TL;DR: Against all evolutionary logic, Jurassic World Rebirth delivers a surprisingly charming, funny, and thrilling revival of a franchise that had long outlived its narrative ecosystem. Scarlett Johansson anchors it with gravitas and romcom sparkle, Gareth Edwards directs with Spielbergian flair, and for once, the dinos aren’t the only thing with teeth.

When Fossils Learn New Tricks

I was eight years old when my dad first taped Jurassic Park off ITV. The tape was grainy, the adverts unskippable, but when that trembling cup of water introduced the T-Rex, my entire understanding of cinema shifted. Dinosaurs were no longer merely plastic skeletons in the Oxford Museum of Natural History; they were gods reborn in Dolby stereo. So yes, like many 90s nerds, I have watched the franchise degenerate over the years into a fossilised self-parody with the weary sadness of someone watching an elderly pet decline. Fallen Kingdom was like seeing your Labrador’s back legs give out. Dominion was the dog’s final bowel movement on the living room carpet.

But Jurassic World Rebirth? Against all odds, this is the adrenaline shot to the heart that wakes up the comatose beast. And if that metaphor sounds gory, wait till you see what these velociraptors do to Rupert Friend’s security goons.

The Clean Slate Retcon That Saves Everything

Screenwriter David Koepp and director Gareth Edwards clearly approached the script with a question no one else dared to ask since 1993: What if we just made these movies fun again? Gone is the lore-laden, triple-helixed nonsense about cloned kids and genetic locusts from Dominion. In its place, a sleek cold open: a “17 years earlier” flashback that rips out the rotten narrative foundations and cements something new, fast, and clean. We’re told dinosaurs have mostly died out in the wild, bar a few surviving populations on the lush fictional Île Saint Hubert.

The setup is refreshingly simple. Creepy pharma giant wants dino blood to create miracle drugs. They hire a crack team to collect blood samples from one dinosaur of each kingdom – land, sea, air. Obviously, everything goes horrifically sideways because this is Jurassic World, not Jurassic Business As Usual. Edwards knows the formula – and crucially, knows how to make it taste fresh again.

Scarlett Johansson and the Gift of Romcom Chemistry

Enter Scarlett Johansson as Zora Bennett, an ex-military operator with the clipped confidence of a Marvel spy but a warmer, more grounded humanity. Watching her here felt like watching Sigourney Weaver in Aliens – capable, vulnerable, exhausted by corporate idiocy but driven by a buried idealism.

She’s joined by Jonathan Bailey’s bespectacled palaeontologist Dr Henry Loomis. Their chemistry crackles with a romantic tension so effortless it makes you wonder why these films ever tried to survive without human intimacy at their core. Bailey’s Loomis is brilliant but awkward, a man who dreams of dying in shallow seas so his fossilisation is geologically optimal. His quiet monologue about intelligence being overrated – “The dumb dinosaurs lasted 165 million years. We’ve only made it 300,000 so far.” – is a micro-moment of existential beauty in a film that could have coasted on spectacle alone.

And then there’s Mahershala Ali, whose boat captain Duncan Kincaid radiates dad-joke serenity and steel-eyed competence. His every line lands with gentle authority, and his smile could probably calm a panicking mosasaur. Rupert Friend’s villain is enjoyably oily, Ed Skrein’s security bro gets chomped exactly as karmic law demands, and there’s a sweet if underwritten side plot with Manuel Garcia-Rulfo as a stranded dad trying to keep his family alive.

Spielbergian Nostalgia Done Right

There are certain Jurassic tropes that will never go extinct, and Edwards wields them with loving precision. The slow turn to see a dinosaur looming behind you. The immediate close-up on the actor’s bug-eyed horror. The storm-lashed night sequences with flashes of teeth and thunder. The choral strains of Michael Giacchino’s rearranged theme swelling as a brachiosaur steps into frame. Rebirth leans into these beats without irony, and the result is cathartic.

But what truly makes it sing is its humour. Not quippy Marvel humour, but situational tension relief: moments like Loomis rambling about fossilisation mid-stampede, or Zora snapping at corporate idiots while rigging an explosive charge to distract a rampaging carnotaurus. Comedy emerges from character rather than overwritten punchlines.

Why This Feels Like The End – And That’s Okay

Perhaps Jurassic World Rebirth succeeds because it accepts its own finality. Edwards doesn’t pretend dinosaurs are fresh IP anymore. They’re cinematic fossils: awesome to witness, but carrying the weight of extinction. The film’s structure embraces that melancholy. These creatures are dying out, and the film knows it’s chronicling a final chapter, not building towards a next phase. No post-credits scene teases a cinematic universe. No hybrid dinosaur roars menacingly into the IMAX void.

Instead, Rebirth offers something better: a graceful, self-aware farewell. Sure, the shameless product placement for chocolate bars is eye-rolling, but by the time the end credits roll, buoyed by a final sweep of John Williams’ original motifs, you might find yourself unexpectedly emotional.

Verdict

Jurassic World Rebirth is a reminder that even the most creatively extinct franchises can rediscover a pulse when entrusted to filmmakers who understand that spectacle only matters if we care who it’s happening to. Scarlett Johansson anchors the film with weary compassion and wry charm, Jonathan Bailey infuses it with nerdy soul, and Gareth Edwards directs the dinosaurs with childlike wonder rather than brand-mandated boredom.

Against all evolutionary odds, Jurassic World Rebirth is a rousing, surprisingly tender return to form – a roaring, stomping reminder of why we fell in love with dinosaurs in the first place. If this is the franchise’s last gasp, it’s a hell of a final roar.