
2025 · Gareth Edwards
When you want popcorn spectacle done with actual craft — a Friday-night thrill ride with dinosaurs, made for the largest screen and loudest sound system you can find. Comfort-food adventure with teeth.
Five years after dinosaurs spread into the wider world, covert-operations specialist Zora Bennett leads a small extraction team to an equatorial island — home to a decommissioned research facility — to harvest genetic material from the three most massive creatures alive. When their mission collides with a shipwrecked civilian family, mercenaries and innocents alike find themselves stranded among apex predators, including some the old experiments never meant to leave the lab.
A back-to-basics monster adventure: long stretches of jungle dread and held-breath quiet punctuated by huge set pieces on land and water. It aims for awe as much as terror — big creatures shot to feel genuinely big — with a survival-movie pulse throughout.
Scarlett Johansson leads as Zora Bennett, bringing a grounded, capable weariness that keeps the human side of the spectacle in focus.
Director Gareth Edwards is a scale specialist — his creatures loom, and he stages awe before he stages carnage — while the script comes from David Koepp, the writer who helped invent the franchise's original cinematic language. The result is a deliberate stripping-back to survival-adventure economy: small team, hostile island, giants in the mist. Absolutely a big-screen, good-speakers film.
A 2025 soft reset of the Jurassic franchise after the previous trilogy concluded, betting that returning to the series' original lean survival formula — and its founding screenwriter — could renew one of cinema's biggest properties.
Jurassic World Rebirth is the seventh entry in the Jurassic Park franchise and the fourth to carry the Jurassic World banner, arriving in July 2025 as a deliberate soft reset after the trilogy-capping Jurassic World Dominion (2022). It pairs a director associated with restrained, awe-forward spectacle — Gareth Edwards — with a screenwriter who helped originate the series' cinematic language, David Koepp, returning to the property for the first time since The Lost World: Jurassic Park (1997). The premise is stripped back toward the survival-adventure economy of the earliest films: a small extraction team, led by covert-operations specialist Zora Bennett (Scarlett Johansson), travels to an equatorial island around a decommissioned research facility to harvest genetic material from the planet's three largest surviving dinosaurs — one of the land, one of the sea, one of the air — for a pharmaceutical payload. A stranded civilian family and a hidden legacy of aberrant, laboratory-mutated animals complicate the mission. The film functions simultaneously as franchise continuation and as an argument that the series works best when it narrows its scale, returns to islands, and treats dinosaurs as wonders and predators rather than geopolitical actors.
The film is a Universal Pictures release produced through Amblin Entertainment, with Frank Marshall and Patrick Crowley as producers and Steven Spielberg in an executive-producer capacity — the same producorial spine that has anchored the modern entries. It was greenlit relatively quickly in the wake of Dominion, reflecting a studio calculation that the brand retained enormous global equity even as the Jurassic World trilogy drew mixed critical returns. The most consequential creative decisions were the hiring of Koepp to write a fresh, largely standalone story and Edwards to direct.
Production drew on international locations — reporting associated the shoot with Thailand, Malta, and the United Kingdom, with soundstage work in Britain — consistent with the franchise's habit of combining tropical exteriors with controlled interiors. The 2023 Hollywood labor stoppages compressed the industry calendar in this period, and Rebirth was mounted on a notably brisk schedule for a tentpole of its size; Edwards has a public reputation for working fast and lean relative to the norms of the form. Precise budget figures and the film's ultimate commercial performance are matters I won't assign specific numbers to here, as I cannot verify exact totals; what is clear from the release strategy is that Universal positioned it as a mainline summer event picture with a wide global rollout.
Rebirth sits at the franchise's characteristic seam between practical and digital dinosaur effects, a lineage that runs from Stan Winston's animatronics and Industrial Light & Magic's pioneering CG in Jurassic Park (1993) forward. The modern films lean heavily on computer-generated creatures with animatronic and puppet augmentation for close contact, and Rebirth continues that hybrid grammar; ILM's involvement in franchise creature work is long-standing, though I won't attribute specific shot counts or techniques I cannot confirm.
The more distinctive technological posture is Edwards's. Across Monsters (2010), Godzilla (2014), Rogue One (2016), and The Creator (2023), he has cultivated a method that favors real locations, available and naturalistic light, and a documentary sense that the camera is reacting to enormous things rather than pre-composing them — an approach that, on The Creator, extended to shooting with comparatively lightweight prosumer-grade cameras and building effects around found footage. Rebirth is a larger, more conventional studio machine than that experiment, but Edwards's instinct to ground scale in tactile, weathered environments is legible in the film's island textures and its preference for creatures glimpsed within landscape rather than isolated on a stage.
