Hocus Pocus 2

I clearly remember the first time I saw the original Hocus Pocus. It wasn’t in a theater; it was on a grainy VHS tape during a sleepover where we ate so much candy corn we all felt vibrate-y. For decades, that movie was a Millennial's private clubhouse—a box-office flop that blossomed into a seasonal religion. So, when Disney finally lit the Black Flame Candle again for a Disney+ premiere in 2022, I approached it with the same skepticism I reserve for "new and improved" versions of my favorite cereals. I watched this sequel while wearing a pair of fuzzy socks that had definitely seen better days, and honestly, the static electricity from the rug felt like I was casting my own spells every time I reached for a popcorn kernel.

The Sanderson Industrial Complex

The most immediate relief in Hocus Pocus 2 is realizing that Bette Midler, Sarah Jessica Parker, and Kathy Najimy haven’t lost a single beat of their chaotic synchronization. They don’t just play the Sanderson sisters; they inhabit them with a drag-queen-level commitment to the bit that is purely infectious. Bette Midler is still the undisputed queen of the scenery-chewers, her Winifred Sanderson a vibrating mass of ego and eyeliner.

The film wisely gives us a prologue in 1600s Salem, showing us the sisters as children. It’s a bit of "origin story" padding that we didn't necessarily need, but it serves a purpose: it frames the sisters as outcasts rather than just soul-sucking monsters. In our current era of "villain rehabilitation" cinema, this fits the vibe, though I’m glad they didn't go full Maleficent on us. They’re still delightfully wicked, even if the edges have been sanded down for a modern family audience. It’s a movie that exists primarily to justify the existence of more Spirit Halloween merchandise, but when the trio is on screen, you almost don't care about the corporate machinery behind it.

Modern Magic and the TikTok Generation

The heavy lifting of the "hero" plot falls to a new trio: Whitney Peak as Becca, Belissa Escobedo as Izzy, and Lilia Buckingham as Cassie. In a very 2020s move, the film replaces the "virgin lighting a candle" trope with a more nuanced exploration of budding female power and modern ritual. Becca isn't just a lucky kid; she’s an aspiring witch herself. This shift reflects our current cultural fascination with crystals, astrology, and "witchy" aesthetics that dominate social media.

While the new girls are charming and provide a much-needed groundedness, the movie struggles to balance their earnest "power of friendship" arc with the campy explosion that is the Sandersons. Director Anne Fletcher, who gave us the dance-heavy Step Up and the comedic timing of The Proposal, manages to keep the energy high, but the stakes often feel lower than a basement floor. Because it was designed for Disney+, the cinematography by Elliot Davis feels a bit "cleaner" and more digital than the moody, filmic shadows of the 1993 original. The CGI cat looks like it was rendered on a toaster compared to the original's animatronic Thackery Binx, which is a recurring frustration I have with contemporary mid-budget streaming fare.

The Walgreens Ritual and Retained Chemistry

The comedic peak of the film is undoubtedly the Walgreens sequence. In the first film, the sisters were baffled by a paved road and a bus; here, they encounter the terrifying wonders of the modern beauty aisle. Watching Kathy Najimy's Mary Sanderson treat a Roomba like a magical steed or Sarah Jessica Parker's Sarah mistake a facial mask for a "shredded face" of a child is top-tier physical comedy. These moments work because they play on the "fish out of water" trope that the original mastered, updated for a world of smart devices and CVS rewards cards.

Speaking of Kathy Najimy, her "barking" quirk and slanted mouth are back in full force. Interestingly, Najimy has mentioned in interviews that she had to remember which side of her face she tilted her mouth toward in 1993, eventually realizing it didn't matter because Mary is just that weird. It’s that kind of actor-driven texture that keeps the sequel from feeling like a total soul-less cash-in. We also get the return of Doug Jones as Billy Butcherson, the world’s most lovable zombie. Jones is a master of physical performance—having played everything from the Faun in Pan’s Labyrinth to the creature in The Shape of Water—and his chemistry with Bette Midler provides the film’s only genuine moment of pathos.

There’s also a delightful meta-layer to the production. At one point, the sisters fly past a window where a couple is watching the original Hocus Pocus on TV. It’s a nod to the fans who made this sequel possible through sheer rewatch-power. The film also features cameos from RuPaul's Drag Race stars Ginger Minj, Kornbread Jete, and Kahmora Hall, which feels like a beautiful full-circle moment given how much drag culture has embraced and influenced the Sanderson aesthetic over the last three decades.

Hocus Pocus 2 is exactly what it needs to be: a cozy, colorful, and slightly over-polished legacy sequel that prioritizes "the vibes" over a tight script. It doesn't capture the lightning-in-a-bottle cult energy of the original—few sequels do—but it provides a fantastic stage for its three leading ladies to remind us why we loved them in the first place. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a pumpkin spice latte: maybe a little too sweet and manufactured, but undeniably comforting when the leaves start to turn. If you’re looking for a deep dive into the occult, look elsewhere; if you want to see Bette Midler sing a Blondie cover while wearing a vacuum cleaner, you've come to the right place.