Nearly three decades after Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman first danced around a kitchen island to Harry Nilsson, Hollywood decided we needed another round. It is 2026, and legacy sequels are mandatory. You cannot escape intellectual property resurrection. When the news dropped that a follow-up to the 1998 cult classic was actually happening, fans rejoiced. The original film bombed financially back in the day before finding a beloved second life on cable and physical media. It became a sacred October tradition.
Then the movie finally hit theaters, and reality set in.
If you go in armed with low expectations and a heavy pour of tequila, you'll survive. If you go in looking for the eccentric, grounded warmth of the original, you're going to leave frustrated.
The Trap of Going Too Big
The magic of the 1998 original lived in the details. It felt small, messy, and lived-in. The spells involved whipped cream, neighborhood kitchens, and generational baggage that felt entirely human. It was a cozy gothic dark comedy wrapped in a romance.
The sequel throws all of that away for standard studio CGI swirls. At 130 minutes, director Susanne Bier stretches a thin plot across oceans and centuries. Sally Owens (Bullock) spends the runtime trying to keep her family safe from the infamous family curse, which tragically claimed another love interest early on. To protect her kids, she famously wipes their memories and forbids magic, a narrative choice that crumbles under the slightest logical scrutiny.
Soon, a comatose boyfriend propels Sally’s daughter Kylie—played by Joey King—on a desperate quest to the UK. Sally and Gillian (Kidman) have to chase after her. What follows is an overstuffed globe-trotting expedition that trades quirky New England atmosphere for generic supernatural action.
Where the Chemistry Still Sparkles
It isn't a total disaster. The second Bullock and Kidman share a frame, the decades melt away. Their offscreen friendship translates directly to the screen. They fall right back into the rhythm of bickering sisters who would literally die for each other. When they are allowed to just trade barbs, the movie works.
Lee Pace also shows up as a charming British scholar of witchcraft, sparking genuine chemistry with Bullock. He gives the romance-resistant Sally a run for her money. But he is just another ingredient tossed into an already crowded pot.
Meanwhile, legendary returnees Stockard Channing and Dianne Wiest are criminally underutilized. They show up to deliver a few witty lines and anchor the emotional core, but the script leaves them stranded on the sidelines. Maisie Williams suffers an even worse fate, spending most of the runtime sidelined while the rest of the cast handles the heavy lifting of the plot.
Nostalgia Isn't a Substitute for a Script
Hollywood keeps confusing fan service with storytelling. They assume that seeing familiar faces do familiar things will distract us from bloated runtimes and clunky exposition. We get another needle drop of Harry Nilsson's "Coconut", another nod to midnight margaritas, and plenty of callbacks designed to elicit cheap cheers.
The problem is that the original film worked precisely because it didn't care about building a massive universe. It was a singular, weird vibe. Trying to turn the Owens sisters into Marvel-adjacent sorceresses fighting global stakes strips away the cozy charm.
You don't need to completely skip this if you grew up wearing out your VHS copy. Just manage your calendar and your beverage choices accordingly.
Pour a heavy drink, turn your brain off for two hours, and accept that some spells are better left uncast.
