Director: Gareth Edwards
Stars: Scarlett Johansson, Mahershala Ali, Jonathan Bailey
It’s explained to us early doors in Jurassic World: Rebirth that this time – after all the other times we’ve done this – we’re going to be taken to a different island. An island where, in the aftermath of the first few park failures, the In-Gen corporation hid their most wonky, unappealing and mutated experiments. The dinosaurs, they felt, that it would be too embarrassing to let the baying public see. In that moment, dear viewer, it’s not unreasonable to feel a tad uncomfortable that we’re being taken for the proverbial ride while being told about it at the same time. Bums on seats, Jurassic World: Rebirth‘s already got your money. Time to see the dregs! P.T. Barnum would be proud.
After the dire misadventures of the Colin Trevorrow years this franchise was pretty much done for. Written off. Kaput. Then two words happened to reignite hope. Gareth. Edwards. Even in spite of his ambitious sci-fi misfire The Creator, Edwards has generated enough goodwill over the years to suggest he might reinvigorate a series that seemed ready for extinction. In spite of retaining the suffix ‘World’, this is a new, third generation of adventurers. Chris Pratt, Bryce Dallas Howard and whoever else have been retired and the series is immediately better for it. But not much better for it. For these new opportunists are every bit as mercenary as the callow franchise extension they’re starring in.
Head merc Zora Bennett (Scarlett Johansson) is swiftly snapped up by pharmaceutical moneyman Martin Krebs (Rupert Friend) for an expedition to the equatorial islands that are home to the last dwindling survivors of the once-thriving dino reanimation project. It seems Earth’s climate isn’t what it used to be, and the giant lizardy ones have retreated to a largely oceanic belt around the planet’s midriff. Krebs wants to nab some juicy dino DNA to help engineer a treatment for heart disease and is prepared to spare no expense. With dollar signs flashing in her eyes, Zora quickly forgets the PTSD of losing both her mother and former teammates in the immediate past, and sets to work building Krebs a team. Token museum nerd Dr Henry Loomis (Jonathan Bailey – who is not Theo James, it turns out) is easily converted to the cause, as is Zora’s old buddy and ship captain Duncan Kinkaid (Mahershala Ali). Before you can request an ounce of charisma we’re off to the races.
What’s immediately striking about Rebirth is how particularly bad a lot of it looks. For all it’s faults The Creator looked immaculate on a budget of $80mil. At $225mil, Rebirth might be the ropiest looking entry in this franchise’s 32 year history. Green screening is a particularly recurrent problem, especially a really long scene about – I’m not making this up – pissing. Even worse are the CG miniature humans seen ab-sailing down sheer rock faces with all the authenticity of one of Dr. Hammond’s flea circuses. Most of Edwards’ dinosaurs look shiny, weightless and disconnected from the natural environs, and some aren’t even positioned in the eye-lines of the supposedly awestruck characters. If The Creator was most definitely ‘one for him’, Rebirth is the subsequent ‘one for them’ and it feels like quite the rush job.
The same goes for David Koepp’s script, which is as ambivalent about character as this movie’s T-Rex is about dinner. Koepp’s been responsible for some corkers lately (particularly Kimi and Black Bag for Soderbergh). Rebirth feels like bottom drawer material hastily dusted off once this franchise fell back into his lap. There’s an entirely superfluous set of local characters who wind up stranded with our leads. They’ve clearly been injected into this story to broaden the appeal to families (see also the cloying Baby Yoda-like dinosaur invented to trek along with them), but the motivation seems so shrewdly obvious, and any scene involving them is an opportunity for a bathroom break. Yes, even, the T-Rex one.
Edwards being Edwards there are flashes of The Good Stuff, particularly a cold open that plays like his own personal audition tape to do an Alien movie, but there’s little escaping the growing suspicion that this is a money-spinner first and foremost. However tired the idea of a dinosaur island might be, these movies still rake in truckloads (the last three currently rank 10th, 23rd and 56th respectively in the all-time box office tables). While people keep turning up in their droves, Universal is going to find material to keep the brand going. Rebirth quite wearily shows how thin that material is allowed to be. It isn’t as repugnantly stupid as Dominion, but it’s disinterest in providing anything remotely of note is almost more crushingly disappointing. As disappointing as this movie’s literal turkey dinosaurs*.
Bailey’s Dr Loomis has one quite spirited monologue in the middle of the film about the futility of survival. That natural selection will come and get you in the end, and humanity’s days, too, are numbered. It’s a curiously downbeat diatribe that comes immediately after a cod attempt to conjure awe that’s mostly driven by John Williams’ rehashed score. If, as the title threatens, this is intended as an opening chapter of yet another trilogy, the growing pains are going to be quite severe. Maybe sometimes life shouldn’t find a way.
*I’m assuming turkey dinosaurs are a decidedly British culinary phenomenon, so you might excuse Americans for not knowing how ridiculous giant CGI ones would appear, but Edwards is British so this must’ve crossed his mind…
The Lost Highway Hotel 