Jurassic World: Rebirth

2015’s Jurassic World should be studied for how and when to revive a dormant movie franchise. The tenth highest-grossing film of all time both domestically and worldwide, Colin Trevorrow’s legacy sequel was nothing extraordinary and it followed two old sequels that weren’t even well-regarded. But those sequels followed what stands as the definitive live-action blockbuster of the 1990s. Adapted from Michael Crichton’s bestselling novel, Steven Spielberg’s original Jurassic Park (1993) is as close to perfection as any big-budget movie of the 20th century. It’s smart, imaginative, funny, thrilling, well-cast, and endlessly quotable. Even its visual effects hold up better after three decades than most movies’ after three years.

Ten years on, Jurassic World does not fill one with such wonderment and awe. Its greatest achievements were commercial and it gave way to two disappointing sequels that made one pine for the modest fun of The Lost World and Jurassic Park III. If World‘s box office numbers remain the legacy sequel gold standard, likely out of reach for several years, its two follow-ups serve as a textbook lesson in diminishing returns and squandered goodwill.

Instead of taking that to heart and doing a pause/reset, Universal simply opts for a soft reboot in Jurassic World: Rebirth, a self-contained tentpole that should keep the franchise active as long as the numbers are where they need to be. Taking over the keys to the kingdom creatively is Gareth Edwards, the British filmmaker who has won some moviegoers over with profitable effects-heavy cinema in original and established worlds. The latter class includes Edwards’ 2014 Godzilla reboot, the 2016 fanfic in-between-quel Rogue One: A Star Wars Story, and now this, which keeps the Jurassic World brand in the title, but largely sets aside what Trevorrow and J. A. Bayona did over the past ten years.

While few teared up positively to 2022’s forgettable Jurassic World: Dominion, there was an air of finality that swirled around it. And Edwards lets go of everyone who was a part of it: Chris Pratt’s raptor tamer, Bryce Dallas Howard’s heroic park operations manager, their adopted daughter. Most of the specifics of this franchise have already slipped my mind without any desire to revisit the three newest films, in stark contrast to every kid getting Jurassic Park on VHS for Christmas ’94 and proceeding to wear it out. Edwards expects nothing more from Rebirth moviegoers, opening with a prologue in which — I kid you not — a Snickers wrapper causes a calamitous and deadly shutdown in ye olde dinosaur engineering lab. (Talk about taking “You’re not you when you’re hungry” to the extreme.)

Simple narrated text screens explain how the world’s interest in dinosaurs has cooled off considerably. Dinos themselves are unable to thrive except around the Equator. We know this because in the present-day, a giant brachiosaurus stuck along a highway is but a routine annoyance for the New Yorkers whose traffic is multiplied because of it.

With dino museums shutting down, Altoid-chomping paleontologist Dr. Henry Loomis (Jonathan Bailey) does not have to think too long before teaming up with pharmaceutical exec Martin Krebs (Rupert Friend) and covert missions veteran Zora Bennett (Scarlett Johansson) on a dangerous, illegal, and highly lucrative journey to the Equator to try and collect biological samples from three massive dinosaur species. The dinosaurs have to be alive and these collections are intended to unlock a trillion-dollar cure to heart disease. Zora’s old colleague Duncan (two-time Academy Award winner Mahershala Ali) has the ship and its command.

Rebirth is embarrassing at its start, chockfull of clumsy exposition and third-generation copies of Roland Emmerich movie scenes. Things seem to get even worse when the film randomly introduces a Latino family of four and puts them in harm’s way from an ocean monster. Zora and Duncan have to convince the others to turn their vessel around and rescue the family, which consists of a father (Manuel Garcia-Rulfo), his teenaged daughter (Luna Blaise), her lazy boyfriend the comic relief (David Iacono), and another young daughter (Audrina Miranda). Now, cynics might wonder if this family’s unlikely presence at the center of action is a nod to moviegoer demographics throughout the world. But it does add another layer of interest to a sequel that needs it, without opting for a full Emmerich ensemble juggle.

Edwards has yet to impress me thoroughly. He’s been able to stretch a budget commendably (2023’s The Creator) and put up big box office numbers on occasion (although Rogue One‘s success was largely Force Awakens‘ honeymoon). But he’s more of a visual storyteller than a true storyteller. He’s only taken writing credit on two of his theatrical directing efforts. A single individual takes screenplay credit here and it should inspire hope because it’s David Koepp, whose past screenplays include Spider-Man (2002) and, oh yes, Jurassic Park. If that was the entirety of Koepp’s resume, he’d be a legend, like the illegitimate love child of Lawrence Kasdan and Dan O’Bannon. But Koepp has a lotttttt of writing credits dating back to 1988 and while some are agreeable (the original Mission: Impossible, the 2005 War of the Worlds, this year’s Black Bag), many of them are not (the two Da Vinci Code sequels, 2017’s The Mummy, Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny). Judged purely on its screenplay, Rebirth falls into Koepp’s pile of misses. But is anyone really here for first-rate world-building and character development? Just me?

Rebirth eases up on the nostalgia that is at the heart of all legacy sequels. There’s an Alan Grant mention in passing and you’ll spot an InGen logo or two, but for the most part Rebirth wants to live up to its title and move things in new directions. Which it does, until it needs any kind of emotional impact, at which time it repeatedly lets composer Alexandre Desplat simply cover and ever so slightly reinterpet the most iconic John Williams score not nominated for an Oscar. The trick kind of works again and again, because that music puts a smile on your face as you think about the endless magic from that first film. Sam Neill with the kids. Jeff Goldblum being weird. Richard Attenborough as the most grandfatherly of societal menaces. Desplat is a great composer, but even he knows there’s no topping Spielberg and Williams.

Things pick up a little when the movie occasionally takes a break from expected, familiar beats and does things we haven’t really seen in any of the six prior movies set in this universe. The family gets separated from the science mercenaries and gets their own little island adventure. Edwards is big on playing with different planes and having viewers notice danger before characters do. There’s a set piece involving a T-Rex and a large inflatable raft. Another in which a routine urination suddenly rivals the iconic lawyer on toilet scene from the first film. There are lots and lots of dinosaurs. Mutated ones that didn’t really exist. A little one gets adopted as a pet by the young girl. Another massive airborne one defends its eggs.

With a 134-minute runtime and a $180 million budget, Edwards gets to throw a lot on screen and, inevitably, some of it sorta works. A lot of it doesn’t and at no point do you feel like you’re in a franchise that knows what it’s doing and respects its audience. This is a far cry from the 2010s Planet of the Apes trilogy or Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight saga. It feels more akin to the later Jaws sequels, but with more polish and less ridiculousness. It’s awfully easy to see the Jurassic franchise has overstayed its welcome and proven without a doubt that it had but one single great film inside it. But you can recognize that and still find some entertainment value from the big, loud, summer popcorn movie spectacle.