Spa Weekend; Leslie Mann and Isla Fisher’s Talent Wasted in the Shallow Pool of a Listless Comedy
According to CinemaDrame News Agency, film critic Alice Bennett wrote in an exclusive review: Have you ever had the experience of booking a trip in the hope of a relaxing and enjoyable vacation, only to arrive and realize that while it isn’t the worst time of your life, it is certainly disappointing? That the food which looked so beautiful online is actually tasteless in reality, the overstuffed pillows cause neck pain, and there is virtually nothing to do at this resort other than lounge by a lukewarm pool?
If you have had such an experience, the sense of disappointment surrounding the film Spa Weekend — the latest work from Jon Lucas and Scott Moore as writers and directors — should feel all too familiar. On paper, this film is a combination of the formula “R-rated jokes paired with sincere heart and a beloved ensemble cast”; a formula that worked well in Bridesmaids, Girls Trip, and Lucas and Moore’s own Bad Moms (which was commercially successful, though creatively unremarkable). But in execution, the jokes feel extraordinarily tame and insipid, the emotions superficial, and the film’s stars completely squandered.
The plot of the film is precisely what its title suggests, nothing more and nothing less. On the occasion of an unstated birthday, Jean (played by Leslie Mann), a overworked Los Angeles lawyer, books a two-night stay at a wellness retreat near Malibu; though the production took place in Australia, and the film refrains from specifying its exact geographical location (though the sunsets, wherever it is, are quite beautiful).
Accompanying her on this trip are her two childhood friends: the sweet-natured Sophie (played by Anna Faris), who is crushing under the weight of a boss so spoiled he can’t even buy his own chocolates, and the quick-tempered Coco (played by Michelle Buteau), who is going through a painful divorce while stubbornly failing to face the anger management issues that led to it.
This trip promises a much-needed break that all three desperately require but never seem able to experience; as working mothers pulled in every direction by ailing parents, needy children, and demanding jobs, these women cannot even imagine scheduling a date night less than three months in advance. They certainly could never do something so selfish as booking an entire trip on an impulse — unless that is exactly what we witness them doing just five minutes after Coco brings up the idea at brunch.
I imagine the breakneck speed at which these three go from “Oh, I can’t possibly” to “We booked the room” was intended to be inspiring: here are women finally saying “no” to a society that demands they always put others first, taking care of themselves for once! But it has a diminishing effect, creating the belief that their problems were never real in the first place. Apparently, the only thing holding them back was simply their own will.
That, of course, and perhaps their lack of appreciation for the fourth, unwanted member of their group. Mel (played by Isla Fisher), who receives a last-minute pity invite solely thanks to Sophie’s guilty conscience, is that “single woman whom all the other women secretly cannot tolerate” — the kind Spa Weekend assures us every female friendship group always has. If you can’t tell who that person is in your friend group, maybe it’s because it’s you; or maybe it’s because this film has a habit of treating all its characters’ problems as universal, and therefore inherently relatable and engaging issues. After almost every observation of this kind, you can practically hear a chorus of “Right, ladies?”
To be fair to Jean, Coco, and Sophie, their initial annoyance seems justified. From the moment Mel arrives at the retreat — ill-dressed, with strange items in her luggage, and foul language in her mouth — she brings nothing but chaos. When she is present, a guided meditation session turns into a verbal altercation, a quiet evening becomes a crowded, drug-fueled party, and a short walk between hydrotherapy sessions somehow turns into a wild golf cart chase. None of this is anything you haven’t seen before, and under the ineffective direction of Lucas and Moore, none of it turns out as offensive, reckless, or destructive as its descriptions imply.
Furthermore, Mel can’t seem to stop meddling in her friends’ lives. She snatches Sophie’s phone to yell at her terrible boss, tricks Coco’s ex-husband (Roger, played by Dominique Ona-Ariki) into rushing over, and publicly hits on the handsome yoga instructor (played by Adam Demos) on Jean’s behalf. Her behavior is worrying, embarrassing, and potentially destructive to all her friends’ lives; until it isn’t, as the film slowly but predictably arrives at the argument that the world needs people like Mel — charming disruptors who pull others out of miserable but socially approved routines.
This message could have been quite sweet if the script hadn’t neutralized its impact by keeping all the characters vague and one-dimensional, making an emotional connection to them difficult. I can’t even tell you what Coco’s job is or why Jean is raising her kids alone. To the extent that genuine laughs or warm feelings are found in the film, they are owed to the talents of a lead cast who have appeared far more effectively in other works.
A genuinely hilarious scene where Jean tries her best to pretend she isn’t aroused by Kai’s (played by Demos) hand massage recalls Leslie Mann’s funnier scenes in Blockers. Coco’s charming, smooth chemistry with Roger revives a desire to revisit Michelle Buteau’s delightful performance as a failed stylist in Netflix’s Survival of the Thickest. Isla Fisher scores most of the film’s genuine laughs by channeling the lively yet chaotic energy she has drawn on so well since Wedding Crashers. Even Anna Faris’s awkward performance as the shy, flustered Sophie reminds us how much more endearing she is when allowed to be weird and loud — like in The House Bunny or Smiley Face.
But the ability to recall other, better projects does not make a good movie. Spa Weekend has nothing new, insightful, or even amusing to add to the familiar formula it borrows — and despite all its apparent good intentions, it has nothing more valuable to offer the tired, stressed mothers of the world than the suggestion that perhaps they can occasionally go on a trip. If that is all a grand, relaxing escape looks like, you’d be better off saving your money and staying home.
