This article contains spoilers for Jurassic World Rebirth. If you’re not caught up yet, check out our spoiler-free review of the new dinosaur adventure.
Jurassic World Rebirth hits theaters this week, once again throwing us back into the world of John Hammond’s magnificent Jurassic (or more accurately, often Cretaceous) recreations. We see new dinosaur hybrids, a brand new island that is, for reasons beyond me, not one of the five death islands (the chain of islands where the Jurassic action often takes place), and get a brand new trio to lead our future misadventures. But what we don’t have in Jurassic World Rebirth is the franchise’s well-established sense of wonder.
Rebirth takes place 32 years after Jurassic Park the park first opened its doors for Doctors Alan Grant, Ellie Sattler and the rest (and promptly closed them), paralleling Jurassic Park the movie’s release and signaling that the franchise is happening in real-time. It’s a minute detail, but one that connects the story’s central premise – that humans have grown tired of dinosaurs – to its own viewers. And as one of those viewers, I can’t help but find that idea both odd and disappointing. That disappointment is notable here because I have never once been disappointed by this franchise. At its worst and dumbest, it still has dinosaurs. And, though still technically true of Rebirth, it’s only barely so.
Jurassic World Rebirth’s sadness is core to its story, which isn’t inherently negative. The melancholy works. But you can engage with an ailing brontosaurus trapped in the middle of New York City and thus wreaking all sorts of havoc on humans' everyday life without shifting your overall franchise sentiment to “humans have grown tired of dinosaurs.” You also don’t need that boredom to justify an evil corporation known for experimenting on dinosaurs to experiment on dinosaurs. It’s literally what they do! It does not require an explanation! It especially doesn't require an explanation that then compromises your overall narrative.
Sadness can be at the center of your story without sacrificing the awe that has been so central to your success. I can accept the film’s decision to distance itself from core Jurassic aspects like InGen, choosing not to take place on one of the five Death Islands, distancing yourself from the practical effects you are so known for and not using any of your other established evil corporations and instead creating a brand new one. But asking the audience to participate in future films where people just don’t care about dinosaurs? Why would we do that?
I have what might be called a bit of a dinosaur problem. Jurassic Park was the first film I saw in theaters. Four might have been too young, but I was far from the only child there. I was, however, one of the few kids not screaming in terror. I have been enamoured by dinosaurs my entire life. Jurassic Park would later become the first film I saw at a drive-in during their resurgence throughout quarantine. My first published print piece was in a Jurassic Park magazine (RIP, Birth. Movies. Death.). I devoured Michael Crichton’s books and I have loved each of the respective Jurassic films despite their warts because they have dinosaurs in them.
Which is all to say that, as a card-carrying member of Jurassic World’s core audience, I can’t fathom a world where people aren’t enamored by dinosaurs. I dream of being able to travel to Universal Beijing to meet the animatronic triceratops that wanders through the park even though I know it’s a dang robot. I am also one of the idiots who would be first in line to an actual Jurassic Park despite having seven films and a couple of terrifying books explaining why that would be the stupidest decision a person could make.
The wonder of the dinosaurs is the inherent point of this franchise. The cautionary tale of hubris that makes up the backbone of its narrative cannot exist without it — at least in the films. None of it works with Alan and Ellie’s reverence for the dinosaurs, whether it be seeing the brontosaurus for the first time or their immediate empathy for the ailing triceratops. Crichton’s novel is much more horrific, and it does just fine in that genre, but Jurassic World Rebirth straddles genres in a way that sparks a few bright moments like the terrifying introduction of the D-rex or writer David Koepp’s long-awaited adaptation of the terrifying T-rex river scene from the novel. But it doesn’t really do much to pull the franchise into straight horror territory, while also never managing to elicit the all-important sense of wonder the movies are known for.
It’s worth mentioning that I still enjoyed Jurassic World Rebirth. The new trio gives us just enough to make us care about them — or at least more than Chris Pratt’s Owen Grady and Bryce Dallas Howard’s Claire Dearing ever really managed to accomplish in their three films — and the hybrids are fun enough with the notable exception of the D-rex. Please don’t give me a dinosaur movie without a dinosaur antagonist. That is a rancor, and not a particularly good-looking one. But my overall concern here isn’t about Rebirth, it’s about what comes next.
I’m not really interested in a story set in a world that has become bored by dinosaurs, and I struggle to see a path forward for the franchise built on that aforementioned wonder. With the exception of Dr. Loomis’ (Jonathan Bailey) awe over the titanosaurus, there’s not an ounce of awe or empathy for these creatures. The dinosaurs are almost a backdrop to the primary story and, with love and respect to the remarkable Bailey and his equally wonderful co-stars Scarlett Johansson and Mahershala Ali, we’re not here for them.
The audience has never been in this for the human characters, and please know that I say that with nothing but endless adoration for Ellie Sattler, Alan Grant and (most days) Ian Malcolm. It was, is and always will be about the dinosaurs, so I truly cannot see a world where a team full of people looked at each other and said “Y’know what this franchise needs? Dinosaur fatigue!”
I followed this series through dream raptors, an ill-advised child clone, and am actually a defender of the locust fiasco (it’s the next logical step and everyone needed to calm down, don’t @ me), but for the first time in my life I feel like the Jurassic franchise is going down a path that I can’t follow. And, worse still, I don’t really see a way out of it for them. I’ll be there for the next one and desperately want to be proven wrong, but man. They set out for melancholy with this one and I think they succeeded just a little bit too much.
