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After the success of
Jurassic Park in 1993, the floodgates opened for digital special effects, and
Jumanji is nothing if not a showcase for computer-generated creepiness guaranteed to give young children a nightmare or two. Whether that was the filmmakers' intention is up for debate, since this is a PG-rated adventure revolving around a mysterious board game that unleashes a terrifying jungle world upon its players, including gigantic spiders, huge mosquitoes, a stampede of rhinos, elephants, and every other jungle beast you can imagine. Robin Williams plays a man-child who's been trapped in the world of "Jumanji" for 26 years until he's freed by two kids who've discovered the game and released its parade of dangerous horrors. A chaotic and misguided attempt at family entertainment, the movie does offer a few good laughs, and the effects are frequently impressive, if not entirely convincing to the eye.
--Jeff Shannon
From The New Yorker
Just the kind of blithe, accelerated nonsense that we need after the holidays. The title refers to an ancient board game with groovy powers; Robin Williams plays Alan, who was sucked into the Jumanji board as a boy and emerges twenty-six years later when a couple of kids (Kirsten Dunst and Bradley Pierce) open up the game and roll the dice. Cue all manner of special effects: spiders the size of hubcaps, elephants in the hallway. There's a touch of Spielberg in the way the director, Joe Johnston, makes these images work dramatically. He gets full comic mileage out of his monkeys and mosquitoes, but he rarely lets them swamp the actors. Williams seems, thank heaven, to be pulling out of his weepy, puffy period. Bonnie Hunt has a pleASINg turn as a fey psychic; Jonathan Hyde is cast both as Alan's father and as his murderous nemesis inside the game-a neat, "Wizard of Oz"-like twist. The movie takes time to warm up, it weakens into soppiness at the end, and the game itself, if you think it through, makes very little sense. Most of the time, however, you don't have to think at all. -Anthony Lane
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker