The new Practical Magic, directed by Susanne Bier and fronted by Sandra Bullock, barrels in with the energy of a film that refuses to sit still. It jitters, it cackles, it throws its elbows out, insisting on being both a generational saga and a fizzy empowerment romp. The manic tone works more often than it should, especially when the film leans into its own absurdity rather than trying to sand down its edges. Bier keeps the camera moving, sometimes too eagerly, but the momentum gives the film a pulse that feels earned.
Bullock, still armed with that sharp, deadpan delivery, brings a confident ease to the chaos around her, almost bordering on swagger. Her performance serves as the film’s pressure release, easing tension with her sharp one-liners that strike with the accuracy of a dart. The film relies on her talent to gently cut through melodrama before it becomes overwhelming, and she does so with genuine flair. The comedic timing between Bullock and Nicole Kidman remains the franchise’s hidden strength—a natural, unforced rhythm that feels authentic rather than staged.
The film’s thematic ambitions are both admirable and somewhat overwhelming. Bier strives to explore ideas of inheritance, responsibility, and the complicated journey of claiming one’s own power with heartfelt intent. The story seeks to resonate emotionally, particularly through the tension between generations, and at times it succeeds in touching the viewer’s heart. However, the script attempts to tie every element into a perfect package, which can feel a bit strained. The movie longs to be both expansive and perfectly crafted, resulting in a sense of frantic energy that reflects its passionate effort.
Nevertheless, the playful tone keeps the film uplifting. Bier chooses not to approach witchcraft with solemnity but instead highlights the humorous side of spells gone awry, family disputes over magical texts, and the inherent absurdity of being an Owens woman. The humor is most effective when it gently critiques the more earnest moments, serving as a reminder that sincerity can still be warm and engaging. The midnight margaritas make their return, continuing to be the franchise’s comforting mood lifter.
The film’s most noticeable tension lies in the ongoing tug‑of‑war between sisterhood and romance. The story passionately celebrates feminine strength, collective resilience, and the unwavering bonds among women who stand by each other. At the same time, it gently nudges Sally toward a romantic ending, even though she doesn’t appear fully committed to it. This inner conflict feels rooted in the franchise’s nature, but it still comes across as somewhat awkward. Sally’s life is already rich with support, meaningful connections, and fulfillment, making the film’s repeated emphasis on pairing her off feel somewhat superficial and overlooks the depth she already has.
The supporting cast adds depth and nuance, even when the script doesn’t give them enough space to develop fully. Dianne Wiest and Stockard Channing shift seamlessly in and out, embodying more of a mythic presence than actively engaging as characters. Joey King infuses her role with a nervous urgency, passionately pushing the plot forward, though at times her determination surpasses the script’s clarity. Maisie Williams has fewer scenes, but she makes each one meaningful. The ensemble’s energy sustains the film, preventing it from feeling overwhelmed by its own themes.
Bier’s direction truly comes alive when she gently embraces the film’s quirky charm. The sequences set in the English countryside evoke a storybook warmth, and the production design’s handcrafted oddities create a tangible, inviting world. The movie’s bold, sometimes chaotic aesthetic choices add a lively touch, rarely falling into dullness. The soundtrack, rich with nostalgia, offers comfort even when it feels a bit intentional. Overall, the film seeks to soothe and reassure, and it does so with heartfelt effort, even if not always perfectly.
The final act attempts to weave together every emotional thread, every magical rule, every family conflict, and each romantic subplot with heartfelt intent. While it aims for earnestness, it sometimes feels overly determined. The film seeks to provide closure for everyone—sisters, daughters, aunts, the curse, lovers, and lineage—with sincere ambition. However, the execution can seem sprawling, as the story strives for thematic cohesion even when the material naturally resists it.
Compared to the original Practical Magic, this installment feels more in tune with its tone. The first film was whimsical, poetically magical, and crafted with a gentle, flowing pace that created a dreamlike, floating feeling. It felt a bit unruly in an endearing way—organic, unconcerned with convention, allowing scenes to drift naturally. Bier’s film, by contrast, is more traditional and structured, aiming to meet the familiar expectations of a sisterhood‑and‑empowerment story. The original was rooted in a sense of wonder; the new version seeks resolution. The first seemed like a spontaneous spell born from inspiration; the second feels more calculated, like a spell cast after much deliberation.
And yet, the new film’s refusal to stereotype its women as silly or boy‑crazy is a truly compassionate and progressive step. It feels warmer, more authentic, and at times genuinely touching in its message that embracing one’s heritage can be a form of liberation. While the movie still nudges Sally toward romance, it also recognizes that her real strength lies in the women who surround her. The ongoing struggle between independence and connection remains, but the film’s true focus is the resilience and empowerment of the Owens women themselves.
Grade: B+.
Leave a Reply