Despite its cast and scale, Jurassic World Rebirth lands with a thud—and little suspense to show for it

Jurassic World Rebirth had all the ingredients for a summer blockbuster: a billion-dollar franchise, Hollywood A-listers, and monstrous dinosaurs in lush CGI. But critics are calling it the weakest film in the Jurassic universe—a visually polished, narratively dull creature feature that never claws its way to life.

Directed by Rogue One’s Gareth Edwards, this seventh instalment reboots the reboot with Black Widow’s Scarlett Johansson and Bridgerton’s Jonathan Bailey in the lead roles. Johansson plays Zora Bennett, a hardened mercenary hired by a pharmaceutical giant to retrieve dinosaur DNA. Bailey stars as Dr Henry Loomis, a charming palaeontologist roped in to help identify the creatures now roaming wild on an abandoned tropical island where genetic experiments went wrong.

The premise is familiar: dinosaurs, a shady corporate agenda, a remote island, and a ticking clock. But familiarity breeds fatigue here. For all its polished creature design and set pieces, Rebirth rarely feels dangerous, thrilling, or even fun.

Zora and Henry’s mission is occasionally interrupted by a far more suspenseful subplot: a civilian family’s accidental encounter with the island’s predators. Manuel Garcia-Rulfo plays Reuben, a father whose fishing trip with daughters Teresa (Luna Blaise), Isabella (Audrina Miranda), and Teresa’s boyfriend (David Iacono) turns deadly when a Mosasaur—the film’s most terrifying beast—capsizes their boat. Their storyline, which unfolds in parallel, provides the film’s few real jolts. Young Audrina Miranda is particularly effective, capturing raw fear better than any of her adult co-stars.

While Zora’s team faces ethically dubious missions and a cartoonish corporate villain (played with obvious menace by Rupert Friend), the stakes never feel real. After all, what are the odds Scarlett Johansson gets eaten mid-film? With survival all but guaranteed for the stars, the film fails to generate the edge-of-your-seat tension its predecessors mastered.

Even Mahershala Ali, cast as Zora’s loyal colleague and ship captain, is criminally underused, offering stoic gravitas in a role that feels more like set dressing than substance.

Visually, Rebirth is stunning in places. The dinosaurs are grander and more lifelike than ever, especially the beaked Quetzalcoatlus and towering Titanosaurus. One sweeping sequence features long-necked herbivores grazing serenely, underscored by Alexandre Desplat’s score that tastefully weaves in John Williams’ iconic theme. But these moments of awe feel like borrowed nostalgia rather than fresh magic.

And when the film tries for humour—like having Bailey’s character chew mints loudly in tense scenes—it only distracts. A late cliff-hanging moment falls flat, more cliché than cliffhanger.

At 2 hours and 14 minutes, the film feels bloated, with uneven pacing and a frustrating reluctance to take creative risks. Edwards has said Steven Spielberg was “very involved” in shaping the story, but his directorial absence is glaring. Rebirth plays like a reverent tribute to the original Jurassic Park, but without its soul—or its suspense.

In its opening scene, the text explains that since dinosaurs returned, the world lost interest, and the creatures are now endangered. It’s meant to be meta-commentary. But it lands more like an unintended warning: even cinematic dinosaurs can lose their audience.

If Rebirth proves anything, it’s this: franchises need more than scale and spectacle. They need fresh blood. Or at least a new reason to run from dinosaurs.