It’s hard not to chuckle when the newest entry in the Jurassic franchise opens with a mutated six-limbed T. rex named “Distortus rex”—a name that feels like it was brainstormed after two energy drinks and a midnight viewing of Sharktopus. Jurassic World Rebirth, directed by Gareth Edwards and penned by original Jurassic Park screenwriter David Koepp, doesn’t shy away from spectacle. But whether it’s evolution or repetition, it stumbles as often as it sprints.
The return of Koepp is both nostalgic and problematic. On one hand, he brings classical pacing and precise narrative geometry to the chaos, a clarity missing from some of the franchise’s more recent scribblings. You can feel echoes of the original’s tension: the slow build before the storm, the crisp group dynamics, the sense of isolation. But Koepp also resurrects too many old ghosts. The rugged ex-military protagonist? Check. The morally shady biotech mogul? Oh, absolutely. The naive scientist with dreams of ethical redemption? Say no more. It’s like he cracked open his Jurassic Park screenplay from 1993 and just scribbled “Mutated” over the word “Velociraptor.”
Gareth Edwards, meanwhile, brings his usual cinematic muscle. He’s at his best when building atmosphere—shots of the ghostly, ocean-wrapped Ile Saint-Hubert are striking, reminiscent of Monsters in their eerie beauty. But where Godzilla brooded and withheld, Rebirth doesn’t know when to stop showing its teeth. The pacing slips into disarray midway, the camera jerks from a mosasaur chase to mutated raptors without breathing room. Edwards never quite finds the tonal balance between awe and terror that his previous films mastered. The monsters overwhelm the mood.
Plot-wise, Rebirth follows the Jurassic playbook with almost reverent mimicry. A remote island? Of course. A ragtag team lured by corporate interests? Naturally. Scientists who realize too late that science shouldn’t be tampered with? It wouldn’t be Jurassic World without them. Zora Bennett (Scarlett Johansson), despite a few riveting action beats and a suitably haunted backstory, primarily serves as this installment’s obligatory hardened heroine with a heart. The supporting cast gets devoured with methodical predictability—one by mosasaur, one by Quetzalcoatlus, one by cliché.
Compared to its predecessors, Rebirth fares better than Fallen Kingdom, which felt like a haunted mansion offshoot, and lands slightly below the 2015 Jurassic World , which at least had a self-aware sense of play. This one is more serious, more genetically torqued, and less fun. It tries to provoke existential dread over synthetic biology and pharmaceutical ethics, but those themes are buried under crashing helicopters and disintegrating boats.
Introducing deformed dinosaurs—like the hilariously terrifying Distortus rex and the sky-swooping Mutadons—adds fresh grotesquerie but dilutes thematic weight. These creatures feel less like living animals and more like boss-level video game monsters. Their presence has little nuance; they exist to kill and chase. Isabella naming the Aquilops “Dolores” offers a rare tender beat, but even Dolores ends up as another quirky dino sidekick, lost in the din.
Still, when Rebirth settles down, moments shine. A flare-lit standoff between Duncan and the Distortus rex is one of the most visually inventive sequences in the franchise. Edwards’ lighting and framing conjure primal fear, and Koepp’s script finally lets the tension breathe. It’s too bad these flashes of brilliance are scattered like fossil fragments.
Despite its flaws, the film benefits from Edwards’ world-building and Koepp’s knack for set-up and payoff. The final act, where the cast confronts corporate greed and decides to distribute the cure without a patent, adds a refreshingly hopeful beat to the otherwise grim proceedings. That moment of moral clarity gives the movie a semblance of soul, even if it arrives after two hours of carnage and screaming.
Jurassic World Rebirth is both a loving homage and an exhausted repetition. It’s big, loud, intermittently clever, and occasionally ridiculous. The franchise has grown new limbs—but not necessarily in the right places.
Grade: B+.
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