or naivete. Karl now comes off as the most rational character, given that those enamored with the island are simpletons. Karl’s brother, David, is a self-righteous prick who always finds reason to complain and spite his sibling (even to the point of smirking about their father’s “death”).
What this series needed was a Professor Arronax, or to be more precise, an Arthur Denison, who could appreciate the scientific significance of such a land, and convey as much to an everyday audience. David is no such intellect, as for all his bookishness, he’s apparently ignorant of Pangaea. In any case, the two seem more interested in Marion’s panties than in dinosaurs. Much of their activity in Dinotopia is a Freudian conquest for her affection, though Marion is hardly worth giving a fuss about, as she speaks with all the tour-de-force of Padme Amidala, and is about as stupid, too. After a late night swim (and possibly sex) with Karl, Marion still seems just as befuddled by his romantic advances as an eight year old girl. Look, I’ll be the first to admit that a lot of sincerity and care was put into this project, (particularly the special effects) but the two brothers just come off as so mean-spirited and unlikable that I can’t bear to follow them through. Even the wonderful distractions of David Thelwis, Terry Jones’s score, and ping-pong dinosaurs couldn’t save this sinking vessel.
But enough about Hallmark.
When one thinks of dinosaurs, they think of danger. Though I suppose that’s the natural reaction, when one considers that the word dinosaur means “terrible lizard”. Well before Jurassic Park frightened American audiences, dinosaurs were often typecast as fearful beasts akin to the chimeras or dragons of legend. The first picture to feature dinosaurs was the 1925 adaptation of Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Lost World, where stop-motion effects first brought to life these prehistoric lizards as they rampaged through the city. The dinosaur as a behemoth from hell was further cemented with the release of King Kong, where our cast is trapped on an island with dinosaurs ready to rip them to shreds. A more nuanced account of the dinosaurs didn’t arrive until Fantasia’s “Rite of Spring” in 1940, though the segment’s focus was more of a general account of prehistory than of dinosaurs. Even so, the science itself is dubious, with Tyrannosaurus and Stegosaurus encountering one another, despite being separated by millions of years. Not to mention that carnivore is depicted as malicious, while the herbivore is shown as victim. While original Jurassic Park certainly appreciated the wonder of dinosaurs, it’s primarily function was as a thriller.
What separates Gurney’s Dinotopia from most dinosaur fictions is that he is grounded in realism and optimism. If Jurassic Park shows how relations between humans and dinosaurs can go wrong, then Dinotopia is about how those relations can go right. Of course, many liberties are taken on Gurney’s island, as these dinosaurs are intelligent. Not only do they have language, but they also have culture. This isn’t to say, however, that Dinotopia devolves into the same sanctimonious piffle of The Land Before Time series, because while being a “fantasy” world, Gurney treats it with all the respect of a real one,
“I wanted Dinotopia to be a flawed utopia in a perpetual state of instability and self-correction. There was a danger in letting it become too sentimental or preachy. I was attracted to the idea of a utopia only if it were tempered by challenges and pitfalls. Paradise needed a curmudgeon like Lee Crabb. There had to be plenty of meat-eaters ripping at the edges, not motivated by hate, but by hunger. I tried to focus on the practicalities of daily life, because I felt that utopian stories risk being mired in the abstractions of politics, economics, and religion. Even though I dwell in fantasy, at heart I’m a realist in love with commonplace detail. I’m interested in the ordinances of extraordinary scenes. That meant showing not just the parade, but the clean-up after the parade,” (166).
The Dinotopia books are crafted from the fictional diaries of the scientist Arthur Denison and his son Will. Arthur’s wife has recently passed, so they decide to take a voyage on the Venturer as a means of uplifting their moods. A typhoon hits them, and like Robinson Crusoe, they remain shipwrecked on an unknown island. It seems that Arthur, like us, perceives danger when encountering dinosaurs. As when the Protoceratops Bix, a multilingual diplomat, attempts to communicate with him, he injures her with a rock. The two are then surrounded by a number of fearsome herbivores, from Anklyosaurus to Triceratops. Intimidating for sure, but not harmful. Arthur and Will are welcomed with open arms at the Hatchery, where dinosaur eggs are hatched and nursed. Similarly, these two be born again as Dinotopians.
