Good news, everyone! The Frankenauthor Institute of Ludicrous Monstrosity's Shelley Agency for Legacy Extrapolation has managed to resurrect the frozen head of Michael Crichton. The Crichton head has been almost as fertile as when motile, and its first dictated "novel" has exploded onto the scene with a barking roar.
Remote island, check.
Intrepid hot iconoclastic scientists bound to make a hetero connection, natch.
Villainous scientist/capitalist cretins who exploit the public's stupidity, yup. (Right after this villain is painted in broad strokes as self-absorbed to the point of infantile rage, he jumps from the venial to some mortal sins. Then, when next we see him, he even CHEATS at being a vegetarian! I like a villain who dots all the i's and crosses all the t's.)
A hamhanded deployment of exposition in the first hundred pages which almost kills the novel.
A subsequent deployment of just enough science, just enough hoodoo, and just enough growling-grunting-destroying creatures to make it a fast, reasonably fun read.
Congratulations, Crichton head! Another winner! (Maybe 2.5 stars. That first 100 pages is a tough slog.)