Clone sequel

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom is a big, dumb dino joke of a movie. It’s nothing but a brainless, sloppy rehash of Steven Spielberg’s original Jurassic Park sequel, The Lost World, with a lame militaristic angle thrown in (again!).

The dinosaurs look cool, and things do get off to an awesome start in the prologue, which features an underwater visit to the skeleton of Indominus rex, the genetically engineered dinosaur that died hard at the end of Jurassic World. It’s a scary and great-looking beginning that is well-directed, and seems to be setting up a film that will recall the grim tone of Michael Crichton’s novel that spawned the film franchise.

Sadly, things degenerate badly after the title credits pop up, as the film slides into stale, conveyer-belt movie-making.

When a volcanic eruption on their island threatens the dinosaurs’ genetically engineered lives, Congress holds hearings on whether or not to save them. These hearings involve the return of the one and only Jeff Goldblum as Dr. Ian Malcolm. Rather than keeping Goldblum around for his trademark psycho rambling and dark wit, however, his character just groans a couple of lines about how we shouldn’t have made the dinosaurs because it goes against nature and they have really big teeth and might bite you. Then he goes away.

Raptor expert Owen (Chris Pratt) and Jurassic World manager Claire (Bryce Dallas Howard) return to the island to save Blue, the adorable velociraptor who wants you to pet him. Eventually, the action winds up in a large mansion in the States, where a nefarious businessman is keeping dinosaurs in the basement in a far-fetched scheme to make big bucks.

C’mon.

A rehash of a familiar plot is fine if done with skill and nuance, but Fallen Kingdom goes the campy route with the cheeky Pratt in the lead and rehash of Lost World’s moves—dinos in peril on an island, military schemes and wild beasts finding their way to human civilization—and it’s dull, dull, dull. Everybody in this film appears to be going through the motions (“I hit my green screen mark! Where’s craft services?”).

How many times do we have to see a T-rex inadvertently save the day? How many times do we have to see a billionaire old guy with an amber mosquito cane presented in a sympathetic light even though his genetic-engineering blunder has put the world in terrible peril? Sweet and cuddly James Cromwell plays Benjamin Lockwood, the former business partner of John Hammond (Richard Attenborough in the original trilogy), and he’s just a nice guy whose goofs have sent a bunch of people through dinosaur digestive systems. In the original novel, Hammond was a monster; Spielberg turned him into Santa Claus, and that trend continues with Cromwell’s Lockwood.

Normally excellent director J. A. Bayona (The Impossible) is saddled with a dopey screenplay, one that wants to be family-friendly with just a hint of menace. Personally, I don’t want dinosaurs that can be controlled with clickers so we can all go, “Awwww.” I want them to tear people’s faces off!