Directed By Jon Lucas and Scott Moore

Starring – Leslie Mann, Isla Fisher, Anna Faris

The Plot – Three friends (Mann, Faris, Michelle Buteau) go on a spa weekend that descends into chaos when their trainwreck friend (Fisher) joins, leading to hilarious consequences.

Rated R for adult language throughout, sexual material, and some drug use.

SPA WEEKEND | Official Trailer | Only In Theaters August 21

POSITIVES

Truthfully, very little about Spa Weekend’s finished product appeals to anyone who isn’t a middle aged mother, however to that demographic there are a couple of meaningful components that could possibly trick them into having a good time, beginning with the escapist factor elicited from immersing ourselves in the weekend getaway of these characters. If there’s anyone who is batting a thousand with regards to what they add to the film, it’s certainly Danny Ruhlmann’s documenting cinematography, which not only entices us with the upper class elegance of breathtaking scenery and delicious dishes, but also a connective communication with each of the actresses, with regards to how to depict candid responses throughout, and while Ruhlmann receives very little help from direction or screenwriting that can’t even meet his stoic efforts halfway, he still makes a valiant effort of intoxicating female moviegoers into the fantastical ambiance of a vacation of their own, allowing an all-access eye level immersive experience that unabashedly indulges in the luxurious, in turn succeeding at the gimmick of its evidential objective. Beyond this, while the characters of this collective ensemble leave plenty to be desired, in terms of compelling personalities among them, the dedicatedly committed work of its fabulous foursome do a satisfying job of emulating the vital friendship dynamic that drives their weekend of chaos, enriching a believable element of effortless chemistry that allows each of them to bounce the material accordingly off of one another. While the idea of making a movie on vacation certainly adds to this creative intention, the reality is that each of the actresses aren’t phoning their deliveries in with any kind of stagnant energy that stunts their commanding presence, particularly Isla Fisher, who is undeniably portraying an actual character more than the rest of her co-stars. Donning a thickly persistent Australian accent and groovily outdated threads, Fisher unapologetically steals the show at around the movie’s twenty minute mark, both with limitless intensity and juvenile immaturity that coherently represent the lack of growth in her demeanor, but beyond that a radiant charisma that seamlessly helped articulate the two laughs that I did attain throughout the engagement, and it’s proof once more of how influential an actress like Fisher can be if she’s given free reign to express herself endlessly.

NEGATIVES

Besides that, everything else about this movie resulted in an aggressively obnoxious experience, where every moment spent alongside these crudely embarrassing characters surmised a materialistic minefield of auditorium-deafening bombs to devastate an audience, resulting in very few laughs for a flimsily constructed screenplay backed by a try-hard underlining to its humor. From the word go, very little mistake will be made about the movie’s rating, as not only is the dialogue driven by vitriolic vulgarness that feels like it’s trying to overcompensate in every other word or expressive emotionality, but also with an undefined direction in delivery that sells these punchlines in the most deafeningly dull manner, and considering the material is helmed by the dream team dynamic duo of Jon Lucas and Scott Moore, the very same two men responsible for penning The Hangover, its encompassing of the the weakest and most outdated toilet humor is disappointing to say the least, especially when the editing techniques relax themselves in order for the actresses to improvise the painfully obvious intention. With the expired material landing so inconsistently, it requires the compatible chemistry of the characters to truly bring the gags to life, but because each of them are written in compromisingly clumsy ways that fails to surmise a single redeemable quality among them, it makes for an egregiously trying engagement that failed to muster any semblance of investment or empathy to a single one of them, especially when their constant property destruction rarely results in anything other than a slap on the wrist. Between them, Leslie Mann’s Jane is the blandly lifeless straight woman, Isla Fisher’s Mel is the abrasively overzealous sex-starved maniac, Michelle Buteau’s Coco is broodily bitchy, and Anna Faris’ Sophie is basically a ten-year-old girl, and considering the lack of palpable plot in the relaxed screenplay fails to muster any kind of original arc between them, we never feel like we’re given the opportunity for an attainable grasp on a single one of them, instead mustering these heavily predictable individual conflicts that are only there to serve drama to the loose defining of their dynamic, and it soon becomes painfully transparent that Lucas and Moore are more preoccupied with the enticing experience of escapism rather than an emotionally complex journey about friendship, similar to 2018’s Girls Trip, to which this movie cannot hold a flickering candle to. Aside from drifting direction and uncompelling writing, the film’s production is also squandered by depriving decisions that take the integrity and nuance (What little there is of it) out of every scene, where everything from the musical tones to shameless product shilling results in an absorbing of authenticity that deliberately makes its audience feel incapable of interpreting any character response on their own. On the former, the instrumental compositions from Phillip White leaves little to be debated in the emotional context of every scene, with these meanderingly drowsy themes feeling so on-the-nose and unlayered that they feel plucked from the most generically grinding after school sitcoms of the 90’s, and when combined with psychologically grating chick rock during an abundance of montages where the filmmakers would rather condense and summarize rather than live within, it’s imbedded so abrasively in volume and mixing that it completely drowns out any of the momentary dialogue conjured from its characters, leaving music video tangibles to sequences so determined to sell outdated favorites of yesterday. As for the aforementioned product placement, while it isn’t as consistent as some of the other films that I call out for a lack of artist integrity, there are a couple of scenes where the unsubtlety of the intention becomes glaringly evident, especially one involving Bubly sparkling water, to which Faris advertised in commercial form a few years back. This inclusion to the imagery of the storytelling wouldn’t necessarily be an issue if these product props were depicted slightly out of framing, with just enough familiarity in the designs of the brands to subconsciously convey what they are, however there’s such a meddling intention with the execution of the imagery that leaves little to squander the chance of making back some of its budget with some on-screen marketing, and like seemingly everything else in the material, there’s such a plaguing laziness to how it’s periodically incorporated, demeaning an already naggingly unpleasant film with the weakest brand of advertising, making it tough to take seriously, let alone respect morally. Finally, while the film’s runtime clocks in at 92 minutes that at least initially feels harmless, the plundering of its pacing throughout the second half eventually sets in, specifically once the seams of a palpable plot do start to materialize in the adventurous exploits of a more dramatically dependable distancing conflict, the likes of which anyone can see coming from miles away. Like many comedies before it, the film opts out of attempting to entertain an audience by reaffirming the unbreakable connection of its leading ladies, and while the nobility of its intention is admirable in its attempt to give the material layers, the reality is that the first half never solidified their emphasized connection in the first place, leaving so much of the surmised stakes stunted by the introduction of a conflict that resolves itself just as quickly as it introduces itself. What this means for the pacing is that these mounting individualized arcs eventually stall the storytelling in ways that formulaically resolve them one by one, and considering they fail to enact any kind of meaningful momentum in the depths of the sequencing, nor redeemable epiphany in the development of its characters, it leaves the second half feeling twice its executed length, especially with so much aforementioned predictability leaving the audience constantly one step ahead of the movie at all times.

OVERALL
Spa Weekend is a raunchily tasteless girls-night-out with enough juvenile debauchery and vitriolic vulgarity to underscore its outdated and meanspirited material, leaving much to be desired about this exaggerated means of escapism that feels closer to a nightmare than nourishment. Despite the lack of laughs and compelling characterization, the film does succeed at surmising a 92-minute commercial of luxurious tastes and intoxicating scenery for its lady-dominated audience, proving anything that guys can do, girls can do cruder.

My Grade: 3.8 or F