Not the Oscar-winning FX that brought the dinosaurs back to life. Not John Williams’ timeless score.

Not even Richard Attenborough’s hokey-but-wholesome turn as John Hammond, the eccentric billionaire who clones prehistoric beasties for his very own adventure-land.

The 3D conversion only adds to Spielberg’s tension-fuelled Jaws- meets -Westworld narrative – notably when a velociraptor leaps at the camera in the nail-chewing finale.

Best of all, that sense of wonder that sweeps palaeontologist Sam Neill’s face when he first sees the dinosaurs… you’ll still feel it too.

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“Are you trying to make me diabetic?” Rachel McAdams asks Channing Tatum after a chocolate-heavy date, and well she might – this is a couple whose relationship places them at risk of saccharine-induced coma. He writes her messages on pancakes with blueberries. You get the idea.

It’s almost a relief when a car crash leaves her with a head injury and no memory of Tatum or his blueberries.

But as plot machinations would have it, the years she’s forgotten don’t just involve meeting Tatum, but a transformation that saw her ditch law school in favour of a free-spirited life in the city – a scientifically dubious premise that nonetheless makes for surprisingly effective conflict.

Much of the appeal is down to McAdams, on such charming form that it’s just plain enjoyable to watch her, despite the broad strokes her internal struggle is painted in – she used to be conservative like her cartoonish family, but now she’s so arty and passionate she (gasp) doesn’t even straighten her hair.

This is one of those movie worlds in which rejecting a bourgeois existence means living in a vast Chicago apartment with its own art studio, where you spend all day faffing about with collages.

But the filmmakers do resist the temptation of a sweeping reunion or climactic “a-ha!” moment, and it’s in the understated ending that reality makes itself felt.

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