It’s pouring heavily. Barely anything can be made out in the dimness of the scene; only the trembling headlights of a car stopped in the middle of the jungle and the unsettling sound of raindrops on its hood.
Suddenly, a dull roar shakes the ground. In an instant, two tiny eyes emerge from the foliage, growing larger in a fierce yellow glow: it’s the greatly feared Tyrannosaurus Rex. Its imposing silhouette, like a monument faintly outlined by the rain, reveals the gaping jaws of a creature that no longer belongs to this time. It advances; it approaches with a terrifying slowness (…) And just as it raises its head, a roar bursts from its jaws, blending with a thunderous orchestral cluster: brass and percussion explode like a symphonic uproar that reverberates through the hall, shaking the floor, the air, and the audience, who for a moment had forgotten that this is actually the Seville Royal Symphony Orchestra, recreating alongside a cinematic-sized screen one of the most iconic scenes from Jurassic Park.
