The violence is more intense than you remember. The suspense even more so. Death comes to characters whether they deserve it or not. This is not a movie for young children. Some profanity, but less than would be called for in the situation. Nick Fury smoking on the job.
Hold on to your butts
The power is out on the island. It is raining. The electrified fences are deactivated, and the self-guided cars have stopped beside the pen of the T-Rex we haven’t caught a glimpse of yet. It is in this moment, as you catch yourself not breathing at the top of the rollercoaster, and glancing over at your children on the couch for signs of psychological scarring, that you remember this is the director who made Jaws. While the mix of puppetry and early digital effects may feel dated at times to modern eyes, Spielberg has other cinematic tricks at his disposal: sound effects, a shadow on the wall, a camera pan, a stream turning red with blood. And as the T-Rex pushes down on the car containing the two children, you may briefly lose your grasp on the knowledge that this is a fantasy, as your brain stem becomes frightened that the actors themselves will drown in the mud before they have a chance to be crushed. —