‘Practical Magic 2’ review: Nicole Kidman and Sandra Bullock’s wretched sequel is cursed

I always appreciate it when a movie character helps me out with a lede.

“As far as I was concerned, magic was in our past — and good riddance,” says Sandra Bullock’s Sally Owens in the foul “Practical Magic 2.”

Agreed, Sally. I, too, thought ‘Magic’ was in my past. But no. In order to meet 2026’s nostalgia quota, here’s a 28-years-later followup to the cult flop about margarita-loving sister witches starring Bullock and Nicole Kidman.

By the pricking of my thumbs, something wretched this way comes!

Truth be told, I’ve never understood the appeal of the 1998 original beyond its luminous star duo.

It starts out the same way most ’80s and ’90s movies about magic (“The Witches,” “Hocus Pocus,” “Beetlejuice”) do — with aerial footage of a small town accompanied by loud orchestral music.

Then, the early scenes are cottage quaint, New England B&B stuff, before sharp-turning into a perplexing abuse story with a detective trying to solve a murder as he aggressively hits on the chief suspect.  

Sorceress siblings Sally and Gilly (Kidman) have “midnight margaritas!,” hold a seance and then the movie ends cute like it’s “My Best Friend’s Wedding.”

Fans love it for its flaws, I suppose.  

What the first one does have in spots, however, is charm.

That intangible quality is totally absent from the sequel that’s directed by Susanne Bier (“Bird Box,” “After the Wedding”) for some reason.

No. 2 plays like she pressed “record” at a first rehearsal and then slapped on some not-so-special effects.

Watching it is often awkward. Bullock and Kidman crack joke after joke that nobody laughs at because of bad writing and even worse editing.

Beyond the cheap sell of seeing beloved characters again, “Practical Magic 2” is not an especially entertaining movie.

The glacial runtime does it no favors. At two hours and 10 minutes, it’s some 25 minutes longer than its predecessor. Call it Tylenol “P.M.”

You might remember that all Owens women (including aunts Frances and Jet — Stockard Channing and Dianne Wiest, respectively) are cursed. Whenever they fall in love with a man, he dies. Lucky them.

I thought that the problem of the curse was solved in the first movie. But, whoops, it was not.

“Not great for the Tinder bio,” Kidman says in a moment that makes one wish one’s ears would go on a lunch break.

The centuries-old spell begins to affect Sally’s 20-something daughters, Kylie (Joey King) and Antonia (Maisie Williams), who she has magicked into forgetting they have powers.  

How convenient! Although based on Alice Hoffman’s novel, the hastily explained plot shortcuts here are akin to repairing a steam radiator with Scotch Tape.

Speaking of witch, wacky old Jet finds a tome called the Book of the Raven with a super useful chapter called “How To End The Curse.”

Ugh. If only my eyes could also clock out.

Too bad the pages are enchantedly glued shut.

When Kylie’s beau Gideon (Xolo Maridueña) is hit by a car and goes into a coma, she flies to her family’s hometown in England in hopes of ridding them of their deadly burden.

But what of ours?

We’re saddled with an empty-calorie empowerment movie that speaks in catchphrase.

“Live a little, live a lot,” one goes.

“No magic is stronger than sisterhood,” chimes another.

That second one is curious, because while Kylie, Sally and Gilly head to the UK, sister Antonia paces around Gideon’s hospital room doing jack squat.

Once across the pond, Sally seeks the assistance of Ian Wright (Lee Pace), a vague history of magic professor who contributes hardly anything to this movie beyond his gender and generic good looks.

After that comes an hour of treading water and a twist that isn’t really a twist.

The typical apology for films like this goes, “The movie sucked, but the leads were fabulous.”

Bullock acts infrequently now. So, this is a reunion in more ways than one. Of course, Kidman has a new project every five minutes.

Although that “they’re fab!” reasoning was true in 1998, it’s not anymore. Back then they were actresses. Here, Bullock and Kidman radiate an impenetrable shield of megawatt celebrity that’s just one of many obstacles for viewers who want to get absorbed in this story, such as it is.  

Kidman’s goofiness and Bullock’s sternness are performative. When they dance to “Coconut” at the end, you can tell they’ve been doing it for hours and just want to go home.

That’s understandable. So do we.

The newcomers? Williams, again, stands around in an ICU room that looks cheaper than the set of “Grey’s Anatomy.” Hard to judge.

And King has the tacked-on agony of having just been told her flight was canceled.

That’s understandable. So do we.