So how are Arthur and Will to grow in a land where humans, ignorant of the outside world, work alongside beasts that have the knowledge of millions of years? A good compass for navigating this strange land is to take the advice of Joseph Campbell, who urged his students to, “Follow your bliss. Find where it is, and don’t be afraid to follow it.” Dinotopia gives the Denisons free range to fulfill what Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist would dub their “Personal Legend.” A yearning that is encouraged by society, not inhibited by it. This is wherein lies the impetus for utopia.
Arthur Denison, the spiritual successor to Verne’s Professor Arronax, is an accomplished man of science with an ineffable taste for the unknown. Dinotopia provides him with inexhaustible bounty, he calls it, “a Mecca for a biologist. How Burton and Livingstone — indeed Darwin himself — would envy the chance to document such a place, even if it meant, as I have done today, playing nanny to a herd of hardosaurs” (28). Arthur’s journal waxes lyrical about about the various species and fauna in this land apart from time. So many in fact, that he may spend the rest of his life doing so, “There is a lifetime — a long lifetime — of work to do here. I cannot start soon enough” (155). In one rather moving scene, Arthur walks through the woods with Melanie, a girl whose love of nature mirrors his own, “Melanie has reawakened in me the love of Nature, the joy of knowledge gained in carefree wanderings out-of-doors which, as a boy, led me to become a scientist” (95). As Arthur journeys on, he’ll find that this Dinotopia is at the very heart of human interest in science, as the makings of a great scientist include curiosity, creativity, and conscientiousness.
So what value does Dinotopia have for Will? His father mostly connects to Dinotopia on an intellectual level. By contrast, Will connects to the island on an emotional level. Will is rather quick to make friends with Slyvia, a fiery girl who shares his affinity for the skies. Arthur understands this behavior, saying, “He may have missed the companionship of young people during our long sojourn at sea” (28). Though it isn’t just humans he finds company with, but dinosaurs as well. He becomes close to Bix, who serves as something of a Jiminy Cricket for him. In one scene, Will laments that his Skybax, Cirrus cannot be controlled, and Bix humorously advises him that “Sylvia won’t be controlled, either” (128). There is hardly a more palpable metaphor for human-dinosaur relations than that between rider and Skybax. While the Skybax aren’t technically “dinosaurs” (Quetzalcoatlus to be exact), I think the relation between human and prehistoric creature is meant to be emblematic. Being a partnership, neither member can be controlled. Will is lectured by his instructor for trying to steer his Skybax like a horse. Instead, he must earn their respect by having, in his instructor’s words, “a feel for what it takes to climb up through the air with a heavy weight on your back” (129). They must climb one of Dinotopia’s great mountains to reach the Tentpole in the Sky. There, Will meets Levka Gambo, who tells him that when they see each other again, they will be different persons, “Each person who arrives in Dinotopia becomes reborn, and the birth is different for each individual. Your father will be born of the Earth. You and Sylvia will be born of the Sky” (137). This is not to say that one path is better than the other, but that to each his own path, and to each heart their own passion.
Dinotopia’s greatest triumph is its artistry. This grants Gurney something of an advantage over other fantasy writers who have to craft their worlds through literary description. This is challenging insofar that these writers must play through the difficult game of “show, don’t tell.” The reason why fantasy writers like J.R.R. Tolkien and Phillip Pullman are so acclaimed is that they can indulge in world’s unseen without getting the reader bogged down in stifling prose and trivial description. Even capable plot weavers like George R.R. Martin and addictive pulp writers like Robert E. Howard can get too absorbed in their own prose, often to the frustration of the average reader.
Gurney is able to keep his prose simple, but intelligent. Though much of the burden for immersing readers into his world lies more on his art than on his words. It may seem strange to you that I bring up fantasy literature in an essay on Dinotopia. While I’ll grant that the story is science-fiction in definition, it’s all fantasy in style, much like Star Wars or Flash Gordon. To deny that the otherworldly land of Dinotopia doesn’t share kinship with Narnia or Oz seems dishonest. There is an added, mystical element in Dinotopia not often found in the annals science-fiction that gives the story it’s fantasy charm. The dinosaurs and their relatives offer a spiritual relationship with man which cannot wholly be explained by science. Of course, fantasy often necessitates the existence of magic, which isn’t referred to in Dinotopia by name, but surely their is something supernatural about the springing of dinosaur intelligence without the aid of technology? This flies in the face of any accepted biology, and crosses over into the realm of fantasy, as science-fiction author Harlan Ellison once said, “Fantasy is a separate genre, and it allows you to go beyond the bounds of that which is acceptable, where all of a sudden people can fly, or the Loch Ness monster does not have a scientific rationale, but is a mythic creature.”
