I love me a good action movie. Tense standoffs, well-choreographed brawls, car chases that make me go, “Oh, shit!”… I just eat it up. But you can definitely have too much of a good thing. No matter how much you love a given food, if you eat nothing but you’re going to get sick of it. As great as action is, it needs context for us to be able to care, and if it’s unrelenting, it overwhelms us and causes us to tune out. This is the mistake of a movie like King Kong, where everything ran twice as long as it should have been, to the point where I’m checking my watch during a fight between a giant gorilla and a dinosaur.
So speaking of dinosaurs, let’s check out a movie that understands that good pacing is a balance between crazy high-powered action and quiet character moments. YouTube ahoy!
Now, Jurassic Park isn’t an action movie in the shooty explody sense; some of its greatest moments of tension are in the frozen terror rather than the running and screaming. (“He can’t see us if we don’t move” is bad science, but very, very good cinema.) Things go steadily south as treacherous code monkey Nedry enacts his plan to shut down the park and steal the embryos, until we get to the midpoint and the T-Rex busts out and wrecks shit up. The next several scenes show the characters trying to evade and survive, until everyone still standing has found a place to hunker down for the night.
If you can’t watch the scene above, Hammond is eating ice cream (which is melting, since the freezers are off), and he tells Ellie about the flea circus he used to operate. Up until this point, Hammond has been the smooth showman, more concerned with getting his park open than with the danger it represents and the people who’ve been injured and killed. But here, he gives us a little explanation for his obsession, and in that moment, he’s vulnerable and human in a way he hasn’t been even when shit is headed fanwards.
More importantly, he’s still hanging onto the obsession until Ellie directly calls him on it. She has to remind him that the safety of their loved ones–remember, it’s his grandchildren and her boyfriend still out in the park–is more important than even his lifelong dream. It’s a pivotal moment for Hammond’s character, the first time he’s forced to seriously consider that he might not be able to salvage this project. The scene ends with a sad echo of his proud refrain: “We spared no expense.”
Hammond’s meeting with Ellie is flanked by two scenes of Dr. Grant and the kids, first reaching a safe place to sleep and then waking up and interacting with the brachiosaurus. As with Hammond’s scene, this provides a significant character moment, showing Grant’s growing connection to the two children (symbolically represented by him dropping the raptor claw fossil he’d used to antagonize the brat at the Badlands dig). Of course the audience saw how far he was willing to go to save Lex and Tim from the T-Rex, but the scene in the tree is the first time Grant himself has had the chance to stop and think about what he’s doing and what it means.
It might seem odd to have this fairly lengthy interlude in the middle of an action movie, but it’s really quite necessary. As I touched on in my discussion of Paper Towns, we’re just not capable of sustaining fear for very long; our baselines readjust because otherwise our hearts would explode. This lull gives both characters and audience a chance to make that readjustment after the devastation of the T-Rex attack. It lets the characters process the events and deal with their reactions, and it helps remind the audience of what’s at stake by reintroducing the characters as rounded people after they’ve spent the last few scenes as screaming dino chow. And, of course, there’s the narrative convenience of letting us skip ahead to the next morning, because daytime shoots are cheaper and easier.
Contrast is an extremely useful tool in the writing arsenal, establishing patterns and providing context the reader can use to derive meaning. Without some moments of quiet, the loud whizbang action just isn’t as effective.