jurassic world

 ‘Jurassic World Rebirth’ Review: After Evolving in the Wrong Direction for a Decade, the Dino Franchise Returns to Its Origins

Jurassic world

The Jurassic franchise has been stuck in behavioral captivity for over a decade—more spectacle than substance, relying on glossy visuals and engineered gimmicks instead of the wonder that made Spielberg’s original so indelible. With Jurassic World Rebirth, however, the series roars its way back to the primal thrills and natural mystery that made Jurassic Park an icon.

 A Return to the Wild

After years of bigger, louder, and less meaningful sequels, Jurassic World Rebirth takes a bold and refreshing turn—abandoning the overbuilt theme parks and hybrid monstrosities that defined the last decade in favor of something far more primal: nature itself.

Rather than framing dinosaurs as mere attractions or bio-weapons, Rebirth lets them exist as they once did—uncontained, unpredictable, and awe-inspiring. The film is set years after the collapse of the last park, with Isla Nublar now reclaimed by jungle, ash, and instinct. There are no shiny monorails or corporate branding in sight. This is the wild as it was meant to be: beautiful, dangerous, and utterly indifferent to human ambition.

That shift in setting isn’t just cosmetic—it’s philosophical. Director Chloé Navarro approaches the island with the reverence of a nature documentarian. Wide, lingering shots of herds migrating across volcanic plateaus, a quiet moment where a brachiosaur brushes its head against the canopy, and the eerie stillness before a predator strikes all remind viewers of the original Jurassic Park’s most powerful idea: we are visitors here.

The wild also resets the power dynamic. In previous films, dinosaurs were often subject to human control—tamed, trained, or terrorized. But here, nature is firmly in charge. When the characters land on Isla Nublar, they're not entering an adventure—they’re entering a place where the rules are different, and survival is not guaranteed. The sense of danger feels earned, not engineered.

Most importantly, this return to the wild reintroduces wonder to the franchise. The dinosaurs aren’t just threats or tools—they’re living, breathing beings that command respect. From a tender scene of a triceratops defending its young to a chilling nocturnal encounter with a pack of raptors under moonlight, the film succeeds in making us feel small again—in the best possible way.

By leaving behind the spectacle and embracing the untamed, Jurassic World Rebirth taps back into what made the franchise special from the beginning: the thrill of discovery, the awe of nature, and the terror of being reminded we are not the dominant species on this planet.

Characters with Roots in Reverence

Dr. Ellie Sattler (Laura Dern) leads this installment, joined by Alan Grant (Sam Neill) and Ian Malcolm (Jeff Goldblum) in substantial roles for the first time since the 1990s. Their return isn’t mere nostalgia; these characters work to remedy the ecological missteps of the past. Ellie and Grant have dedicated years to breeding programs and conservation efforts on the mainland, while Malcolm continues to caution against hubris.

New blood enters the fray with dinosaur behaviorist Raina Mistry (Richa Moorjani), who tracks a breakthrough T. rex nesting population roaming free on Nublar. Her fierce curiosity and compassion fill the emotional gap left by more recent films. Together with park parkour specialist Carlos Vega (Anthony Ramos) and local guide Mari Costa (Camila Mendes), they form an ensemble that feels invested and alive—unlike the disposable characters of the previous trilogy.

Visuals & Cinematography: Film School for Dinosaurs

Jurassic World Rebirth is visually lush without clouding over tension. Cinematographer Greta Chang pulls off an immersive aesthetic—steeps the island in both cinematic grandeur and gut-wrenching intimacy. Key action sequences, such as a storm-swept search for a hidden nest, are bathed in chiaroscuro and heart-pounding stakes. Aerial drone snippets, sweeping helicopter panoramas, and quiet macro-closeups transform even a simple moment—like a hatchling emerging from its egg—into pure emotional impact.

