Bienvenu, mes amis, to Junk Food Cinema, which has a certain, as the French say, “ordure.” Our beloved Brian will be back next week, when he returns from his vacation ghostbusting. Until then, you can pin the blame for your eyeball blisters on me, Mrs. Junkfood-Cinema. I’ll be piloting this trash barge over the choppy waters of murky, questionable cinema, picking our precarious way through the flotsam and jetsam of a capsized wreck of a film. But just when you start to panic and look for the life vests (there are only 2. BWAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!), we arrive at the golden shores of redemption. I throw out beach towels so we can all bask in the warm glow of this film’s not-so-crappy side. And like any good day at the beach, I brought snacks. Unhealthy snacks. This week…well, this week, allow me to set the stage: Ahh, it’s a good day to be white off the coast of Isla Sorna. But what is this? CG fog? Bad green screen? What’s happening?! This isn’t the Jurassic Park Crichton envisioned, painstakingly researched, and that had audiences everywhere scared to ride in Jeeps for months afterword. This isn’t even the Jurassic Park 2 Crichton begrudgingly churned out and to whose script he turned a tactful blind eye. This is the notorious, superfluous, suck-o-saurus: Jurassic Park 3. JFC JP3. The point is, you’re alive when JFC starts to eat you. So, you know…try to show a little respect.