The Screen Scribe

Dinosaurs are back on the big screen, again, and as the lights dimmed and that iconic John Williams theme swelled over the Universal logo, I felt it. That fleeting rush of childlike wonder that only giant prehistoric lizards can evoke. But by the time the credits rolled on Jurassic World: Rebirth, that wonder had once again been replaced by resigned déjà vu. Because while this film is slick, entertaining, and peppered with nostalgic dread, it is ultimately just another entry in a franchise that has been content to tread water since the days of Dr Alan Grant and his velociraptor pals. If you came here hoping for something fresh, prepare to leave as extinct as a triceratops.

Jurassic World: Rebirth begins five years after Dominion. Dinosaurs no longer roam free but survive in isolated equatorial zones where conditions still support their biology. A pharmaceutical tycoon hires a team led by mercenary Zora Bennett (Scarlett Johansson) and palaeontologist Dr. Henry Loomis (Jonathan Bailey) to retrieve DNA from three colossal species believed to hold life-saving genetic secrets. That mission quickly spirals when the team discovers unethical experiments and mass dinosaur die‑offs. Their expedition into a quarantined island wilderness becomes a fight to survive against mutated predators and corporate corruption.

Let’s open with the obvious critique. Rebirth offers nothing new. Everything here feels recycled, from the corporate greed storyline to the “humans meddle with genetics and regret it” moral to the inevitable dinosaur ambush in misty jungles. We have seen these narrative beats executed better in the original Jurassic Park and even in the first Jurassic World. There is a nod toward horror, with eerie scenes of raptors stalking prey through overgrown laboratories, flickering security lights illuminating glimpses of teeth and claws in the darkness. For a moment, you think the film might finally lean back into the horror roots of Spielberg’s original vision. But just as quickly, it cancels itself out with blockbuster tropes, quippy dialogue undercutting tension, last second rescues, and dino-on-dino wrestling matches that feel more WWE than horror thriller.

Character development remains extinct. Zora Bennett is tough, capable, and carries herself with no-nonsense grit, but beyond that, who is she? What drives her beyond surface-level survival instinct? There is a half-hearted attempt to explore her backstory with a few throwaway lines about past missions gone wrong, but it never lands with any emotional resonance. Henry Loomis fares slightly better thanks to Jonathan Bailey’s natural charisma. He gets to explain dinosaur biology with enough nerdy charm to avoid full exposition dump territory, but his arc is wafer thin. They are placeholders, archetypes designed to fill out the action outline rather than human beings with believable motivations.

Then there is the film’s worst antagonist: convenience. Plot contrivances pile up like fossil layers. Characters survive falls that would shatter every bone in their body, dodge snapping jaws with laughable ease, and stumble upon exactly the right security clearance or scientific sample they need within seconds. At one point, a character distracts a stalking mutant raptor with tossed grocery store goods, buying just enough time to escape through an inexplicably unlocked maintenance hatch. I could rappel down a mountain with that list of narrative excuses, and I would still not reach the bottom by the time the credits roll.

But not everything in Rebirth is fossilised beyond saving. Director Gareth Edwards stages the action with clarity, scale, and a sense of environmental geography that grounds each sequence. The camera lingers just long enough on wide shots to convey the overwhelming size and power of these creatures before plunging back into close-quarter terror. The new apex predator is genuinely unsettling. Its hybridised, deformed anatomy evokes a primal fear that taps directly into our evolutionary hardwiring. It is a creature designed not just to kill, but to horrify.

At the core of the cast, Scarlett Johansson and Jonathan Bailey bring a sincerity that helps keep the film from collapsing under its own narrative contrivances. Zora leans on grit rather than forced quips, maintaining grounded intensity even in absurd situations. Loomis delivers his paleontological exposition with genuine academic enthusiasm, avoiding the emotional detachment of so many other action scientists. They are not paper-thin, but they are just barely beyond that, fleshed out enough to keep us invested scene by scene, if not arc by arc. Ensemble players like Mahershala Ali add further gravitas, his performance injecting grounded tension and moral ambiguity into an otherwise simplistic supporting cast. But you can’t help you feel frustrated that an actor of his calibre is criminally wasted with both his role and the script.

There are undeniable visual thrills here. The dinosaurs feel tactile, their weight and physicality selling each footstep and tail swipe with practical suit and animatronic integration enhanced by seamless CG layering. The lighting and cinematography draw heavily from shadow, mist, and tight corridors to evoke a claustrophobic dread reminiscent of Aliens-era James Cameron. Alexandre Desplat’s score honours John Williams’ iconic themes without mimicking them note for note, weaving subtle brass motifs and melancholic strings that build emotional resonance in the final sequence and mutated dinosaur reveals. Some critics note it lacks a single unforgettable theme, but as an atmospheric backdrop, it does its job. Sound design continues to deliver with bone-rattling roars, guttural snarls, and piercing predator shrieks that reverberate in your chest and stay there long after you leave the cinema.

Jurassic World: Rebirth is high‑end popcorn consumption. It scratches that primal itch to see dinosaurs chase humans, it has occasional chills, and it looks gorgeous in motion. But beneath that sheen lies franchise fatigue. It fails to evolve the central premise established in Dominion, instead retreating into nostalgia rather than daring. If you want two hours of dinosaur mayhem, big visuals, and marketable creature designs, Rebirth rides those waves competently. If you wanted reinvention, emotional stakes, or narrative innovation, you’ll find only dinosaur-shaped echoes of what once was. At its core, it’s escapist entertainment, serviceable, sleek, but ultimately insubstantial, and in a film named Rebirth, that’s the real tragedy.

2 / 5 ✨ from the Screen Scribe.

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