The reason Jurassic Park (the film, 1993) worked, and why none of its sequels have come close, is because the first film is essentially the same dynamics as the first half of Frankenstein, and the sequels all lose the plot from there.
The first hour and change of the 1993 film are moving, exciting, exhilarating even if the dinosaurs never escape. We are watching deeply nerdy people who have dedicated their lives to science and discovery achieve a miracle. The looks on their faces communicate awe, inspiration, even love, from the moment they see the first brachiosaurus, through the shot below of Sam Neil cuddling a sick triceratops, and on. I have been laughed at over too many parties for insisting that the real story of the film is essentially a love story, but I’m sticking with it.
The point at which the movie turns is, of course, once they realize they can’t control the miracle they’ve created. It begins to destroy them. So far, we’re right along with Frankenstein. People run, die, cry, regret, but then they escape the island, and the conflict is essentially paused.
At this point the JP franchise loses the singular thing that made its premise compelling in the first place. From here on out, our dinosaurs serve the same function for our future protagonists as Godzilla.
No one looks at these creatures with the same sense of awe, pride, marvel, accomplishment, or beauty again. We’re completely unconflicted about them. They’re here to eat us, and our feelings are pretty simple about that.
If the franchise ever wants to make good on its promise, the most compelling sequel of JP possible is simply the last half of Frankenstein. Bring back the creators, with all their pride and devotion to the monster, and make the creators resolve to destroy their creation. Make them choose to unmake the miracle. Give us the grief of that resolution, through the eyes of the people most affected by it.
Until you do, it’s just more Godzillas with different branding.