"An Ode to Peter Hyams"
Sing, muse! Sing of a century-hence future when we shall all
Drive impractically bulky cars and pay through the teeth
To hunt dinosaurs on a TimeSafari to the past!
Cinematographers be damned! Peter Hyams will shoot his own film,
As he has before, does now, and ever shall do.
Smaller men will light their scenes, demand intelligible scripts,
Insist on a minimum standard of special-effects virtuosity.
Peter Hyams only stares at them coldly, like a baboon-asaurus from
Earth's accidental alternate future, and plans his conquests.
Yes, if we were to hunt dinosaurs in the past, we would do well
Not to step on any insects, lest we set time waves in motion that
Would incrementally devolve our world into a morass of primitive,
Threatening life-forms: teeming scarabs, pterodactyls, and Edward Burns.
True, it will all be Ben Kingsley's fault for not wanting to pay his
Biofilter bills, but who can blame the brave lieutenant of Peter Hyams?
If you put Ben Kingsley into a bad hairpiece, does he not act?
And when he tickles us, do we not laugh? Oh, Peter Hyams, you are
A god among men. Truly sense, technique, and taste do not apply to you.
Some will say, what of Ray Bradbury, who wrote the clever short story on
Which your film is based? Could he have envisioned Catherine McCormack
Turning into a fish creature? What of Jurassic Park, which so
Obviously "inspired" your screenwriting stewards? Oh, Peter Hyams, even the
Mighty may fall...again and again and again. Do not despair, oh Peter Hyams.
As A Sound of Thunder taught me, the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle
Means this and only this: accidents happen.