Story & Pacing: Predators vs. Profit

The script, crafted by Colin Sanford and Marisol Vega, honors the franchise’s existential core. At its heart lies the question: Do we respect dinosaurs enough to steward them responsibly, or do we repeat our past mistakes? The answer is messy, moral, and profoundly human.

Rather than relying on instant high-stakes stunts, the film builds tension through atmosphere, character interplay, and nature’s unpredictability. The first 40 minutes introduce ecological elements and relationships before delivering a tense crescendo—a midnight raid of poachers with animal-rights undertones. The pacing blends contemplation with real jeopardy.

Themes: Evolution, Ethics, and Harmony

At its heart, Jurassic World Rebirth is not just a survival story—it’s a reckoning. After decades of chaos driven by scientific arrogance and corporate greed, the film finally dares to ask: What have we learned? And perhaps more importantly—what do we owe the world we’ve altered beyond recognition?

The theme of evolution runs deeper here than just natural selection or genetic tinkering. The film suggests a quiet but radical idea: that evolution isn’t just for the dinosaurs—it’s for us too. Human characters in Rebirth are forced to confront the consequences of their past choices, not through bombastic speeches, but through action—or restraint. Rather than seeking to control or contain the dinosaurs once again, the story pivots toward coexistence. There’s a moral maturation at work—one that admits failure and seeks redemption, not dominance.

This shift ties directly into the theme of ethics. Gone is the glorified techno-scientific awe of cloning miracles. In its place is a humbler, more sobering look at the ethics of playing god. The film doesn't give easy answers. Instead, it invites viewers to wrestle with uncomfortable questions. Should we preserve life that was artificially created? Do we have a right to manage the survival of species that wouldn’t exist without us? What does stewardship look like when the creatures we “saved” are now thriving on their own, without our help—or permission?

This is best exemplified in the moral arc of Dr. Ellie Sattler and newcomer Raina Mistry. Where previous installments treated dinosaurs as assets or anomalies, these two scientists advocate for balance. Their goal isn’t to capture or control, but to understand and protect without interference. They serve not as saviors, but as observers and guardians, allowing the ecosystem to find its own rhythm.

And that leads us to perhaps the most powerful theme of Rebirth: harmony. Not the sanitized version offered in corporate press releases, but a difficult, often painful harmony forged through humility. The film doesn’t shy away from the brutality of nature—there are still predators, still death, still chaos—but it reframes it. Nature isn’t a problem to solve. It’s a system to respect.

One of the film’s most affecting moments is almost silent: a wide shot of a stegosaur herd calmly drinking from a river as humans look on from a distance, not approaching, not interfering—just watching. It’s a scene of quiet awe, and it underlines the film’s message: True harmony requires letting go.

By finally embracing the moral complexity that the franchise once hinted at but never fully explored, Jurassic World Rebirth becomes something more than a monster movie. It’s a story about growth, humility, and the long journey toward making peace with the past.

Minor Misfires

No film is perfect. A subplot involving corporate puppeteers back on the mainland, eager to weaponize dino DNA, feels underdeveloped. It flirts with replicating old franchise tropes but fades before it overpowers the main story. The occasional reintroduction of stock CGI minor characters is a mere stumble, not a fall. The emotional anchor of the main cast keeps us grounded.

Conclusion: Go Back, Go Big

Jurassic World Rebirth isn’t just a sequel—it’s a reclamation. It returns to the compelling principles that made Jurassic Park so timeless: awe of the unknown, tension with the uncontrollable, and deep empathy for creatures as complex and vibrant as us. It reminds us that sometimes the most thrilling thing is not taming the beast—but remembering our place in its midst.

Fans seeking another hybrid monster film or more theme-park thrills may be left wanting—but those open to reflection, reverence, and real-world resonance will find this film a genuine rebirth. For a franchise that wandered far from its roots, this is a triumphant, grounded course correction. And after twelve years of decline, that alone is worth celebrating.

Grade: A–