How do you “reboot” a saga without losing its essence?
Apparently, British director Gareth Edwards—an experienced hand in sci-fi—alongside David Koepp (screenwriter of the original Jurassic Park, now rebranded as Jurassic World, folded neatly into the wave of expanded universes, sequels, remakes, prequels, and all sorts of offshoots that Hollywood so dearly loves), asked themselves that very question in their first creative meeting. When the news broke that the director of Godzilla, The Creator, and Rogue One was going to try and mend the disaster left behind by the last films, my hopes were instantly renewed.
I imagined their conversations and thought how fantastic it must’ve been just to realize that they were facing a complex challenge—but not an impossible one.
Koepp: “Should we bring back Sam Neill, Jeff Goldblum, and Laura Dern? What do you think?”
Edwards: “No. Look what happened with Jurassic World: Dominion—a box office hit, but the critics tore it apart.”
Koepp: “So what? Let’s make something big and entertaining.”
Edwards: “David, I want to respect the legacy, go back to the roots—to what made Jurassic Park great. I want people to relive that magic!”
Koepp: “Alright, mate. Let’s go for it then.”
We all love seeing dinosaurs on the big screen. After all, they were living beings that share several characteristics with the ones around us today… aside from a few massive differences. But beyond that—why are we so drawn to them? The metaphor is plain to see: we love going back to what made us feel something genuine, as I expressed in an article just a few days ago. Spielberg captured an uncertain future over thirty years ago that today feels like a nostalgic reminder of why cinema exists.
When Jurassic Park premiered in the early ’90s, I was one year old, and Koepp was thirty—three years younger than I am now. He managed to put a fresh spin on Michael Crichton’s gripping and terrifying novel, adapting it to Spielberg’s vision, which focused more on human relationships than on the genetic mutations caused by InGen.
And it worked. And my God… it worked sooooo well.
The success was such a hit that Spielberg had to direct a sequel in ’97. But in that film, he laughs at himself, at the concept. He turns the success into a partial parody, playing with the industry. And that should have been the end of the saga. Two films. Two monumental beasts the size of a T-Rex—or a Titanosaurus—and that’s it.
But money money rules in Hollywood. There was always something new—or rather, something recycled—to tell about these beings. We kept returning to Nublar Island, or Sorna Island, or whatever. Curiosity killed the cat and trapped Alan Grant at the end of a first trilogy that seemed to shut the door on the saga. Then in 2015, the park reopened with the hope of capturing a new generation addicted to social media. It worked. Three years later, Spanish director J. A. Bayona snuck in an environmentalist message within a haunted-house-style story. It worked. The end of the second trilogy “delighted” us (ironic, not literal) with scenes in the vein of Fast & Furious, with Chris Pratt riding a motorcycle through impossible places, shredding everything that made Jurassic Park great like an enraged velociraptor.
The old legends and the new generation came together in a senseless finale alongside the promise of a true ending—so we’d finally understand that the story had reached its limit. “The Epic Conclusion of the Jurassic Era,” read the poster’s tagline. Pff. Who were they trying to fool? Well, apparently, they did it. They fooled us all. The money came in. Clink, cash register. Arrivederci. “Jurassic World? I’m not a fan,” says Ian Malcolm in one particular scene in the movie, referring to the fact that he only came back for the money. They even allowed themselves to laugh at us… yet once again… we placed our vote of faith.
And we still do.
So…what’s new—or rather, what’s interesting—about this new reboot?
In short, without being overly optimistic or pessimistic, my first impression (or thought—sorry, I’m still a bit shaken) is: nothing’s interesting.
New? Of course, we need new faces, new dinosaur forms and a new…"vision", I guess.
Interesting? Hell No.
Edwards seems to have created what feels like a love letter to Steven Spielberg, a sequel/prequel with auteurist touches… and a final attempt to revive a kind of cinema—or rather, a story—that increasingly seems destined for extinction. The dinosaurs are more alive—and more distorted—than ever in the seventh installment of this story, which knows no narrative fossils or uncharted (or off-limits) territory.
‘Jurassic World: Rebirth’ dives literally into the muck, wades slowly through swampy waters full of tension, enters tunnels of fun, and does EVERYTHING a sequel like this should do. The film enjoys the action; Scarlett Johansson carries it on her shoulders alongside the sentimental and charming Dr. Henry Loomis—a sort of millennial version of Alan Grant (played more than decently by Jonathan Bailey)—and there’s no underlying message or subtext: this is a straightforward film about a group of people who know where they’re going but choose to experience the unknown. Forced survival. Something that, unlike the first film, was once curiosity turned into terror—cleverly disguised as a family adventure. The formula repeats again: one by one, the most expendable members of the team fall, just like our interest in the plot, leading to a climax that doesn’t truly exist.
This reboot shows Edwards has a clear understanding of the magical blend of spectacle and heart that defines the legacy Spielberg left behind in ’97 with the underrated The Lost World: Jurassic Park.
But here, that blend becomes self-congratulatory and repetitive to the point of exhaustion, I dare say.
It’s as if Edwards can’t let go of the Jurassic memories of his adolescence—filled with VHS tapes and milkshakes—and devotes himself full time to recreating what he thought he lived back then.
“Hey Steve, look—I made a Jurassic Park movie! Is it approved?” he seems to whisper in his head.
The innovation—or rather, the most exciting part of this—lies in the idea of introducing experiments instead of dinosaurs, which is how it probably should have been from the start. But Spielberg couldn’t expose us to those horrors. For that, they should’ve called Lynch or Gilliam back in the day. Imagine for a moment how the audience would’ve reacted if, instead of the classic Tyrannosaurus Rex, we’d had the new Distortus Rex on screen.
People would’ve gone crazy! Today, the love (or growing hate, depending how you see it) for the saga wouldn’t exist. Edwards embraces this distortion with a Final Destination-style twist: a Snickers wrapper slips through a containment door in an InGen lab, triggering a rapid evacuation that, of course, ends with the person who ate the Snickers caught in his own trap. But we’re shown too much. The mystery is gone. It vanishes in the first five minutes.
The opening scene is nearly identical to the one that launched this whole universe. Remember it?
A velociraptor—only its eye visible—unleashes chaos that seemed contained. Just like park ranger Robert Muldoon, we screamed in panic at the threat of the unknown. In Rebirth, it all boils down to human stupidity—to what happens when an “experienced” worker can’t throw a wrapper in the trash.
It’s strange that Koepp would make this slip-up (intentional or not), after giving us one of the best screenplays in blockbuster history.
Maybe time passed for him, too.
Maybe we’ve changed.
Maybe we’re smarter now when we watch a film.
Maybe it’s time to break the pattern.
Maybe it’s time to leave it all behind.
Published on JULY 7, 2025, 12:03 PM | UTC-GMT -3
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