“Jurassic Blunder: When Nostalgia Turns into a Fossilized Flop”

A brutal deep dive into how the franchise’s resurrection may have crushed its own legacy.

There’s a moment in Jurassic World: Rebirth when a genetically enhanced dinosaur—half velociraptor, half marketing committee—lets out a deafening roar as flames erupt in the background. It’s a scene clearly meant to inspire awe, to rekindle the magic of Spielberg’s 1993 masterpiece. Instead, it feels like a tired echo of a roar that once meant something. That, in a nutshell, is the tragedy of Rebirth: a bloated, over-calculated spectacle trying desperately to tap into the nostalgia of its roots while forgetting what made those roots so potent in the first place.

Let’s be clear—nostalgia is a powerful thing. When wielded with respect and care, it can breathe life into a franchise. But when it’s exploited, hollowed out, and smeared over a lifeless script like digital frosting on an overbaked CGI cake, the result is cinematic fossil fuel: toxic, flaming, and best left buried.

Jurassic World: Rebirth wasn’t just a chance to bring dinosaurs back to life (again); it was supposed to be the emotional resurrection of our childhood wonder. But instead of unearthing the awe of the original, the filmmakers have disinterred a skeletal clone: bigger, louder, glossier—but ultimately, dead inside. It is a film haunted not by prehistoric beasts, but by the specter of missed opportunities.

Let’s talk tone. The first Jurassic Park balanced science fiction with wonder, ethics with chaos theory, suspense with silence. There were long, quiet shots of brachiosaurs silhouetted against the sky. Moments where the film simply stood still and breathed. In Rebirth, silence is extinct. Dialogue is delivered between explosions, character development is rushed between chase sequences, and every scene seems to scream: “Remember this?! You liked this in 1993, right?”

The most glaring misstep isn’t even the dinosaurs—it’s the people. The characters in Rebirth are as genetically engineered as the creatures they’re running from. You’ve got the rogue scientist with a dark past, the orphaned teen hacker, the weary dino-trainer turned reluctant hero—each one crafted from templates rather than truth. Their arcs feel like checkbox exercises, their emotional beats as forced as a T-Rex in a tea party. These are not characters you care about. They are props. Human-shaped reminders that studios think formulas sell better than feelings.

And then there’s the plot. Oh, the plot. If you manage to survive the exposition avalanche in the first 20 minutes, you’ll find yourself in a maze of recycled tropes: secret underground labs, genetically unstable hybrids, corrupt CEOs playing God, and of course, a ticking countdown to global catastrophe. It’s all been done before—better, and with fewer CGI feathers. Rebirth tries to juggle a dozen subplots, but ends up dropping all of them, leaving the audience with nothing but noise.

But perhaps the greatest betrayal lies in the film’s refusal to ask why. Why bring the dinosaurs back again? What does this say about humanity’s relationship with nature, with power, with extinction? The original Jurassic Park was a cautionary tale. Rebirth is a celebration of chaos for chaos’s sake. There’s no reflection, no ethical core—just spectacle without soul.

What hurts the most is how hard the film tries to manipulate our memories. Every shot seems designed to mimic a better one. Every piece of music echoes John Williams’ iconic theme, but with none of its emotional gravity. Legacy characters are dragged back on screen, given half-hearted arcs, and then either sidelined or sacrificed. It’s as if the film is shouting: “Look! You remember him! You loved her! Please clap!”

But nostalgia can’t fix a bad story. It can’t save a movie that doesn’t know what it’s trying to say, other than “BUY TICKETS.” And in the end, Rebirth doesn’t feel like a film made with passion—it feels like one made with PowerPoint slides in a boardroom. Focus-tested, brand-safe, algorithm-approved.

Ironically, the dinosaurs in Rebirth are more alive than the story itself. The CGI is impressive, yes. The roars are thunderous. The chase scenes are thrilling in a vacuum. But no amount of digital wizardry can replace heart. And that’s what Rebirth forgot: dinosaurs don’t make a Jurassic film. Wonder does. Fear does. Humanity does.

What we’re left with is a fossilized flop—an empty monument to a franchise that once dared to ask what would happen if we brought dinosaurs back. Now, all it asks is how many screens it can dominate on opening weekend.

The truth is that some legacies deserve to rest. Some stories earn their extinction. Jurassic World: Rebirth didn’t need to happen—and maybe, just maybe, the franchise would be better off extinct.