Jurassic World: Rebirth — Mutant dinos, movie‑star charisma, and a franchise that (mostly) finds its roar again

Edwards brings back awe and grit—less myth, more menace—in a flawed yet ferociously fun reset.

If the Jurassic franchise were a dinosaur, it’d be the indestructible kind: mauled by critics one summer, stomping back the next with new stripes and bigger teeth. Enter Jurassic World: Rebirth—a fresh cast, a new director, and a mission statement printed right on the tin: bring the wonder back, but don’t skimp on the chomp. Gareth Edwards (Godzilla, Rogue One) takes the reins, working from a script by original Jurassic Park scribe David Koepp; the movie runs a brisk-ish 2 hours 14 minutes, hit theaters July 2, 2025, and is already available to rent or buy at home.

So, what’s the new flavor of dino-chaos? Scarlett Johansson steps in as Zora Bennett, a covert‑ops pro hired to escort brainy paleontologist Dr. Henry Loomis (Jonathan Bailey) on a perilous job: extract DNA from three colossal dinosaurs living in a quarantined equatorial zone. They’re not alone for long—Mahershala Ali’s seasoned teammate Duncan joins the mission, and a shipwrecked family gets swept into the survival scramble. Think: corporate science, high‑stakes fieldwork, and a lot of “we probably shouldn’t go in there” energy.

The film wears its reset proudly: new heroes, new island, no Pratt‑and‑co callbacks beyond the classic thematic brew of hubris plus hungry lizards. Edwards and Koepp keep the plotting straightforward—arguably to a fault—but the lean setup pays dividends whenever Rebirth lets the environments breathe and the set pieces stalk in. (More on those in a sec.)

The dinos (and the not‑so‑natural selection)

Yes, there’s a mutated headliner. Marketing teased a grotesque Distortus rex—a warped, six‑limbed cousin of the T. rex—alongside winged Mutadons that split the difference between raptor and pterosaur. It’s the franchise’s pulpier side: part creature‑feature throwback, part “what if HR Giger doodled in a paleontology textbook.” Whether you love the audacity or miss the series’ (semi) grounded beasts, the new menagerie gives Edwards a playground for suspense: grazing titanosaur fields that go ominously still, a cliff‑nest that should’ve come with a “don’t look down” disclaimer, and aerial attacks that turn the sky itself into a jump scare.

If you’re wary of hybrids, you’re not alone. Rebirth occasionally treats the D‑rex like a monster‑of‑the‑week—awesome to behold, a tad underused—while the Mutadons do more of the stalking. The balance isn’t perfect, but it is tense in the right moments, and the film earns a few honest, palms‑sweaty holds on faces and arms. (The mosasaur sequence, staged like a nautical Jaws riff, is a banger.)

The human factor (and why it mostly works)

Johansson’s Zora is the steady center: flinty, competent, and allergic to nonsense. She’s not quippy so much as dryly humane—someone who can bark orders and then clock a kid’s fear in the same breath. Bailey’s Loomis could’ve been stock nerd; instead, he’s earnest without being naive, and the film gives him space to be awed.

Ali, unsurprisingly, radiates authority and warmth; if anything, you’ll wish he had twenty more minutes. Rupert Friend, meanwhile, leans into corporate smarm as Martin Krebs—the sort of executive who talks about “breakthroughs” while the ground shakes underfoot. (That’s a compliment.)

As for the stranded family—played by Manuel Garcia‑Rulfo, Luna Blaise, David Iacono, and Audrina Miranda—they’re the heartstring threads in a movie that sometimes needs them. Their side of the story can feel like a B‑plot grafted in from a different cut, but the actors make it nimble and—crucially—give the film non‑soldier POVs when the jungle starts eating people.

How it looks, how it moves

Here’s where Edwards’ sensibilities pay off. John Mathieson shot the film on 35mm, and you can feel the texture: greens that aren’t radioactively digital, highlights that bloom rather than burn, and a widescreen frame that finds Spielberg‑y compositions without imitation. The production also chased real locations—Thailand for jungles, Malta for water work—and the result is a world that looks touched by weather, mud, and salt, not just render farms. When the camera sits low in waist‑high grass and something impossibly big passes in silence, you remember why this series became a cultural fossil record in the first place.

Edwards does scale well—it’s his thing—but he also remembers the power of anticipation. One of Rebirth’s best late sequences unfolds around a roadside mini‑mart, a cheeky update of “don’t go into the shed” tension with light, glass, and shadows doing half the work before the creature does the rest. The third act opts for sprint‑and‑scramble rather than the mythmaking showdowns of past entries; depending on your taste, that’s refreshingly human‑scale…or slightly undercooked. (I landed closer to “refreshing.”)