The illustrations are so essential to Dinotopia that the full effect of the book is near impossible to grasp without them. Truth be told, when I was younger, I only looked at the pictures and skimmed through the words. This is why I can’t be bothered with the various Dinotopia chapter books that have sprung up over the years. They are lacking in visions of the sublime. Some of the Dinotopia illustrations even preceded the concept of Dinotopia itself. Well before Dinotopia, Gurney was an accomplished illustrator, who created backgrounds for Ralph Bakshi’s Fire And Ice, as well as painting the voyages of Alexander von Humboldt for National Geographic. This gave him the needed practice for what was to be the first of his “Lost Empire” paintings, Waterfall City. Gurney wanted to combine “Niagara Falls” with “Venice”, writing, “Somewhere I had read that the artist’s job was to make the impossible look inevitable” (160).
Years later, “Waterfall City” remains one of the most impressive and recognizable centerpieces of the Dinotopia mythos. Made to be unfilmable, Waterfall City is a refuge of learning, like Athens, amidst the roaring of the blue falls. You can almost hear it. Seeing this, it also makes sense that Gurney be a former associate of National Geographic. After all, their imagery has defined nature in the cultural consciousness for over a century.
There were no dinosaurs in “Waterfall City”, however, that did not come until his next painting in the “Lost Empires” series, Dinosaur Parade. The painting serves as the cover of the Dinotopia book and depicts a celebration in Sauropolis, Dinotopia’s capital city. Dinosaur Parade is not only a celebration of human-dinosaur relations, but also a celebration of our global culture. Take note of the Greco-Roman influences on the surrounding architecture as well as the influence of Indian garb on those riding the dinosaurs. Occidental and Oriental in a single frame. You can almost hear the rumbling footsteps of the living fossils, coupled with the high notes of the children in the choir. This one painting is Dinotopia in a nutshell, and indeed, became the prelude for the book itself, as Gurney has said,
“When I showed Dinosaur Parade to my brother Dan, a kindergarten teacher, he said, “Instead of making the dinosaurs into beasts of burden why don’t you have the dinosaurs domesticate the humans?” This suggestion opened up the idea that the humans and dinosaurs could have a mutually beneficial partnership. Humans could contribute their cleverness and dexterity, while dinosaurs could provide the patient wisdom they would have gained from millions of years of successfully living on the planet,” (160).
Though admittedly, my favorite of the Dinotopia paintings is “The Ring Riders”, where Will and Sylvia are engaged in a race against other competitors atop Deinocherius, capturing rings from the hanging banners. This painting perfectly captures the feeling of motion, as all the actors, turning around the corner, seem to pop up from the page. Mundane clouds of dust are even added for effect. Gurney is also no slacker when it comes to faces, many of whom resemble the profiles of Norman Rockwell. Will’s face carries fright, ready to fall if he can’t keep balance. A boy to the left of him is hunched, ready to spring forth and catch the next ring. Even the excited audience members have stories to tell. In one corner, a woman is selling delectable pastries. In a tower, others gawk and point with delight.
How is this realism accomplished with such detail? In his Moral Letters to Lucilius, Seneca wrote that, “All art is but imitation of nature.” It is in this tradition that Gurney works his illustrated magic. Many of the people are based on photos that he’s arranged, costumes and all, while some of the cities come from painstakingly crafted models. Indeed, the models themselves are worth a book on their own.
Much like Hayao Miyazaki and E.B. White, Gurney treats his audience of children with respect. He doesn’t dumb down the story or play loose with the science. He refuses to alter the mechanics of dinosaurs to suit his convenience. Rather, he invents technological marvels to adapt to the ways of dinosaurs. These creations include the scroll-reading machine (as dinosaurs aren’t good at turning pages), the huge resting couches for Brachiosaurs to relax in, and the interlocking wheels of Volcaneum that are powered by the ramming heads of Pachycelphalosaurs. Not to mention a whole written language comprised of footprint symbols! Gurney’s affection for the details reveals the depth of his research, such a small scene like Will hearing the stones grind food in the bellies of Brachiosaurs. It’s also sort of a joke that the “egg stealer” Oviraptor, carries the affable role in Dinotopia as Ovinutrix, the “egg nurse.” It should be no surprise, then, that Gurney’s meetings with celebrated paleontologist Jack Horner, were of a partial influence,
“When I took a fresh look at dinosaurs as an adult, I quickly discovered that many scientists were starting to regard them as dynamic, warm-blooded creatures who had more in common with birds than with reptiles. Paleontologist Jack Horner in Montana had discovered dinosaur nests. He demonstrated evidence that some dinosaurs, such as Maiasaura (“good mother lizard”), traveled in herds and actively cared for their young. Instead of visualizing dinosaurs as monsters, I might imagine scenarios where they might live alongside humans,” (160).
