As a franchise, Jurassic has a tone and consistency as shaky as its theme park rides.

From the revolutionary original and terrific, underrated sequel (more on that shortly), ever since Spielberg directorially departed for 2001's patchy bone-cruncher Jurassic Park III, not even Marvel's very own Guardian Chris Pratt could save the subsequently rebooted trilogy from being an enjoyably safe, increasingly jaded mixture of tension-free quipping and easter-egg nostalgia.

This is always richly rewarding for memory; the fact they're customary for every single franchise/sequel/reboot: monsters, wizards, superheroes, spies, jedi, chocolatiers or wizened archaeologists – is a component I welcome, but they cannot save a poorly constructed screenplay alone – just like CGI can't. Director Gareth Edwards understood this brilliantly with his 2016 Star Wars prequel Rogue One – the danger was as earthy as the excellent cinematography.      

Although this seventh chapter is happily the strongest instalment since the third, it's frequently as if Edwards has gone into fanboy retread mode – though not necessarily enough references to Jurassic's past itself.

Scarlett Johannson stars (Credit: Universal Pictures/IMDB)

I was so excited when I read that original screenwriter of the first two, David Koepp, was returning for the first time since 1997. What they both bring back very successfully is a sense of putting 'people in tense danger' back at its epicentre. For instance, spoiling nothing, the film opens in blatant Alien-esque peril – effective enough – but I couldn't not wonder what Ridley Scott would make of it.

Similarly, easily the best set-piece occurs when bringing the refreshing narrative strand of a family on a yacht expedition. With stalwart composer Alexandre Desplat's terrific new score pounding and pulsating as the crocodile-like Mosasaur, or two more with laser-focused orange sails, stealthily stalk their prey. Desplat sounds, in quieter moments, very influenced by Jerry Goldsmith's minimalist woodwind, again from Alien. If only the entire film had exercised this sense of Hitchcockian restraint. Jaws is so much more than a reference point, both here and in a chase down the rapids sequence (oddly the only scene with a T-Rex – always read the label), taken at last from Crichton's novel.

Some of those familial performances work very well - Manuel Garcia-Rulfo steals the film completely as Rueben, the father - he's always so good at conveying wry, vulnerable benevolence – just as he was as unreadable car salesman Marquez in the most recent Murder On The Orient Express. Why then, they included the most incongruous moments of teenage slacker humour was such an odd choice, as were the distinct lack of one of the series' most petrifying species – the velociraptor. It appears in the back of literally one shot, the shot of a completely unnecessary visual gag that falls totally flat.

 Under Spielberg, Koepp's screenplay's ace, was always to have a scene build to the audience waiting for the repercussions of a threat along with the protagonists.

Imagery forever imprinted in my mind occurs in aforementioned The Lost World – that of Julianne Moore suspended over a cliff frozen facedown on the back-window of a trailer as its glass starts to crack – all the cracks were seamlessly animated, but you'd never know it.

It was hands-over-the-face tense; there's nothing here that anywhere near approaches those halogen days. Remember how tight Moore, Vince Vaughn and Jeff Goldblum were as a group, just as integral as Laura Dern and Sam Neill were before them, along with faultless pre-teen child actors? How well-defined in their dialogue? Here the dialogue is very often: 'Lets get rich this time' or the perennial favourite: 'try not to die'.

Hands are still over the face, but in the disparaging manner of: 'They're doing that again?' Every single action sequence, somehow by design, crescendos in cliché. Must save the smallest child! Must save the DNA sample rather than myself! Must find a flare much too late! Must have a tragic backstory to make me remotely interesting!

 It's a shame, because John Mathison's cinematography (Phantom Of The Opera, Gladiator, Pan) is beautiful: humid Thailand jungles, romanticised herbivores in the long grass, and use of 35mm Kodak film instead of digital, enriches the wonderment.

Some pastiches work better than others – a claw playfully tapping on a floor, or the matchless raptors in the kitchen scene transposed to a service station, complete with shamelessly complimentary product placement: why not glimpse a Twix and Dr. Pepper?

Mahershala Ali (Credit: Universal Pictures/IMDB)

Jonathan Bailey's nondescript scientist, curiously named Dr. Loomis (Halloween or Janet Leigh's boyfriend in Psycho?) is only marginally less excruciating than he was in Wicked.

Rupert Friend is at his slimily corporate best, not least in a brilliant moment in a jeep (what else?) with a very informative navigation system.

Not forgetting Scarlett Johannson, but her more than capable energy is interchangeable to all her other action heroines – Emily Blunt or Florence Pugh could've been cast as Zora and it'd be a similar performance.

It still opened to her Avengers-level of box-office, I just wish it'd been more inventive with pushing the form and formula. It remains to be seen how a man in the sky or a family of four will fare and if they can displace it.

Rating: * * *

Jurassic World Rebirth is on at Cinemac now (Credit: Universal Pictures/IMDB)

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Macclesfield resident James Burgess is an actor and film critic with a master's degree in Film Studies.

Follow him on X - @Jamesfilmcritic

Tickets for Jurassic World Rebirth at Cinemac are available from www.cinemac.org.uk.