Two decades and change after Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman first bewitched audiences as warring witch sisters in Puritan-lite Massachusetts, the Owens women have returned — and the magic, much like the plot’s timeline, is conveniently flexible. Practical Magic 2, directed by Susanne Bier, reunites the Hollywood heavyweights for a sequel that is as messy and peculiar as its predecessor, offering warmth, wit, and just enough sorcery to keep viewers spellbound through its closing credits.
The Spell That Wouldn’t Break
It has been roughly a generation since the original Practical Magic enchanted cinemagoers in 1998, blending genres with a confidence rarely seen in mainstream Hollywood. A cult-ish cocktail of romantic comedy, supernatural thriller, and family drama, it starred Bullock and Kidman at the peak of their powers as lovelorn sorceresses grappling with a centuries-old curse: every man an Owens woman loves is doomed to die young.
Much has shifted in the intervening years. The theatrical landscape has contracted, nostalgia cycles have accelerated to near-breaking point, and studios have grown increasingly fond of mining their back catalogues for franchise fodder. Yet Practical Magic 2 somehow defies expectation, arriving as both a seeming inevitability and a genuine curiosity — a matrilineal romance comedy starring two women in their sixties who are, against all odds, still magnetic.
The new film doubles down on the original’s most distillable ingredients: hairpin tonal shifts, eccentric supporting characters, and the unmistakable soundtrack of Stevie Nicks. If anything, it amplifies the quirks rather than tempering them, which either works beautifully or tests the patience depending on one’s tolerance for the franchise’s particular brand of cinematic chaos.
Sisters, Spells, and a Timeline Worth Questioning
Bullock’s Sally remains the more neurotic, sensible sibling, having largely abandoned her magical practice — much to the chagrin of Kidman’s freewheeling Gilly. Though Sally believed she had broken the generational curse at the end of the first instalment, life delivered no such tidy resolution. Her second husband perished within a few years, prompting her to take the drastic step of magically erasing any memories of witchcraft from her daughters’ minds.
This necessitates a rather generous manipulation of the timeline. The original film was firmly set in March 1998, as confirmed by the investigator Gary Hallet’s dialogue during a scene examining the suspected murder of Gilly’s serial killer ex. Yet new headstones in the sequel place the events somewhere in the early 2000s — a convenient adjustment that allows Kidman and Bullock, now both in their early sixties, to hover in that uncanny valley of Hollywood middle age while their daughters Kylie and Antonia remain perpetually frozen in their twenties.
For the timeline-sensitive viewer, this will prove mildly irksome. Yet the original’s playful disregard for logic and consistency was, admittedly, central to its enduring charm. The magic system permits generational curses, purgatorial spirits, and the automatic stirring of coffee cups but conspicuously refuses to levitate suitcases upstairs — a limitation that forces Kidman to lug oversized bags through three separate scenes with theatrical exasperation.
A Journey to England and the Men Who Haunt Them
The plot propels Kylie — played by Joey King — into a romantic entanglement with her college boyfriend Gideon, portrayed by Xolo Maridueña. When Gideon falls victim to the family curse and slips into a mysterious coma, Kylie, like her mother before her, tearfully rages against the supernatural forces arrayed against her. Guided by a recently unearthed Book of the Raven, she flees to the Owens’ ancestral homeland of England, dragging her aunt Gilly along for the ride.
Sally and Gilly chase after her, leaving behind their other relatives stranded in Boston — a narrative choice that sidelines Stockard Channing and Dianne Wiest, who deliver the film’s most luminous screen presence. One cannot help but wonder what Aunt Fran might have made of the men our heroines encounter abroad, a fascinating dichotomy of masculinity in an age of hetero-pessimism.
Among them is an occult professor played by the statuesque Lee Pace, who openly pines for Sally, encouraging her to embrace her power and feel her feelings while adorned in elaborate tattoos. Then there is a brooding warlock, Solly McLeod’s masked figure of affable menace, who craves Kylie’s abilities with a seething, almost pointed sense of aggrieved entitlement.
Circularity, Sisterhood, and the Question of Magic
The plot beats guiding these women through their romantic entanglements and back toward magic and each other are characteristically odd and, to be frank, largely beside the point. Audiences drawn to Practical Magic 2 are likely seeking the singular movie-star sorcery that Kidman and Bullock bring — beguiling eccentricity and earthy exasperation deployed with muscle memory that is, in its own right, fascinating to observe.
Still, there is genuine comfort in the Owens’ narrative circularity. In the occult realm, as in the real one, we never truly escape our inheritances nor ourselves, even as times — and hair — change. The overarching theme of feminine solidarity through cyclical adversity, though occasionally overwritten in its more earnest moments, remains winning enough to sustain interest.
The midnight margarita redux feels somewhat obligatory, yet there is just enough magic here to still, despite everything, cast a peculiar spell. Practical Magic 2 arrives in US and Australian cinemas on 10 September and in the UK on 11 September.
Why it Matters
Practical Magic 2 speaks to a broader cultural moment in which studios are increasingly willing to greenlight sequels led by older women — a demographic long neglected by the blockbuster machinery. Its existence, however messy, signals that audiences are hungry for stories centring on complex female relationships that refuse to be neatly packaged. In an era of algorithm-driven nostalgia and relentless franchise expansion, the Owens witches remind us that the most enduring magic is the bond between sisters, even when the plot logic barely holds together.
