This is why you must, must go see Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again this weekend. I simply urge you to jump into its cool cerulean waters and indulge in this slightly sloppily prepared, refreshing cinematic Greek salad of equal parts song and dance and irrepressible cheese. It’s the only pure good thing out there right now that knows exactly what the world outside is: filth, so why resemble anything like it?
I could sell you on the cast alone, probably. Mamma Mia’s reprise sees a full return from the cast of the original musical turned movie, including Amanda Seyfried, Christine Baranski, Julie Walters, Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth, Stellan Skarsgård, Dominic Cooper, and Meryl Streep, as a ghost (this isn’t a spoiler—it’s not my fault if you haven’t been paying attention to the MM2 discourse). This time, we have the addition of Lily James, who plays a young Donna in a series of flashbacks that serve as backstory. We learn just how she got herself into the original film’s conundrum, in which her daughter, Sophie, had three possible fathers, and it’s a pretty simple explanation: She had a bunch of one-to-a-few-nights stands, sans diaphragm. Back in the present, Sophie is carrying on her mother’s legacy (again, Streep’s character is dead) by reopening the hotel she first crashed in on her Greek island home as a young pregnant unwed mother—here is where I assert that Mamma Mia is also feminist for this reason. Andy Garcia is the penultimate casting addition, all but extending his role as hot older distinguished gentleman in this summer’s only other good thing, Book Club, to play hot older distinguished hispanic gentleman. There are a few deeper cuts of the ABBA catalog to keep the songs fresh, but all the hits, of course, make their way back.
Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again’s fantasy world of bright seaside colors against those quintessential white clay Greek hillside homes, its Anthropologie-inspired interpretation of ’70s clothing, its inconsistent attempts at historical accuracy (none of the suitcases have wheels but the microphones are cordless), its bald-faced shoehorning of ABBA’s confectionary hits into caftan-thin plotlines—the whole experience caresses like a warm breeze, spiked by one meaningless thunderstorm and a few incredible one-liners delivered by Donna’s friend Tanya (the honorable Baranski in the present, Jessica Keenan Wynn in the past). Back in the ’70s, Donna meets her suitors and goes home with them unafraid of the decade’s abundant serial killers; in 2018, a nod to a bunch of listless Greek fishermen sitting around with no money or jobs, which you might call its shoutout to the global recession, is solved by—what else—a bunch of ABBA songs. Everyone has the exact same hairstyle and distinctive personality traits over the span of several decades. At one point, the characters literally find a pearl in an oyster, that’s how good the citizens of Mamma Mia have it. Is it possible to change your country of origin to a movie sequel?
I can’t tell you about the ending of Mamma Mia 2 without actually spoiling it, but I can tell you that we finally do see Cher, as Sophie’s grandma/Donna’s mom, and that she is decked out in silver with platinum hair like a tall chrome Dolly Parton, and that she sings, her beautiful moonlit face wholly unmoving except for her mouth. And that there is a subsequent scene that brought me to tears even as I thought to myself, This is so incredibly absurd. And that the film’s curtain call is one of the finest showstopping musical numbers and general feel-good fan pandering since goddamn Grease. If I sound passionate, it’s because I’m not used to feeling anything anymore. I await Mamma Mias 3 through 10.