The film was photographed by John Mathieson, a cinematographer whose credits include Gladiator (2000), The Phantom of the Opera (2004), X-Men: First Class (2011), and Logan (2017). Mathieson's sensibility — rich, sculptural light, a taste for anamorphic breadth and for shadow that reads as texture rather than mere darkness — is a productive match for Edwards's landscape-first eye. The pairing signals an intent to render the dinosaurs within convincingly deep, atmospheric spaces: humid jungle, open water, ruined concrete overtaken by growth. Edwards's compositional signature — foreground human figures dwarfed by slow reveals of scale, horizon lines that let the eye discover the creature — is the kind of staging Mathieson's widescreen instincts support. I'll flag that granular technical specifics (exact formats, lens packages) are not something I can state with certainty.
Jabez Olssen edited the film. Olssen came up in Peter Jackson's orbit, cutting The Hobbit trilogy and They Shall Not Grow Old (2018), work that demonstrates both large-scale action assembly and a patient, immersive handling of texture and pace. The Jurassic franchise's set-piece logic depends on editorial control of suspense — the withheld reveal, the geography of a chase, the rhythm of predator and prey — and Olssen's background suits both the spectacle and the more deliberate, tension-building passages Edwards favors.
Rebirth's staging returns the series to island space and to the idea of the ruin: a former research site reclaimed by jungle, a landscape that carries its own backstory. This is fertile ground for the franchise's core visual thesis — that these animals are most frightening and most sublime when integrated into environments the audience can believe in. Edwards stages for awe as much as terror, and the film's structure — an extraction team crossed with a stranded family — allows him to alternate mission-thriller compression with survival-adventure openness.
Sound design is central to the franchise's DNA, from Gary Rydstrom's foundational creature vocalizations onward, and Rebirth inherits that expectation: the low-frequency footfall, the layered animal calls, the use of silence before a strike. I won't attribute specific sound personnel or techniques I can't verify, but the film operates within a tradition that treats sound as the primary carrier of scale and dread.
Scarlett Johansson anchors the film as Zora Bennett, bringing a grounded, capable-operative register familiar from her action work but inflected toward weariness and moral hesitation. Mahershala Ali plays Duncan Kincaid, a seasoned team member whose gravity and restraint counterweight the mission's mercenary premise. Jonathan Bailey plays a paleontologist, Dr. Henry Loomis, the film's vector of wonder and conscience — the "why these animals matter" voice the series traditionally needs. Rupert Friend plays the pharmaceutical-company representative whose corporate interest drives the plot's ethical friction, and a civilian family provides the endangered-innocents thread the franchise reliably deploys. The ensemble is unusually decorated for a summer creature feature — two of its leads are Academy Award winners — and the casting reflects a bid to give the reset dramatic weight.
Koepp's script fuses two classic franchise modes: the heist-like mission (get in, extract the material, get out) and the survival ordeal (stranded people trying to live through the night). This doubling recalls the structural logic of the first two films — human intention meeting nature's indifference — and consciously narrows the aperture after Dominion's globe-spanning, dinosaurs-everywhere premise. The dramatic engine is extraction under pressure, complicated by the intersection with the shipwrecked family and by the "shocking discovery" the marketing foregrounds: mutated, engineered animals that represent the franchise's ur-anxiety about tampering taken to a grotesque conclusion. The mode is adventure-thriller with horror inflections, and its moral spine is the familiar Crichton/Koepp tension between commercial exploitation and the wildness that resists it.
Rebirth belongs to the dinosaur-adventure subgenre the franchise essentially defined for modern audiences, itself a descendant of the monster movie, the lost-world adventure (Verne, Doyle, King Kong), and the creature-feature survival film. Within the franchise's own cycle, it is a legacy reset: the industry pattern, widespread in the 2010s–2020s, of relaunching a fatigued property by returning to first principles and shedding accumulated mythology. The presence of engineered "mutant" dinosaurs continues a trajectory the Jurassic World films introduced with the Indominus rex — the shift from resurrected animals to designed ones — which reframes the horror around human hubris in genetic design rather than the ethics of de-extinction alone.
