Clomp, clomp, clomp — here it comes, another new blockbuster ready for its shock-and-awe ch-ching close-up. With its global brand recognition, “Jurassic World” comes with more muscle than the average big-ticket behemoth, one that’s been built on best-selling novels, three earlier flicks, theme-park attractions and the usual marketing tie-ins. Once again, dinosaurs are on the roam, an unpeaceable kingdom that is an index of the folly of man trying to play God. In reality, there’s more flab than muscle packed on this galumphing franchise reboot, which, as it lumbers from scene to scene, reminds you of what a great action god Steven Spielberg is. Too bad he didn’t take the reins on this.

Mr. Spielberg may not have directed “Jurassic World,” but his fingerprints — and anxiety over his influence — are all over it. He’s one of its executive producers and gave his blessing to the director Colin Trevorrow, who has just one other feature on his résumé, the indie “Safety Not Guaranteed.” As is the case with every filmmaker hired to lead an industrial brand to box-office domination, Mr. Trevorrow was principally tasked with delivering “Jurassic World” in salable shape, which he has done. Actors repeat their bad lines without smirking, and digital dinosaurs stomp, scatter and gulp amid product placements for Triumph motorcycles and Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville chain. There are so many plugs for Mercedes that you may wonder if the targeted viewers are studio executives.