Sound and fury (and a clarinet)

Swapping out Michael Giacchino for Alexandre Desplat could’ve been sacrilege; it isn’t. Desplat honors John Williams’ iconic motifs without leaning on them, swirling in an adventurous, often brooding score that fits Edwards’ appetite for awe. There’s even a delightful oddity: Jonathan Bailey recorded a clarinet passage that sneaks into the soundtrack, a tiny human flourish in a movie of very big noises. The whole thing was recorded at Abbey Road with a hefty orchestra and choir, and you can hear the muscle.

Does it actually reboot the franchise?

On paper, yes. New cast, clean slate, back‑to‑basics premise. In practice, audiences seem reasonably entertained while critics are split down the middle—a 50% Tomatometer against 71% audience score on Rotten Tomatoes, and a 50 Metascore at Metacritic. That tracks with what Rebirth is: a sturdy summer roller coaster with craft to admire and choices you can quibble. It won’t convert the dino‑averse, but for many, it’s the best time they’ve had with the brand since the first Jurassic World stampeded the box office.

Money talks, too: about $800 million worldwide so far—less than the billion‑plus highs, but a roaringly healthy payday that all but guarantees more fossils in our future.

The set pieces you’ll talk about

Without spoiling specifics: there’s a boat sequence that weaponizes open water and horizon lines; a vertiginous climb to a cliff‑side nest that had my knees sweating; and an “oh no, it can fly” moment that turns a serene sky into a murder zone. Edwards is good at using space—foregrounds and backgrounds, silence and distant rumbles—to make the world feel huge. Even when the creatures go full‑on fantasy (Mutadons are wild), the staging keeps the thrills tactile.

What doesn’t quite land

Some exposition arrives via Corporate Guy Who Really Shouldn’t Be Here, and it shows. There’s also a push‑pull between “back to basics” and “new mythology,” with the latter (mutations, secret facilities, etc.) threatening to overtake the elegant simplicity that made Jurassic Park timeless. The family B‑plot, while thematically useful, occasionally tilts the film into episodic mode—survive this set piece, reset, repeat—when you want the escalation to feel cleaner.

Also: a nit from the dinosaur‑lovers’ gallery. The movie wants to both pity and fear its marquee monster. That’s a rich idea; it just needs more screen time than it gets. The Mutadons steal scenes that the D‑rex might have owned, leaving the big bad feeling more concept than character. (The upside? Those Mutadons are the scariest raptors‑adjacent creatures this series has fielded in years.)

Performances, in short

Johansson plays competence like a superpower and carries the picture’s emotional center without grand speeches. Bailey’s innate warmth gives the science a face; Ali, impossibly charismatic, makes every tactical beat sing. Friend’s villainous turn is pleasingly punchable. The family thread—Garcia‑Rulfo, Blaise, Iacono, Miranda—keeps the movie honest about civilian stakes, even when their scenes feel like they wandered in from an Amblin‑lite adventure.

Craft notes that matter

• Shot on film (Panavision 35mm). You feel it in the foliage, skin tones, and dusk skies.
• Real locations in Thailand/Malta plus sturdy set builds give the CG something tactile to latch onto.
• MPA rating PG‑13—intense creature violence, some blood.
  These aren’t trivia tidbits; they’re choices that directly impact how the movie plays, trading slick sheen for grain and grit—and a bit of that 1993 soul.

The verdict

Rebirth isn’t a revolution; it’s a course correction with teeth. When it hums, it really hums—breezy star turns, tactile environments, and sequences that remember awe. When it stumbles, it’s mostly because the script wants to juggle a few too many ideas (and species) at once. Still, coming off the franchise fatigue of recent years, this is a solid, sometimes electric new chapter that earns its title more often than not.

Hidden Gems & Limelight score: 3.5 out of 5 — a lively, big‑screen safari that trades grand myth for boots‑on‑the‑ground thrills, buoyed by Desplat’s rousing score and a lead trio you wouldn’t mind following into another patch of very dangerous weeds.

Should you watch it—and where?

If you’ve been craving the Jurassic sensation of size—that mix of dread and delight when a shadow moves through grass—Rebirth delivers enough of it to justify a trip (or a rental). It hit PVOD on August 5, so if the jungle can wait until your couch, that’s now an option; otherwise, the theatrical cut is still playing in select houses as of this writing.

Quick fact box for your inner completist

• Director: Gareth Edwards
• Writer: David Koepp
• Starring: Scarlett Johansson, Jonathan Bailey, Mahershala Ali, Rupert Friend, Manuel Garcia‑Rulfo, Ed Skrein
• Runtime: 2h 14m
• Rating: PG‑13
• Box office (worldwide): ~$800M and counting
• Why it’s notable: Shot on 35mm; Desplat’s score nods to John Williams; new creature designs (D‑rex, Mutadons) push the series’ pulpy edge.

Got your own take? Drop it below. And if you spot a raptor with wings, maybe don’t whistle.