Amy Adams can't recapture the magic with Disenchanted

There’s a legitimately good premise buried deep in the core of director Adam Shankman’s Disenchanted. This follow-up to 2007’s Enchanted, the uproariously funny, subversive, and smart goof on Disney animated fairy tales once again dispels the myth of “happily ever after,” and this time around shows how even the best intentions can be corrupted. Yet its narrative and thematic sentiments come across as simultaneously under-cooked and overly contrived. With less memorable songs and scenarios, it strangles all the wit and charm out of its clever ideas, disappointing an audience that’s been waiting for it longer than James Cameron fans have been hoping for an Avatar sequel.

Turns out happily ever after was not the end of Princess Giselle’s story. She may have found true love with Robert (Patrick Dempsey), as well as her place in the world at the end of the first film. But that doesn’t mean she’s stopped writing her own storybook fantasy. This follow-up feature begins with a short time jump and a new baby in the family. As their family unit grows and the circumstances of life cause tiny fissures in their happily-ever-after, her fairy tale feels further away than ever. That’s when she sees a sign for the quaint suburban town of Monroeville. While Robert is willing to make the change in scenery, Giselle’s sarcastic teen stepdaughter Morgan (Gabriella Baldacchino) is far more reticent to move.

Their new life gets off to a rocky start when their castle is still under construction. Robert’s mostly absent thanks to a long commute. The welcoming committee—led by tyrannical overachiever Malvina (Maya Rudolph)—isn’t as kind as it is condescending. And Morgan experiences growing pains trying to fit in at her high school and appear cool to cute crush Tyson (Kolton Stewart), Malvina’s son. So Giselle uses a magic wand from Edward (James Marsden) and Nancy (Idina Menzel) to wish these troubles away. Yet in her frenzy to make all their problems disappear, she creates new ones, turning the town into a cartoonish village ruled by a villainous queen—and inadvertently casting herself as an evil stepmother to a put-upon stepdaughter.

Shankman’s well-established disregard for where to cut action in song and dance numbers does the performers and his own choreography a well-established disservice. He and editors Emma E. Hickox and Chris Lebenzon cut away either too early or too late, to a distracting degree. The rhythm of these big, broad musical sequences is off-putting, hobbling much of the eye-catching vibrancy. “Fairy Tale Life (The Wish)” strives alternately for the splendor of Beauty And The Beast and the pageantry of Busby Berkeley, but never reaches the lovely grandeur of the first film’s signature number, “That’s How You Know.” Even the animated sequences in Andalasia aren’t quite as polished as before.

From what we can glean, Giselle seems to be wrestling with some form of post-partum depression at the beginning of our tale, but it’s completely forgotten about by the end. At no point during her journey morphing into her wicked persona and (inevitably) back does she take stock of what’s at the core of her unhappiness in order to enact everlasting change. And one “I Want” song near a wishing well does not help her figure it out.

Her inner conflict is quickly overtaken by a trite mother-daughter quarrel, one example of the ways the screenplay by Brigitte Hales (working from a story by J. David Stem, David N. Weiss, and Richard LaGravenese) overcomplicates itself. Morgan’s arc eclipses her stepmother’s internal issues rather than dovetailing into or complementing a shared journey to save the world from Giselle’s mistake. A finale in which they have a heart-to-heart neither solves their individual issues nor elicits tears.

Blatant references to classic Disney animation offer shoddy fan service. These cheap, distracting gimmicks, which run through production and costume design, may offer families a fun game to see who spots the most during the film’s almost two-hour running time, but they desperately need to be incorporated more imaginatively. From the gardening gals sporting the distinct colors of the fairies in Sleeping Beauty to Malvina’s bumbling henchwomen dressed similarly to the stepsisters in Cinderella, these homages elicit chuckles of acknowledgment at best.

The film’s failures extend to its music. Although pioneering songsmiths Alan Menken and Stephen Schwartz return, their songs aren’t nearly on par with those from the first film. Musicals all hit familiar notes, but these lackluster tunes repeat many of the same beats from the original, and possess none of the subversive edge expected from this franchise. “Even More Enchanted,” sung while Giselle dances around construction in their house, feels a pale clone of “Happy Working Song.” The lone shot at something unique is during “Badder,” which rhymes its title with “bladder” in a cha-cha stylized villain duet.

Amy Adams manages to make the most of her lifeless material, despite direction that stifles much of her work. Her character’s sweet naiveté, paired with a deliciously wicked turn, still delivers the goods. She once again captures with confidence the overt physicality and nuanced psychology of her evolving character. Baldacchino successfully carves out a handful of moments to showcase her grace and vulnerability. Menzel, who didn’t sing in the previous iteration, finally gets to use her pipes a few times, most memorably to belt the power ballad “Love Power.”

No one else fares nearly as well, though. Rudolph’s costume wears her instead of the other way around. Yvette Nicole Brown and Jayma Mays, playing Malvina’s dim-witted damsels, are funny women but get lost in the noisy fray. Dempsey is sidelined in a big nothingburger performance that doesn’t even live up to James Marsden’s turn in the first film. Meanwhile, Marsden is barely used to meaningful effect.

Ultimately, Disenchanted serves as a reminder to “be careful what you wish for”—on many different levels. Shot and assembled more like a Disney Channel Original rather than a spectacle-driven sequel to an Oscar-nominated blockbuster, Shankman’s film leaves audiences wanting more—and not in a good way. Its lack of legitimate wit, cleverness, and focus makes a promising concept feel like a wasted wish, conjuring little of the magic that made its predecessor feel so memorable.