Spa Weekend

In comparison to Lucas and Moore’s 2016 film Bad Moms, Spa Weekend sees an improvement on the moms-gone-wild idea. Unlike its counterpart, Spa Weekend takes advantage of the comedic stylings of its leading performers, granting them each the ability to excel in their own singular ways.

That blend of raucous laughs (OK, well, some raucous laughs, some mere attempts at them) and real world concerns makes for an uneasy watch, ping-ponging between moods and tones in unpredictable ways.

This Hangover facsimile — ‘Eat, Pray, Shag’, if you like — is an insult to the female audience it is targeting. Even the hen do crowds will be unimpressed.

Adding insult to injury, with their loose, easy laughs and visible cast chemistry, the outtakes that accompany the end credits give a sense of the film that might have been. As fun as this cinematic getaway might seem, it’s one trip you shouldn’t bother taking.

What you see is what you get. The funny ladies of the ensemble deserve better.

Much like the “Bad Moms” movies, Spa Weekend isn’t insightful, isn’t interesting and isn’t funny. It’s condescending and hacky and the humor always aims for the lowest common denominator.

Spa Weekend — a title as colorless as the product — is a laugh-free farce of the Girls Trip, Bridesmaids, Joy Ride variety. Only old and moldy.

Hallmark meets chaos / Isla Fisher carries it / Rickety, but fun #filmreviewhaiku