A breeding ground where the scaly guys now run loose, unchecked by the fallible containment gear that so memorably shut down in the first (the lycine-in-the-diet problem is waved away cheaply). It's based very loosely on Crichton's frail "successor" to Jurassic, but clearly Spielberg was busy with his own ideas as the author penned an indifferent re-run and the film expends a lot of effort trying to mould the director's visual ideas to the novel's framework. The strange thing is, you leave the battered stalls with a mix of contrary feelings - that sheer post-rush rapture and a sneaking, growing suspicion that you have witnessed a Spielberg below par. But even two thirds of the way toward Jurassic Park is about a third better than your average buster of blocks. There was no way, no matter how much Spielberg flounce was imbued in this sprightly sequel, that it was going to be as good as the original.
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