When I was a kid, my favorite movie in the world was Jurassic Park. I was in love with Jeff Goldblum and his matted chest hair: Sue me, but it was the sexual awakening of my tween-hood. I saw that movie 12 times in the theater before I was bat mitzvah age, no lie.
And if I had been aware that the cage in which the islanders kept Velociraptors was on sale in the late ’90s, you can bet I would have petitioned to have it bought for me to celebrate my becoming a woman.
“When it seems as if I’m sabotaging my own career,” Jeff Goldblum was saying, leaning back in his booth at Josephine Café Français in Tribeca, “you find out that it’s still very much alive and flourishing. I’m in a growth spurt. I’m actually very open to this new creativity.”
In a black leather jacket and a faded pink Thelonious Monk shirt, Mr. Goldblum looked astonishingly young for a man who will be turning 60 this year. But the bigger surprise was his candor about his career. After becoming an unlikely sex symbol in the ’80s and ’90s for movies like Jurassic Park, Independence Day and David Cronenberg’s The Fly, Mr. Goldblum had fallen into semi-obscurity in the new millennium—popping up in the occasional indie film (Igby Goes Down, The Life Aquatic) or Broadway show (Pillowman), but mostly languishing in a number of unremarkable flops.
Monday: Jurassic Park
We happened to catch Jurassic Park last week and we’re happy to report that the film holds up. Steven Spielberg’s adaptation of the best-selling Michael Crichton novel has it all: Scares, laughs, action, thrills, awe-inspiring moments, crazy special effects, red herrings and Jeff Goldblum, strutting around like he’s a geek version Read More