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You’re playing It Takes Two. You’ve already survived a vacuum cleaner that wants you dead and a toolbox with a grudge. Then, suddenly, Hazel and Rose's room gives way to something completely different. You see plastic trees. You hear a roar. You realize you’ve hit the It Takes Two dinosaur level, and honestly, your friendship or relationship is about to be tested way more than it was during that boss fight with the angry wasp.
This isn’t just a filler stage. It is a masterpiece of co-op design that uses "The Dino Land" section of the Rose's Room chapter to show exactly why Hazel and Cody’s journey won Game of the Year. It’s colorful. It’s loud. It’s surprisingly mechanical.
Most people remember this part of the game because of the sheer scale. You aren't just jumping on platforms anymore; you are piloting massive, prehistoric plastic toys. But there's a lot going on under the hood of this level that players miss while they're busy screaming at each other to "press the button now!"
How the It Takes Two Dinosaur Level Flips the Script on Co-op
Usually, in Hazel and Cody’s adventure, one person has one power and the other has a different one. You know the drill. Hammer and nails. Sap and matches. But the It Takes Two dinosaur level changes the rhythm. It introduces a massive green T-Rex and a long-necked Brontosaurus.
The T-Rex is the muscle. If you’re playing as the T-Rex, you’re basically a wrecking ball. You bite. You roar. You smash through blocks that are blocking the path. It feels powerful, sure, but you’re nothing without the other player.
The Brontosaurus is the crane. You’re using that long neck to move platforms and create bridges. It’s a literal "high-level" perspective. If the person on the Brontosaurus isn't paying attention, the T-Rex is just biting air and going nowhere. This is where the communication usually breaks down. I’ve seen couples who have been together for a decade start arguing over whether a platform was "high enough" within five minutes of starting this section. It’s brilliant.
Josef Fares and the team at Hazelight Studios designed this specifically to force a different kind of spatial awareness. You aren't looking at your own character as much as you're looking at what your partner needs you to move. It’s a lesson in selflessness wrapped in a neon-colored prehistoric playground.
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The Toy Aesthetic and the "Rose’s Room" Logic
Why dinosaurs? Why now?
The It Takes Two dinosaur level sits inside Rose’s Room, which is arguably the most creative hub in the game. Rose is a kid. Her world is built on imagination and the toys she uses to cope with her parents' impending divorce. The dinosaurs represent that raw, tactile play. They aren't "real" dinosaurs; they are the clunky, plastic toys you’d find at the bottom of a toy chest.
Hazelight nailed the "toy" feel. When the T-Rex bites, it doesn't feel like a biological creature. It feels like a spring-loaded plastic jaw snapping shut. The sound design is crunchy. The animations are slightly stiff on purpose.
Why the pacing works so well here:
- The Intro: You start by just seeing the scale. It’s intimidating.
- The Learning Curve: The game gives you a few "safe" smashes to learn the controls.
- The Complexity Spike: Suddenly, you’re coordinating movement and attacks simultaneously.
- The Climax: The level ends before it gets tedious.
This level is a palette cleanser. It follows some pretty intense platforming and precedes even weirder stuff. It’s a moment of "heavy machinery" gameplay that slows things down just enough to make the next fast-paced section feel fresh again.
The Stress of Synchronized Chomping
Let’s talk about the puzzles. The It Takes Two dinosaur level isn't hard because the mechanics are complex. It's hard because humans are bad at communicating under pressure.
There is a specific part where the Brontosaurus has to lower a platform so the T-Rex can jump across, but the T-Rex also has to clear obstacles for the Brontosaurus to move forward. If you go too fast, you die. If you go too slow, your partner gets annoyed.
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It’s a micro-manager's nightmare.
I remember playing this with a friend who insisted on "counting down" every move. "3, 2, 1, LIFT!" It worked, but it felt like we were diffusing a bomb rather than playing a video game. That’s the magic of this level. It turns a casual gaming session into a high-stakes coordination exercise.
Common Mistakes Players Make:
- Over-rotating the Brontosaurus neck: You don't need to be as precise as you think. Just get it in the ballpark.
- T-Rex spamming the bite button: Timing matters. If you miss the window, the platform might move before you can reset.
- Ignoring the background: The level is beautiful. Stop yelling for a second and look at the "bedroom" horizon. It’s some of the best art direction in the game.
What This Level Teaches Us About Game Design
Hazelight Studios doesn't like repetitive gameplay. Josef Fares has been vocal about how he hates when games introduce a mechanic and then make you do it for ten hours.
The It Takes Two dinosaur level is the embodiment of this philosophy. It exists for maybe 15 to 20 minutes. You use these specific mechanics, you master them, and then the game takes them away. You never see those dinosaurs again.
In a traditional AAA game, "Dinosaur Mode" would be a three-hour subplot. Here, it’s a flash of brilliance. This "disposable" design is why the game stays at a 90+ on Metacritic. You never have time to get bored. By the time you’ve figured out the rhythm of the T-Rex, you’re already moving on to a space station or a giant clock.
Actionable Tips for Beating the Dino Section Without an Argument
If you’re stuck or about to start this part, keep these things in mind to save your relationship.
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First, let the less experienced gamer play as the Brontosaurus. The T-Rex requires slightly more aggressive timing with jumping and biting. The Brontosaurus is about positioning, which is usually easier to grasp if someone isn't used to platformer physics.
Second, use the "Look" mechanic. If you’re confused about where to go, stop moving. The camera usually pans to show you the goal.
Third, don't rush. There are no timers in the It Takes Two dinosaur level. The only pressure is the pressure you put on each other. If you fall, you respawn almost instantly. The stakes are actually very low, even if the roaring plastic toys make it feel intense.
Finally, pay attention to the dialogue. Cody and Hazel’s banter during this section is some of the most telling in the game. They start by bickering about how to move the toys and end—if you’re playing well—by complimenting each other’s "driving." It’s a meta-narrative for the players themselves.
The dinosaur sequence stands as a testament to what makes co-op gaming great. It’s not about winning; it’s about navigating the friction of two different people trying to achieve one goal. Whether you love the T-Rex or find the Brontosaurus controls a bit clunky, you can’t deny that it’s one of the most memorable "Rose’s Room" moments.
Grab your controller. Be patient. And for the love of everything, don't drop your partner into the abyss because you forgot to hold the platform up.
To get the most out of your playthrough, try swapping roles if you ever replay the chapter. Playing the "other half" of the dinosaur duo gives you a much better appreciation for why your partner was struggling with the timing in the first place. It turns a moment of frustration into a moment of genuine "oh, I get it now" empathy, which is exactly what the game is trying to teach you anyway.