The film's authorship is best read as a negotiation between three sensibilities. Gareth Edwards brings an aesthetic of grounded awe — creatures discovered within landscape, human smallness before scale, a naturalistic camera — honed on independent-scaled science fiction and studio tentpoles alike. David Koepp brings franchise memory and structural craft; as the writer of Jurassic Park and The Lost World, and a prolific architect of studio narratives (Mission: Impossible, Spider-Man, War of the Worlds), his return is explicitly framed as a recovery of the series' original storytelling instincts, including reported use of ideas and beats derived from Michael Crichton's source material that earlier films left unused. Alexandre Desplat composes the score — a notable departure, since the modern entries had been scored by Michael Giacchino and the franchise's musical identity rests on John Williams's canonical themes. Desplat, a two-time Academy Award winner (The Grand Budapest Hotel, The Shape of Water) known for elegance and thematic precision, represents a different orchestral temperament brought into dialogue with Williams's inheritance; how much of Williams's material is quoted or reworked is a matter I'd rather leave to the film than overstate. With Mathieson (image) and Olssen (cutting), the collaborator roster is weighted toward craftspeople with prestige-scale pedigrees, reinforcing the sense of a reset that wants to feel authored rather than assembled.
Rebirth is a mainstream American studio blockbuster — Hollywood's globally distributed tentpole idiom — produced within the Amblin/Universal tradition that Spielberg's own Jurassic Park helped codify. That said, its authorship is transnational in the way modern blockbusters routinely are: a British director (Edwards) and British cinematographer (Mathieson), a French composer (Desplat), a New Zealand–trained editor (Olssen), and international shooting locations. It does not belong to a national "movement" in the art-cinema sense; it belongs to the international-production, American-branded blockbuster ecosystem, and it is a useful case study in how that ecosystem imports auteur-adjacent craftspeople to lend distinction to franchise product.
The film is a product of the mid-2020s franchise landscape, shaped by three pressures: sequel-and-reset economics after a trilogy's diminishing critical returns; a post-2023-labor-disruption production calendar; and an industry increasingly anxious about the sustainability of legacy IP. Its "back to the island, back to basics" strategy is characteristic of the moment — a period in which studios repeatedly attempted to rejuvenate tiring properties by invoking the tone of their originals. Thematically, its interest in pharmaceutical extraction and engineered organisms also reflects a contemporary cultural preoccupation with biotechnology, genetic editing, and corporate ownership of living systems.
At its core the film restates the franchise's foundational theme — the arrogance of controlling nature for profit — and updates the target from theme-park spectacle and de-extinction toward pharmaceutical and genetic exploitation. The three "most massive" creatures as objects of harvest literalize nature-as-resource; the engineered mutants literalize the cost of design overreach, the Frankenstein anxiety that has always haunted the series. Secondary themes include wonder versus commodification (embodied in the paleontologist's awe against the corporate rep's ledger), the accidental family forged under threat (the mission team plus the stranded civilians), and the recurring Crichton warning that complex systems escape their makers. Edwards's sensibility pushes the "wonder" pole harder than the trilogy tended to, seeking to restore the original film's sense of the sublime alongside its terror.
Backward influences. The film draws most directly on Jurassic Park (1993) and Michael Crichton's novels — its DNA is the Spielberg/Koepp template of small groups, island isolation, and the moral physics of hubris — filtered through Edwards's own lineage (Monsters, Godzilla, Rogue One, The Creator) of scale rendered through restraint. It inherits the Jurassic World trilogy's premise of engineered hybrids while consciously rejecting that trilogy's escalating, dinosaurs-loose-in-the-world sprawl in favor of a contained return to origins. King-Kong-and-lost-world adventure lineage sits behind it, as it does behind the whole franchise.
Critical reception. Rebirth landed as a commercially oriented summer reset that reviewers weighed against the franchise's uneven recent form; I'll refrain from citing specific scores, quotations, or box-office figures I cannot verify, and note only that its reception was framed around the perennial question of whether the series can recapture the original's balance of awe and menace, with the Koepp-Edwards combination treated as the film's central selling point and its central test.
Forward legacy. As the newest entry, its long-term influence is not yet legible, and it would be irresponsible to assert a settled place in the canon. Its most likely significance is strategic: as a test case for whether a "narrow the scope, return to the island, hire an auteur-inflected craft team" reset can re-stabilize a fatigued mega-franchise. Whether it seeds further sequels, a new sub-cycle around engineered/mutant dinosaurs, or simply marks a course correction after Dominion is a question the record cannot yet answer — and I won't manufacture one.
Lines of influence