Metro in Dino" is not a movie it’s a fever dream on rails, a hallucinatory punch to the gut, a film that doesn’t ask you to suspend disbelief so much as it beats it unconscious and leaves it sprawled somewhere between Station 12 and full-blown anarchy.
From the first frame, where a neon-lit subway train barrels through the night while glitchy static plays over the credits, you know you’ve left the land of logic and entered a cinematic panic attack laced with prehistoric mayhem. The premise is as absurd as it is irresistible: dinosaurs loose in an underground metro system, brought to life by the kind of mad science that’s too ridiculous to be real and too sincere not to love. Enter Samira, a graffiti-splattered night-shift subway guard with a haunted past, a flamethrower rigged out of old copper pipes, and a grudge against the government big enough to sink a continent. She teams up with Nikhil, an ex-engineer who drinks instant coffee like it’s holy water and casually hacks into automated metro controls while mumbling conspiracy theories and quoting old punk lyrics.
Together they chase, fight, and occasionally befriend genetically engineered raptors, a melancholic Triceratops named Bluebell, and the almighty T-Rex known only as “No. 9,” because of course this movie names its apex predator like it’s a train line. The villain? A biotech exec called Dr. Helix, who delivers monologues in three languages and wears a lab coat that doubles as a cape. The man wants to create a new ecosystem below ground where dinosaurs can roam free how this translates to turning a public transit system into a Jurassic death trap is anyone’s guess, but the movie barrels ahead with the confidence of a drunk poet shouting at traffic.
Every sequence is dialed to eleven: there’s a fight scene between Samira and a velociraptor in the driver’s cabin of a moving train, and another where Nikhil teaches a group of school kids how to hotwire metro doors while a T-Rex chases them down a tunnel lit by broken LED strips flickering like haunted strobe lights. The visuals are so loud and saturated they might melt your retinas graffiti explodes off walls, dinosaur skin gleams like oil slicks, sparks rain from ceilings like urban fireworks.
Absolutely bananas. It’s a mix of subway screeches, thunderous roars, lo-fi beats, and techno-sitar remixes that shouldn’t work but totally slap. There’s a moment where a velociraptor hisses in rhythm to the beat drop, and if that’s not peak cinema, I don’t know what is.
The pacing is deranged, refusing to breathe or blink, as if the film itself is afraid the dinosaurs will catch up if it slows down for even a second. Characters barely get time to explain themselves before they’re flung into the next chase or philosophical rant about evolution, extinction, or urban decay. But amidst the madness, there’s weird poetry: Samira tagging the T-Rex with the word “ART” as it watches her silently; Nikhil quoting an Urdu couplet as they dodge falling debris; a final standoff in an abandoned station where vines creep up cracked pillars and a baby dino curls up on a pile of Metro cards like a cat.
Beneath all the chaos, "Metro in Dino" actually says something about systems failing, about rebellion, about survival in environments not made for you. It’s a punk rock love letter to broken infrastructure and biological vengeance, where graffiti becomes prophecy and monsters are both threat and metaphor. Sure, it’s messy. Some subplots evaporate, a few performances swing wildly into melodrama, and the science is laugh-out-loud nonsense but that’s part of the charm. This film isn’t interested in being tidy. It’s interested in being alive. In shaking your bones, frying your circuits, and leaving you gasping like you just ran for your life through a haunted underground jungle with a T-Rex two feet behind you. Watching this movie is like riding a train that's on fire while a dinosaur DJ screams poetry into your ear it’s overwhelming, disorienting, and kind of beautiful.
I walked out of the theater with my brain spinning, unsure if what I saw was genius or garbage or both, but completely certain I’d never forget it. "Metro in Dino" doesn’t play by rules it eats the rulebook, sets it on fire, and does a breakdance on the ashes while yelling something vaguely profound. It is insane in the best possible way, and in a cinematic landscape overrun with safe, slick, soulless blockbusters, it stands out like a neon raptor in rush-hour traffic:absurd, defiant, and gloriously alive.
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