Look, another island! Just when you thought the Jurassic series of movies was out of juice, a new remote tropical locale full of dinosaurs has been discovered. What remarkable luck!
In Jurassic World Rebirth (in theaters July 2), it’s not just the island that’s different—it’s the dinosaurs. We’ve got genetic hybrids stomping around a place near-ish to South America (when’s the last time you saw a movie briefly set in Suriname?), and a whole new team of people about to encounter them. Is that premise fresh enough to merit yet another Jurassic sequel? No, not really.
Rebirth, directed by Gareth Edwards with a script by original Jurassic Park screenwriter David Koepp, at least seems aware of its redundancy. The film imagines a world that was once in awe of dinosaurs but has now grown tired of them. The magic has faded; over saturation has killed curiosity. This suggests a wry meta awareness of the film’s own extraneous existence, arriving as the seventh installment of a franchise that has never been terrible but has certainly not been able to recapture the awe and suspense of Steven Spielberg’s original.
People may be indifferent to Rebirth’s resurrected animals, but the creatures may still greatly benefit humanity. A scientist of some kind, Henry (Jonathan Bailey), thinks he may have stumbled upon a cure for heart disease, as long as he can get three viable blood samples from three living species of dinosaur (one from the land, one from the sea, one from the air). He’ll have to travel to an abandoned research facility to do it. So his perhaps not-so-generous benefactor Martin (Rupert Friend) hires mercenary extraction expert Zora (Scarlett Johansson) to run a mission to a dangerous paradise near the equator, where most of the surviving dinos live these days.
It’s a tidy little setup, a project in three video game-friendly levels that brings everyone, along with boat captain Duncan (Mahershala Ali), crashing onto the island. Before they make landfall, there is some exciting stuff on the water, a hunt in the vein of Moby Dick and Jaws that is the film at its most frightening and compelling. Johansson has a casual knack for action, honed over many Marvel years, and a light, lively chemistry with Bailey and Ali. Koepp tries to add some character shading where the studio will let him, though most of that is dropped once the boat washes ashore.
Meant to further humanize the action is this film’s version of Jurassic Park’s Tim and Lex: a teenage girl, Teresa (Luna Blaise), her dopey boyfriend Xavier (David Iacono), her younger sister Isabella (Audrina Miranda), and her dad Reuben (Manuel Garcia-Rulfo). When their sailboat is wrecked, they’re rescued by Zora and crew, only to be tossed into their own adventure of monster mayhem on terror island. Yet it never really feels like they’re in too much mortal peril. Surely the movie wouldn’t actually kill anyone in this family unit—but it could at least threaten them a bit more. There’s no SUV going over a cliff, no electric fence zap. This film is gentler with its kids than the first Jurassic Park was with its own little ones.
That mellow tone becomes ever more of a problem as the film unfolds. Nothing is terribly urgent. The new genetically modified creatures are dull, needless modifications, including one that looks exactly like the Rancor from Return of the Jedi. There’s some grief stuff thrown into the mix, because that is just part of the screenwriting equation these days, but otherwise this is a decidedly unserious movie. Edwards, a master at visuals but perhaps less keen as a storyteller, manages some grand imagery. Nighttime scenes are lit with beautiful washes of color; our intrepid heroes are surrounded by lush, primordial flora. But there is no real sense of consequence, not even when Edwards crassly trots out composer John Williams’s gorgeous main JP theme from 1993—hoping and failing to summon the ghost of an old wonder.
The main effect of the film is that one leaves craving a crisp, satisfying Heineken beer—perhaps to wash down a salty Lays potato chip or a delicious Snickers bar. And if you’re worried about your breath afterward, why not freshen up with a curiously strong Altoids mint? Product placement garishly abounds in the film, further deepening one’s suspicion that this is more of a cynical cash grab than a movie made with any sort of creative mandate.
Still, there is some flair and wit to be found in Rebirth, and its performances are by and large likable and engaging. There are worse exercises in IP-extension out there in the marketplace. But it is hard to imagine what possible basis there could be for an eighth Jurassic film. We’ve overused the extra-island trope; we’ve done dinos invading the mainland a couple times now. We’ve seen enough long necks poking up from the grass. We’ve seen too many T-rexes thundering after their prey. Now even the oceans have been exhausted. I suppose they could send some dinosaurs to space next time, where no one can hear them roar. But that wouldn’t really make much of a difference: the sound barely registers anymore.
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