Tammy and the T-Rex (1994) – Stuart Raffill.

'True love never fails, honey!'

One of the more observable truths of living within someone else's universe is the untenable fact that Fast and Furious became a franchise, while Tammy and the T-Rex was relegated to midnight movie cultdom. Granted, on paper, the premise may appear astronomically absurd, but if one cared to dig a little deeper, Tammy and the T-Rex is ultimately about the indomitable objectivity of true love. Via accepted B-Movie machinations, Paul Walker's living brain is transposed into an ambulatory facsimile dinosaur, facilitated by the advanced bio-mechanical technologies of amiable crackpot scientist Terry Kiser. Inevitably played for gallopingly goofy, Godzuki-inflected laffs, one may, not unjustifiably, fail to see that Denise Richards love for her young beau is quite genuine, his wholly alien transformation, while undeniably unprecedented, provides her with the experiential opportunity to accept that love is born, not from what is seen, but from what is so deep, and profoundly felt.

No doubt, many, if not all, will vociferously refute my overtly romanticized interpretation of Tammy and the Teenage T-Rex, and yet, be it a film, a specific piece of music, work of art, or people, NONE is seen with a universal eye, it is singularly experienced through that said individual's absolutely unique lens. I always liked to think that Dinosaurs happily sacrificed themselves en-masse to provide finite, combustible energies for cars, motorbikes, power plants, and those sleek aeronautical tubes, that so noisily transport millions of pallid holidaymakers to exotic, sun-kissed locales, but I believe we have excessively abused the privilege. Would Tammy & The T-Rex work today, perhaps not, as Paul Walker's brain would inevitably be digitally inserted into a CGI 'Rex, thereby demonstratively losing all the sublime tactility of practical special FX.