I can already hear the skeptics saying that it’d be inconceivable for humans to find a means of living peacefully with carnivores like Tyrannosaurus. Surely, the existence of predators would force the Dinotopians to break the tenets of their code: “Survival of all or none” and “Weapons are enemies even to their owners.” Yet readers would do well not to confuse pacifism with naivete. There are more clever and constructive ways of solving conflicts than putting everything to the sword. When the Denisons are confronted by Tyrannosaurs during a trek through the Rainy Basin. Bix tells Arthur that Tyrannosaurs, often maligned as villainous, is indeed, not evil, but is rather, “Only hunger by nature, with no love for society, and no stomach for green food” (79). It is by understanding the nature of the Tyrannosaurs that they are able to get through safely. The sauropods wear armor to defend themselves from the predator’s bite, while Bix uses her skilled statecraft to negotiate with the carnivores: free fish in exchange for safe passage. Bix resolves a tense situation not through violence, but with empathy for an aggressor.
Another thoughtful passage occurs during a dialogue between Arthur Denison and Malik the Timekeeper (a Stenonychosaurus), over the concept of time. Dinotopia is a civilization that borrows from a variety of cultures to create its own. The practice is not only relevant to paintings such as Dinosaur Parade, but to some of the philosophical concepts as well. In the start of the dialogue, Malik tells Arthur,
“You of the West think of time moving in a straight line, from past to present to future. Your eastern brothers regard time as a circle, returning endlessly in a cycle of decay and rebirth. Both ideas have a dimension of the truth. If you were to combine geometrically the movement of the circle with the movement of the line, what would you have?” (63).
To which Arthur correctly answers “a spiral”, an image well reflected in the seashells kept around Malik’s office. Arthur remarks of the cleverness of such a symbol, “So time moves on, but history repeats itself” (63). All this talk of time, of course, makes the elder Denison ask what hour it is, and he is answered with a chiding from the dinosaur,
“Time for Kentosaurus to hatch. Time to plant the millet. Time for magnolia buds to open. Professor Denison, I’m afraid you persist in thinking of time as numbers. You think of meaningless units of time — weeks, hours, minutes — based on what? Movements of faraway planets? Of what use to us is that? Why not pay attention to the precise 30-year life cycle of bamboo Guadua trinii or the exactly repeated mitotic cycle of the paramecium? The whole earth has a heartbeat,” (65).
To point of this is to show that Dinotopians perceive the world differently than we. The look at things in terms of practicality and how it can benefit those here today. The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. These people aren’t one’s enslaved to the ritual of tradition. Much like Peter Fonda in Easy Rider, who throws his watch before setting off, all the lengths of their journey need not be recorded in weeks, hours, or minutes.
At one point in the story, Arthur remarks,
“I can’t imagine how it could be possible for such a small island to support enough artists and stonecutters to build all these wonders. And I can’t imagine how all these different people and dinosaurs can possibly get along without quarreling,” (75).
Arthur’s skepticism reflects my own, and I imagine, that of many readers. Utopia almost seems to run counter to human nature, as attempts to create it have often led to totalitarian or monarchic regimes. Never mind that our relations with the animal world, and indeed, the planet itself have been far from ideal. Dinotopia should read like a fable, so faraway from our common sense, and yet I have been to Dinotopia, I have seen it. Its citizens are not zombies who have been brainwashed into happiness: their joy is genuine. They pursue the Personal Legends we all wish to follow in life. Their dinosaurs speak, yes, but they are every bit as dinosaur as the fossils buried beneath our feet. Gurney has just returned them breath. Certainly, it is in reply to Arthur ‘s skepticism that the message of Dinotopia is revealed:
“Oh, it is possible, but only if you do imagine it,” (75).
Bibliography
Gurney, James. Dinotopia: A Land Apart From Time. The 20th Anniversary Edition. United States: Calla Editions, 2011. 2, 28, 63, 65, 79, 95, 119, 137, 155, 160, 166. Print.
Originally published at http://sansuthecat.blogspot.com on July 22, 2016.
