J. R. Jones
The characters are all paper-thin, but that doesn't matter because their sole purpose is to get chomped.
So basically, Jurassic World is a big-budget indictment of corporate greed, jammed with product placement for Samsung and Mercedes-Benz and Beats by Dre and Coca-Cola.
There is plenty here to divert, but little to leave you enraptored. Such is the fate of the sequel: Bigger. Louder. Fewer teeth.
If you limit your expectations for Jurassic World to "more teeth," it will deliver on that promise. If you dare to hope for anything more-relatable characters, narrative coherence-you'll only set yourself up for disappointment.
Trevorrow is having fun taking as little of this as seriously as he needs to.
You don't go to the fourth Jurassic Park movie for up-to-date gender politics. You go for the crunchy dino-on-human action, and Jurassic World provides plenty of that.
At its best, it's good enough to take your mind off its worst, which is saying a lot.
Pratt proved in "Guardians" that he could handle hunky leading man roles, and his combination of physicality, charisma and attitude prove hard to resist one more time.
I'm not sure what specific qualities "Jurassic World" could be said to possess, beyond a vague sense of its own importance that ... comes across in the finished product as preening self-congratulation.